Page 115 of Saving Sparrow
He grunted. “Do you think that will get you Elliott back? That I’ll spill my guts, be left so weak that he’ll slide in to take my place?” He’d leaned forward in his seat.
“No,” I answered honestly. “You’re in control of that, and you won’t lose that control ever again.” Not as long as he could help it. “But he’d want me to be kind to you. To listen to you.”
“And you’re here for him. To do what he would want you to do.” Both statements felt like questions, and he seemed desperate for me to answer them. Did Sparrow know what vulnerability meant? Did he understand all its intricacies? I’d never seen him more vulnerable than at that moment.
“I came here for him, that’s true. But right now, I’m here for you, Sparrow.”Because no one has ever been there for you before.“I’m not likethem. I’m not your enemy.”
He jerked upright, as though only now noticing he’d moved to the edge of his seat, how close he’d gotten to me. Sparrow set his mug down on the hearth’s ledge; the porcelain rattled against the stone surface until he let go of it. I didn’t ask whether he was okay. I didn’t want to bring attention to the fact that he wasn’t.
I drank my hot chocolate, staring into the fire, waiting on edge for him to say something. That something came an agonizing while later.
“My mother loved teaching. She was good at it, patient. Sometimes she’d even let Elliott do his work in the reading room and then let him spend hours with a book of his choice afterward. He liked that.” His voice was distant, as if he’d gone inward to remember what Elliott’s happiness felt like.
“Her voice was gentle, like Elliott’s. Soothing. She sang hymns and read the Bible to me while my back healed that first time,” he said softly. I’d heard him growl, snap, bark out orders… I’d even heard him whisper and breathe words into the air. He’d never sounded fragile doing any of it, though. Not like he did now.
“She didn’t know it was me, but those scraps of comfort made me…” he trailed off, but his gentle gaze said in those moments he’d felt loved. He shook his head, as if he thought it made him foolish.
“The physical abuse wasn’t endless. There were lulls in between, but make no mistake, life wasnevergood here. They didn’t get it. You can’t make right what wasn’t wrong to begin with. The moment Elliott showed signs he hadn’t been fixed or healed or exorcised… she’d tell my father. It could’ve been anything. Overhearing Joshua play pretend through Elliott’s locked bedroom door, if I didn’t do a good job at being Elliott… If Elliott walked improperly, spoke improperly, sat improperly…” Sparrow didn’t say it, but I knew by improperly, he meant unmanly. “If any of those things happened, she’d call Elijah out of the field.”
“Out of the field?”
“Doing God’s work, or so he claimed.” He flicked his wrist dismissively. “Any peace we experienced came when he was gone. That could’ve been weeks at a time or sometimes days.”
“How did that make you feel?” I asked. “When she seemed to care, but then called your father?” It likely made him feel betrayed, tricked… He’d accused me of trying to trick him once, and now I understood why he’d been so upset by it.
When Sparrow spoke again, it wasn’t in answer to any of those questions. Maybe he thought he’d bared his throat to me enough for one night.
“I think she would’ve loved us if she hadn’t been so weak. Or if my father had loved us first.”
“What’s not to love?” I asked with sincerity.
Sparrow’s eyes glowed, and as though he couldn’t bear for me to believe he was worthy of anything good, he asked, “Would you still think that if I told you I took my time with her?”
“Yes.” I’d answered quickly, knowing something inside of him depended on it. Sparrow blinked in obvious surprise, while I came to grips with his admission of murder.
I’d known there was a strong possibility he’d been the one responsible for their parents’ deaths, but I’d hoped he wasn’t. I didn’t want that to be something else he’d had to live with. I’d created alternative scenarios in my head, like Gideon’s parents tracking them down here, seekingtheir own form of justice for what Elijah caused. Or maybe even a home invasion gone wrong.It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“I hope they both suffered for what they did to you.” I hoped they suffered for what they’d done to Elliott too, but right then Sparrow was the one in search of absolution. I could see it in his eyes.
“They… they did.”
“Good.”
I set my mug down next to his, sitting up slowly when my back muscles cramped up. Nights of rigorous play in the snow without any rehabilitation for my healing injuries were starting to take a toll on me. I’d need to start stretching, get some exercise in.
Sparrow watched me, gaze scrutinizing my face and body, the way I barely moved. “Am I like them?” he whispered, eyeing the scar he’d caused above my brow. The question made me think of Quentin. It seemed he and Sparrow shared the same fear.
“No,” I said, offering a response similar to the one I used to give Quentin. “You protect. They hurt and neglect.”
“It sometimes feels the same.” He met my stare, holding it as he seemed to be silently speaking the words he couldn’t say out loud.
“I forgave you before I even got here, Sparrow.” I showed up here not knowing what to expect, but knowing I would love whatever I found unconditionally. That couldn’t be done without built-in forgiveness.
We fell into comfortable silence. After a while, thoughts of Quentin and Elliott consumed me, and I pulled the string holding our three wedding bands together from my pocket.
“Who do those belong to?” Sparrow asked.
“They’re our wedding bands. Well, replacements. Ours,”—I flicked my gaze up to him before finishing—“went missing.”
