Page 15 of Saving Sparrow
“It’s okay.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt again.
I finished up my sandwich in the tense silence that followed. Elliott alternated between scrubbing a hand over his brow, watching the wet stain dry, and glancing at the bedroom door. “Be right back.” I rushed into the closet, returning with a pale blue, flowy summer dress. I gestured for him to take it. Elliott slowly pushed up from his seat.
“It was my mother’s,” I whispered. I hadn’t planned on saying any more than that, but then I remembered what he’d shared with us when he didn’t have to.
“Where are your parents?”
“They died.”
“She died too. It’s okay,” I said when his expression turned flustered. It wasn’t okay, but I hated seeing the hurt in his eyes. “Anyway, she never wore it. I’ve still got a lot of her stuff, most of it brand-new.” My stepfather had a bad habit of apologizing to her with gifts.
Elliott ran trembling fingers over the silk before snatching his hand away. “I-I can’t.”
I wondered if he turned it down because of who it belonged to, or because he felt ashamed for wanting it.
“Please.” I held it out to him. “You can wear it whenever you’re here.”
Elliott’s lips moved fast like they had in the woods that first day. He was quiet, but I made out the word “God.”
“We won’t judge you.” Quentin and I didn’t care about the same stuff other eighteen-year-olds cared about. Or anyone, for that matter. We did what we wanted, lived how we wanted to live. Maybe that was why we felt drawn to Elliott. He didn’t come off as conventional or self-righteous, even if he did pray. He seemed innocent, afraid of the world around him. He’d need someone to look out for him because people could be mean. “And we won’t say anything to anyone about it. Promise.”
Elliott chewed on his bottom lip, staring at the dress with obvious indecision. I was about to insist again, but he squeezed his eyes shut andreached for it. The pain in his expression evaporated as soon as he pulled the dress to his chest.
“It’s gonna look great on you,” I rasped, feeling like I’d just taken the first step in dealing with my mother’s death. The first step in letting go. “It matches your eyes.”
Elliott held it against him by the thin straps, peering down at himself.
“Go put it on. I’m sure,” I promised when he angled his head at me. He made his way to the bathroom, holding my stare until he’d closed the door. I let my smile fall then, preparing myself to see him in it. My mother had never worn it, but it still belonged to her. Now it belonged to Elliott.
I stood there speechless when he crept back to the sitting area. He was taller than my mother, so it didn’t drag on the floor.
“You look great.” I cleared my throat as Elliott blinked away his tears. There was so much I wanted to ask him, so much I needed to know. Like, why did he seem so sad? Why didn’t he have any friends? And why did he seem more comfortable now than he had a few minutes ago? But this was the first time he didn’t seem ready to bolt, so I kept my questions to myself.
“Thank you.” His voice sounded so small.
“How about I show you that Tolkien collection now?” I rubbed my hands together in excitement, pulling a half-smile out of him.
I was exhausted after going through each title on the wall-to-wall bookshelf, explaining how much they all meant to me. It wasn’t often that I got to geek out about this stuff, and Elliott seemed excited to listen.
“There’s a library with more books on the other side of the house. These are just the ones I read most often. I go to the public library sometimes. It’s important to support our local libraries—and bookstores.”
“How often do you read them?” Elliott pulled a book from its shelf.
“Well, it’s summer break, so I can get through a book a day, if Quentin lets me. He gets restless after watching me read for a while. Sometimes he’ll work out or do football-related stuff in the backyard. It’s only a matter of time before he begs me to take a break, though.” Sometimes I read longer than I wanted to on purpose, just so he could force me to stop.
“Throne of Glass,” I read, peering down at the book he held. “Are you a Maasassin?”
“What’s that?” He scrunched up his nose.
“That’s what Sarah J. Maas fans call themselves.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never heard of her.”
“What planet have you been on?” My laughter died at his serious expression. “Sorry. Give her a shot, but you’ll want to start…” I trailed off, scanning the shelves, “…here.” I handed himThe Assassin’s Blade. “It’s a collection of novellas. You technically don’tneedto read it first, but I recommend you do.”
Elliott opened the book to the first page, reading as he strolled over to the couch. I grabbed a book of my own and met him over there.
“Sometimes Quentin and I sit back-to-back while I read, and he watches ESPN on his phone.” It made us feel connected when our attention was on something other than each other. “Wanna try it?”
