Page 100 of Saving Sparrow
It was early evening, and I probably should’ve eaten something with all the medication I’d taken. I was too tired, though.
I dressed and slipped under the covers, staring at the door until my eyelids were too heavy to keep open. I fell asleep wishing Sparrow would come back, wondering if easing my physical pain was another way he apologized for having caused it.
Miguel
Now
My muscles were achy and stiff the next morning, making it impossible to get out of bed. The balm and the painkillers helped, but my body needed rest after the strenuous work of shoveling snow. Other than around lunchtime when the scent of warm bread and soup woke me, I slept through the whole day.
My eyes didn’t open again until nearly ten in the evening when hunger dragged me from sleep. Sparrow’s hearty beef stew waited for me, along with the pain pills I’d stuck in the drawer, and the antibiotics I’d left on the bathroom sink.
I took the hint, finishing my lukewarm stew and taking my meds, even though my cough hadn’t bothered me much while I slept. I downed it all, then drifted off again, waking in the middle of the night to a snack and more pills.
I felt much better the next day, finally recognizing the man who stared back at me in the mirror. The last of the bruising along my cheekbones had faded, and the whites of my eyes were bright again. I showered quickly, grabbingTales of the Pavilion Seaoff the nightstand before setting off to find my Florence Nightingale.
The classic novel was next to my oatmeal and pills that morning. It recounted Demian Demarco’s ascent to the throne. Chapter five had been bookmarked with a thin leather cord.
It was Friday, if my calculation of time could be trusted. Unsure of what Sparrow’s schedule looked like on Fridays, I allowed the scent of pine and vinegar to lead me to him. I found him in a cozy reading roomdownstairs.
With its well-loved couch and swivel accent chairs, it was the only room I’d seen so far that didn’t feel ancient and gloomy.
Deep in the corner by the bay window, Sparrow stopped what he was doing to glance over at me. My approach hadn’t exactly been quiet, which said a lot about my shifting comfort level around him.
Rubber gloves stretched up his forearms, and he held a spray bottle poised toward the already gleaming pane. “I don’t need your help,” he warned as I scanned the cleaning supplies organized near the tall bookcases. Sparrow went back to his meticulous work, dismissing me.
While perusing the worn titles on one of the bookshelves, I noticed an open space. Pulling the thick hardcover from under my arm, I slid it inside. A perfect fit.
“Did you read to me in the middle of the night?” I removed the book again, opening it to the bookmarked page. I remembered hearing a soothing voice but thought nothing of it until now. Maybe because the idea seemed so ridiculous.
“And why would I do that?” His voice was hard, but in light of our shared conversations, the teamwork we’d shown out in the cold, and all his care just in the last twenty-four hours… His tone no longer made me flinch.
“I must have been dreaming then,” I murmured, fingering the bookmarked page again. “Have you read this before?”
Sparrow glimpsed the book with a bored expression. “No. Now leave.”
“What made you leave it for me?”
He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You said you liked reading. I thought you might want something to do while in bed.”
I loved reading, and it wasn’t like there were any televisions here for me to watch. I did bring one book with me, but more for sentimental reasons.
“But whythisbook?”
Sparrow tore his rubber gloves off before charging across the room and snatching the book from my hands.
“Forget it. If I’d known it would cause this much trouble, I wouldn’t have done it.” He shoved it into its slot. I removed it again when he walked away.
I considered him, then all the other options lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves. “It was his favorite book, wasn’t it?” I thought I knew all of Elliott’s favorite books.
Sparrow stopped in his tracks, and silence fell over the room. I waited for him to do something. Tosaysomething. In the end, he ignored me, grabbing the broom from the corner.
I turned the book over in my hand, reading the synopsis and thinking back on what I remembered of the story. Demian had been a lone warrior, protecting his realm from the shadows for over a century. After the assassination of the only heir to the throne, King Brennus tasked Demian with hunting down the men responsible. Demian had been loyal and lived by a code of ethics and honor forged in steel. He’d never married, never had children of his own… He’d lived a solitary life, his sole purpose to serve the House of Brennus.
Just days away from losing his battle with diphtheria, the king went against the advice of his council, appointing Demian his successor, and his daughter—Mirabel—Demian’s queen. No more lonely existence, no more fighting battles on his own.
“It’syourfavorite book, isn’t it?” I whispered. The parallels between Sparrow and Demian struck me hard, hurting more than all my wounds had combined.
“Why are you here?” He fisted the wooden broomstick. I’d been about to say “for Elliott,” but I wasn’t so sure now. Or at least it was no longer the only truth.
