Yesterday, after Sebastian’s tattoo, I came into work and asked Dave how to go about finding a helicopter tour company. He referred me to his nephew, Dylan, who works for a local news station… and is licensed to fly the station helicopter. He pulled some strings, and he agreed to take us up for free as long as we agreed to tag along during the five o’clock traffic report. Oh, and he asked me out, so of course I felt obligated to say yes.
I’m daydreaming when Emma walks in. Dave says hello; they’ve met before. After I finish up, she escorts me to dinner down the street at Rocky Tap Tavern. She’s quiet most of the walk over, and it’s only when we sit down and order that she gets down to business.
“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” she starts, sipping her beer. “I just don’t want you to get your heart broken with Sebastian.”
I nod and smile, taking her hand. “I know. You’ve been a really good friend. Thank you for that. But I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m glad you’re trying. I’ve known the guy for like twelve years. He’s really… suicide is… it’s intense… he won’t get better overnight. It’s not something you can just cure,” she adds.
I look down, wondering how to phrase what I’m about to say. “I know. I know suicide is intense. And I know there’s no cure. But I’ve gone on to live a normal life. I want that for him too.”
Emma nods. “I see you, and it gives me hope for him.” She runs her hands through her loose red hair. “I guess if anyone can break his mindset, it’s you.”
“Thank you.” I give her a genuine smile. “That’s why I want to help him.” I don’t elaborate—I haven’t told anyone about my dream yet. Maybe I’ll tell her one day, but for now, one thing at a time…
“Just… be careful. Not everyone can bounce back as quickly as you have.”
“I know. I understand what I’m getting into.”
“All things aside… he’s a really nice guy.”
I laugh, choking on my beer. “I thought you hated him? I believe you called him a chauvinistic asshole?”
She giggles. “I know. He is, most of the time. But it’s a front.” She looks away for a second, her face becoming morose. “We were in band together in high school. Did you know that?”
“Really?” I ask, suddenly interested. She mentioned she knew him, but I didn’t know to what extent.
“Yeah—Jeb, Sebastian, and me. We were all really close.”
“What instrument did you each play?”
She takes another sip of beer, a mischievous smile on her face. “Well, see, I didn’t really play an instrument, but I had a huge crush on Jeb, so I volunteered to play the triangle slash tambourine.”
“That’s awesome.”
The waitress brings our food, and once we each take a couple of bites of our burgers, she continues.
“Jeb played the drums. He still does! He’s sooo good,” she says dreamily.
“You have to say that. You’re married to him,” I say with my mouth full of food.
“No, he really is. And Sebastian played the cello.”
I stop mid-bite. “Really? The cello?”
“Yeah. Why, does that surprise you?”
“I love the cello.” We both stare at each other, and I realize how absurd that sounds. After a beat, we both burst out laughing. Once we recover, I continue. “No, it’s just that I play the piano, and I always admired cellists.”
“He was very talented. But then, you know, the whole depression thing hit. He got really into art, which is great, because he’s really talented at that, too. The struggling artist.” She takes another large bite. “I heard he got a tattoo.” She eyes my nose. “Nice piercing, by the way. It’s cute.”
I nod proudly. “Thanks! Yeah, I made him. I’m trying to prove to him that life is worth living, and he wrote down some bucket-list shit.”
“Bucket-list shit?”
“Yeah. That’s what we call it.”
“That’s so cute,” she adds, feigning adoration. She rolls her eyes. “Just please, for serious Marlin, be careful.”
“I know. I will, I promise.”
We finish our meal discussing mostly Jeb’s construction business and how I have a fantasy that he’ll remodel an old Victorian for me one day. I don’t explain where this fantasy came from, but it feels good to laugh and to actually connect with someone for a change.
Chapter Twenty-Three
PRESENT
On Wednesday, I am determined to knock not one, but two things off of Sebastian’s bucket-list shit. So when I barge into his room at eight fifteen, I’m delighted to see him dressed and eating breakfast.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice unwavering. I don’t want him to think that he got to me yesterday. “We have a big day planned, so I hope you’re ready.” He just stares at me. I continue. “I know someone with a helicopter, and then when we get back, you’re going to call your birth father and apply for a name change.” I nod once and put my hands on my hips.
“That is a busy day. I guess I better eat a hearty breakfast,” he says, his voice joking and light. Thank god.
“Yes, eat up. We have to go soon. Dylan is meeting us at the station at nine thirty.”
“Who’s Dylan?” Sebastian asks between bites of his buttered toast. For some reason, the memory of that dream morning comes to mind—“You need to gain weight. I’ll make you bacon and toast every day if I have to. Fatten you up.”—and I’m overcome with sadness.
“He’s the pilot.”
Sebastian just nods, and I study him as he sips his orange juice. I see the other Sebastian in there—under the hair, under the aching sorrow. Peel the layers away, and he’s there. I just have to figure out a way to penetrate those layers.
I’ve arranged to borrow the wheelchair-accessible van. Once we sign out, Darcy salutes us. Cecelia glowers in our direction the whole time. I’ve figured out by now that she has a thing for Sebastian, and I like her even less.
I get Sebastian all settled in the van, and then we’re off. I drive slowly down the main road, taking my time, and at approximately nine twenty, we’re parked and I’m wheeling Sebastian to the front of BCTV News 9. It’s a small brick building, and I see a chain-link fence leading to the back, where the helicopter and the landing pad sit.
“Good day for a helicopter ride,” I say, breaking the silence that’s been lingering since we left the retreat. I rock back and forth on my heels.
“The weather, really?” he asks, incredulous. I narrow my eyes and look away. I fidget with the raw hem of my long-sleeved black shirt, not answering him. If he wants to talk about something other than the weather, he can start a conversation. “When’s this guy supposed to meet us?”
“Soon.” I check my phone. We’re in the right place.
A few tense minutes later, a tall, athletic-looking man comes out of the door to greet us. He’s handsome, with short black hair and grey eyes. He’s wearing trousers and a button-down shirt. He’s very dapper for a helicopter pilot.
“Marlin?” he asks, reaching his hand out. It’s rough and calloused.
“Nice to meet you, Dylan!” I pull my hand away and gesture to Sebastian, ever aware of his presence. He’s scowling. “This is Sebastian.”
Dylan bends down and reaches a hand out. “How’s it going, buddy?” he says, a little too loudly and slowly. I cringe.
“I broke my legs, not my fucking brain,” Sebastian mumbles, wheeling away towards the fence.
I jog over to Dylan and apologize as Sebastian wheels himself ahead of us. We all walk over to the fence, which Dylan unlocks.
“He’s a bit moody. And I just want to say… thank you so much for doing this.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Dylan replies casually. We walk over to one of the helicopter doors, and Sebastian is waiting for us, annoyed. He can really move fast in that thing. “Besides, I’m looking forward to our date,” he adds, eyeing my body and leering.
The minute he says it, Sebastian noticeably stiffens, and
he looks from me to Dylan and back to me. I stutter, noticing Sebastian’s discomfort.
“I a-am t-too,” I say, giving him a small smile. I don’t look at Sebastian, and instead, go to help him into the passenger seat without making eye contact. When I put my arm underneath him to hoist him up into the cockpit, he leans in and whispers into my ear.
“You’re really going to go on a date with that douche?”
I don’t respond, and in a matter of three seconds, he’s seated comfortably. I lean his folded-up wheelchair against the wall of the building, and Dylan helps me into the back, but not before winking once.
Sebastian totally sees, because the look he’s giving me in the rearview mirror right now is pure disgust. He shakes his head and looks away.
Judgmental prick.
From there, it’s a fairly simple process—we get buckled in, Sebastian in front, me in the back—and then all three of us put on a pair of headphones to both block out the noise and also to be able to communicate.
Sebastian doesn’t know, but I’ve asked Dylan to let him fly for a minute or two, if possible. Dylan agreed over text, so I hope he remembers. I hope we don’t die because of Sebastian’s stupid list.
A few switches are flipped, and the engine is turned on, and then the whirling sound starts. I grip the edge of my seat. I hate heights, but I’m doing this for Sebastian. This is all for him. When we lift off, I squeal in terror and delight, and I instinctually look in the rearview mirror.
Sebastian is watching me with careful concern—his face is soft, unburdened. He looks almost like he’s having fun but doesn’t want to admit it. We rise up higher and higher, and my knuckles are white as I grip the seat harder and harder. I peek down below me, and I feel my head start to rush with panic. I close my eyes.
“Marlin?” It’s Sebastian’s voice. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, my voice weak. “Just a little scared of heights.” A thin layer of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I open my eyes again.
“How’s everyone?” Dylan’s voice says, crackling in my headphones. “Who’s ready to fly this baby?”
Oh, god. We’re going to die, I think.
Dylan barks instructions to Sebastian, and I can feel Sebastian’s loathing from back here.
“I’ll do the footwork since you’re obviously incapacitated in that area,” Dylan adds. “But you can steer. It’s almost the same.”
Ugh. I hate him already for making Sebastian feel as small as possible.
“I think I can handle it,” Sebastian answers. I look up, and he winks at me, giving me a lopsided smile and taking the controls.
The helicopter dips slightly, but otherwise it stays steady. He’s doing it. He’s doing it!
“You’re flying a helicopter!” I squeal.
“I’m flying a helicopter,” he repeats, a huge grin on his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than his smile. And I did that—I helped put that smile on his face.
“Pilot Rivera,” I add, smirking.
“Pilot Juares soon,” he corrects, winking.
“All right, time for some traffic,” Dylan interrupts, and I want to smack him. Doesn’t he know we’re having a moment right now?
Once Dylan takes over the controls again, he steers us towards the highways of Vermont, and I plot the big thing on Sebastian’s bucket-list shit. I have an idea for tomorrow. It will require a very early morning and borrowing the van again, but it’s not impossible.
When I look into the rearview mirror again, Sebastian holds my gaze, and it burns me from the inside out. I squirm, unable to handle the intensity. His dark, moody eyes are bright and joyful for the first time since I’ve known him (in this life at least). I don’t break eye contact, not even when he smiles—not even when he mouths something I know I’ll never forget.
Thank you.
*
When Dylan flies us back to the station, we land smoothly, and I jump out to help Sebastian out of the helicopter and into his wheelchair. He’s been quiet ever since our descent a few minutes ago, and I’m nervous that this whole helicopter thing wasn’t what he was expecting, or not as life-changing as he thought it’d be.
I reach around underneath his arm to help him down, and he unexpectedly puts an arm around my waist to help balance everything out. I suck in a silent mouthful of air at the contact, but he doesn’t seem to notice as I lift him down and into his chair. When I let go, he looks up at me and gives me a tight smile.
“I still can’t believe you’re going to go out with that jerk,” he mutters before wheeling himself away towards the street, leaving me alone with Dylan. My mouth is still open in surprise when Dylan walks up behind me.
“So, does tonight work for you, or is tomorrow better?” Dylan asks, running a hand through his jet-black hair and giving me a shit-eating grin.
Ugh.
“I’ll call you,” I say, reaching out for his hand. “I have a pretty busy week, so maybe over the weekend?”
“I’m busy this weekend,” he answers, his voice tainted with annoyance.
“Oh, well, we’ll work something out for next week.” I give him my most flirtatious smile, and I begin to follow in Sebastian’s footsteps, eager to leave.
“What’s with you and that guy?” Dylan calls out, his tongue in his cheek. That guy. The jerk knows Sebastian’s name—he’s just being petty.
“I volunteer at the hospital where he’s staying.”
He walks over to me, but all I want to do is leave. Can’t he take a hint? “Is he, like, crazy or something?”
I feel myself snap, and I bite my tongue to keep from saying something obscenely rude. “Nope, not crazy. Thank you for the ride.” I spin around and walk away before he has a chance to reply.
When I round the corner, Sebastian is sitting in front of the van, watching me with his arms crossed.
“Let’s go,” I say, keeping my chin high to avoid his interrogation.
*
I turn the radio on for the drive back to the retreat. Sebastian’s smug smile tells me everything I need to know: he doesn’t approve of Dylan. A few seconds after pulling into the parking lot, I reach to turn the ignition off, and the song changes at the exact same moment. It’s Sam Smith’s Make It To Me, the same song Sebastian sang to me in the car at Wendy’s.
I turn it up and close my eyes. It’s a slow song, and the slow beat makes me emotional. It’s almost too much, being in a car with Sebastian, listening to this song… I try to suppress the urge to cry, but it doesn’t work. The first teardrop hits my jeans.
“You okay?” Sebastian yells over the music. I wave him off and hold up a finger.
I lean my head back and wait for the song to finish, and once it does, I turn the car off. The silence is stifling.
“What was that about?” Sebastian asks, and I spin around to face him.
He’s the same person—he looks the same, more or less. I sniff and wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve.
“Someone once sang a part of that song to me,” I explain, feeling weird about sharing that about our past. Our past. We have no past. It was a dream.
“It’s a good song,” he says, his voice even and warm. “I like it.”
I give him a small smile and then turn around to open my door. I hop out onto the asphalt and unload his wheelchair. When I open his door, he’s watching me funnily again, his full attention on me like he’s studying me. I help him into his chair, grabbing one of hands and lowering him down.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, squeezing my hand. It sends shockwaves up my arm, and I have to pull away.
“No problemo,” I joke, a cheesy grin spreading on my face. “I’m getting some arm muscles from lifting and lowering you,” I add, flexing.
He laughs and shakes his head. “I meant thank you for today.”
I feel a faint blush bloom on my cheeks at his intense stare, and I look away to break eye contact.
“It was no problem.” I walk behind him
and start to wheel him towards the building. “But don’t thank me yet. You still need to call your dad when we get inside.”
He groans, and I stifle a laugh. “Can I at least eat lunch first?”
“It’s ten thirty a.m.,” I reply. “Stop procrastinating. You’re doing this today, and afterwards, I’m going to watch you apply for a name change online.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
PRESENT
1. Change my name and reconcile with my father.
2. Fly a helicopter.
3. Get a tattoo.
4. Visit the Louvre in Paris.
5. Visit a nudist colony.
6. Paint a live model.
7. ???
I take Thursday off of work, and as promised, I show up at the retreat bright and early at seven a.m. Today is going to be a long day—I have my surprise trip for Sebastian, and then the surprise farewell party that the staff and other patients are throwing for him when we get back around dinnertime. I’ve been invited, and Cecelia volunteered to decorate while were away, of course.
When I pull into the parking lot, the sun is barely up. The pink hue bounces off of the bricks, and the warm, damp air indicates a hot day ahead. I have everything planned out, including maps, snacks, and tickets. Sebastian has no idea where we’re going, and I come armed with a bandana for his eyes so that he can be completely surprised when we get there.
I walk up the steps to the door, which is locked this early in the morning, and I call Darcy. She’s agreed to help me pull this off, graciously allowing me to borrow the van again, and even packing an emergency medication kit in case Sebastian has an anxiety attack. Once Darcy lets me in, she immediately starts barking directions and suggestions at me as we walk to Sebastian’s room. I wipe my sweaty palms on my army-green khakis and straighten my navy-blue sleeveless blouse.
“Don’t hesitate to call for anything,” she whispers, letting me in. And then she winks at me, and I have to hold back an eye roll.
“I will, I promise. We’ll be back around five, depending on traffic.”
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 16
