Page 190 of Saving Sparrow
He unlocked the door, frigid air hitting us as soon as it opened. We linked hands before heading down.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to see once we got into the basement. The bits and pieces of Elijah and Sara’s remains dangling from the ceiling, I supposed. The large, open space was dank and decayed, as Sparrow once described it, and empty. I winced when his hold on my hand turned painful.
“Sparrow?” I followed his line of sight to the brick wall on the other side. Sparrow couldn’t tear his gaze away from it. He let my hand go, and took careful steps forward with me right behind him.
Sparrow felt along the wall, his movements becoming more urgent as the seconds passed by. “It’s here somewhere,” he muttered, fingers searching top to bottom.
“Are you saying they’re behind the wall?” I didn’t see how that was possible. I grew nervous. Was he having another loss of control? Had all of this pushed him over the edge? Just then, I heard a faint clicking sound, and a portion of the wall pulled away.
Sparrow pulled the hidden door open but didn’t step inside. I directed the beam of my phone’s flashlight into the dark space. A bucket and piles of cloth, stained a rusty brown, rested in a corner. In the center, chunks of broken concrete were piled on top of a hole. Elijah and Sara’s burial ground.
“They’re still gone,” Sparrow breathed. “They’re still dead. They can’t hurt us.” It wasn’t that he hadn’t been sure, he just hadn’t let go yet, hadn’t relinquished the pain they’d caused him. His body vibrated as he fought to hold back his tears.
“Go ahead and let it out,” I whispered, stepping in close. “Let go. Lay your sword and armor down.”
Sparrow wept in my arms, and I held on to him, murmuring words of encouragement. He wept for all the times he couldn’t, for all the times he didn’t feel safe to. He wept for the times he gritted his teeth through the pain, when he dared to bear more, dared to shoulder the burden for my husband and the others. We were both physically and emotionally drained when it was over.
“I’m so tired,” Sparrow said, his eyes puffy and red.
“Come on. I’ll lie down with you.” I closed the hidden door before taking his hand and heading upstairs. He pulled us to a stop near the foyer. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced toward the living room. “Can we open our gifts?”
I chuckled, happy that maybe his first holiday hadn’t been ruined after all. “Sure, mine are already upstairs. Let’s grab yours.”
We sat across from each other on Sparrow’s bed, each holding our gifts. “You first,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I ripped through the makeshift wrapping paper, then opened the small box. A wood carving ofTales of the Pavilion Seawaited inside. He’d even managed to carve the ship on the cover. It was an exact replica of the actual book. “This is beautiful, Sparrow. How did I not know you could do this?”
“I found a whittling set and engraving tools in the shed when I returned.”
“Sothisis what you do for fun,” I said, recalling when he’d told me he wasn’t here to have fun.
He gave a tired smile, as if he remembered. “I’m not that good.”
“Not that good? Are you kidding me?” I traced the title of the book.
“Read the back.”
I turned it over, reading the inscription. “Thank you for seeing me.” I wanted to say “always” but said, “You’re welcome,” instead. “Your turn.”
Sparrow tore through the wrapping paper, silently mouthing the title on the leather-bound book.The Edge of Everywhere.“This was in your duffel bag.” He shot me an apologetic look.
“I knew you’d seen it, but, well, I was short on gift options. It’s one of my favorite books. Elliott got the fancy rebinding done for me.” The gift seemed silly now, considering, but he thanked me anyway. I tore open my next gift, frowning at the chess piece.
“It’s a rook,” he said. “I found it in the shed. It represents a fortress. It plays the role of defense, and symbolizes protection.”
“And you’re their protector,” I whispered, closing my fist around the wooden piece.
“And yours,” he whispered back. Sparrow opened his last gift, brows drawing together. “What’s this?”
I took the deck of handmade cards from him, turning it face down on the bed. “It’s a card game. I made it using some construction paper I’d found in the shed. We take turns plucking cards, and the other personhas to answer the question on it. I’ll go first.” I plucked a card. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Hmm…” Sparrow glanced around the room for inspiration before holding my stare. “Brown, like your eyes.”
“That’s cheating,” I said, my heart literally breaking.
“No, it isn’t.” Fatigue weighed down his smile. It was his turn. “Wild card?”
