Page 114 of Saving Sparrow
My body trembled with the force of my emotions, my tears falling onto Quentin’s shocked face as reality came tumbling down on me.
“It’s okay,” he whispered shakily. “It’s okay.” He didn’t make any move to pull back the curtain, though. He seemed just as terrified to face Miguel. His tears fell as I peered down at the mess staining the silk nightgown.
Slowly, I pushed myself up with Quentin’s help. I was achy, sweaty, sticky, embarrassed, and heartbroken.
I shoved my hair back before sneaking a glance at Miguel. His lashes were wet, his chin trembling. But it was the love I still saw in his big brown eyes that finally broke the last of the held-together pieces of me.
My vision blurred, and I scrambled off Quentin, a shame I hadn’t felt since my time in Alaska consuming every part of my body.
I took a moment to stare at Quentin. The beautiful boy who’d just saved me at the cost of losing everything. I’d been so selfish.
I turned back to Miguel. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I backed away to the far edge of the bed, as far away from them and their love as possible. I was disgusted with myself.
All I could do as he knelt there, unable to move as his tears stained his skin, was to say the three words that explained what I thought of myself right then. “I… I’m so sorry.”
Miguel
Now
Joshua and I had made a mess of the shed for the third night in a row. We’d given Mr. Snowy a family, which required lots of miscellaneous items for body parts. Sparrow refused to let us come back inside until we’d re-organized everything.
I left Sparrow at the front door to fuss with our wet boots and coats as I headed to make the hot chocolate with marshmallows I’d promised him. He’d just finished starting the fire in the living room when I returned, handing him a mug. We sat in the wingback chairs across from each other. His mouth did a strange open and shut thing.
“I believe the words you’re searching for are thank you,” I teased, blowing over the lip of my mug. He’d said it once before, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him now.
He scowled at me, looking away when I smiled.
“Don’t worry, I’m still afraid of you.” Less afraid, but his ever-changing moods still unnerved me. I started to realize that his quirks and lack of social skills made him defensive and unpredictable. They also made him endearing.
I thought my statement would’ve made him happy. Fear was one of the ways he controlled me, after all. But he just sighed quietly, resting his head back against the chair.
“He was so happy,” I said. Sparrow gave me a questioning look. “Joshua. You should see him out there. I told him Sparrow made it possible for us to play every night.” I shrugged when his brows lifted. “He didn’t know who you were, but he said to tell you thanks. Maybe nexttime I can record him for you,” I tentatively added, “with my phone.” I still hadn’t gotten my devices back.
“No,” Sparrow replied, holding his mug between both hands. “I don’t like seeing it.” Maybe he’d missed the hint about me getting my phone back, or maybe he just chose to bypass it.
“You used to record yourself?”
“I used to recordthem,” he clarified. “I’d rather not see it.”
“Do they sometimes do things you don’t approve of?” What exactly did the others do when he wasn’t around?
“Yes.” I wondered if the redness along his cheeks was solely due to the lingering chill from outside or if embarrassment played a part.
An odd sensation stirred in my gut from looking at him. His hair was the same—albeit a little wet from the melted snow. The way he dressed hadn’t changed, and while his stern expression did shift and twist minutely now, overall, even that remained the same. Yet,somethingabout him was different. Something about me was different too.
“Well,” I started, clearing my throat. “Maybe we can all go back out there again tomorrow.” I tried to sound chipper and not confused, but I feared I might have failed. Sparrow watched me for an uncomfortable amount of time. The firelight danced within his irises, turning the blue iridescent.
“Maybe,” he eventually said, taking a sip from his mug. Hot chocolate coated his top lip when he pulled back. He looked so young right then. I wanted him to stay that way. To sip hot chocolate, eat marshmallows, and laugh and play in the snow.
“You’ve got a little, um…” I pointed to my own top lip. I hated having to mention it, but he would’ve been upset discovering it on his own, knowing he’d sat here the whole time like that.
I gazed around the room, searching for some sign that there had been at least a little bit of love in this house. Maybe a finger painting dated and framed or markings along the wall from where his parents kept track of his growth spurts. There was nothing. Just the crucifix imprint above the mantel—an example of what molding religion into a weapon of evil could do.
“Were your parents ever good to you?” It couldn’t have been all bad. Or at least I didn’t want to believe that.
Sparrow swallowed, his mouth parting slightly, giving way to silence before closing.
“You can say anything to me, Sparrow.” My words were meant to encourage him, but they’d had the opposite effect.
