Everett Scoutfield buried Calix by the sea. He marked the location with a stone and the wooden bear... but I saw none of it. He had given me a "mild" sedative.
The kind that knocked me out until early the next morning. I shifted under my covers and pushed myself up on my elbows, looking around in the dim light of the rising sun.
Echo and Madeline were asleep in another bed across the room, curled into each other so close I imagined they shared the same air. The elder's arms were entwined around the younger's shoulders, embracing her from behind, and I was once again reminded of my mother and Melanin. I had done the same thing with Calix: him curled into my stomach as I held him close.
My hands itched for him, begging to feel his skin again mine again. He had been my baby... in every sense that mattered.
Scout was asleep in a chair beside my bed, his arms crossed and his held tilted at what I imagined to be a painful angle. That would be bothering him later. Somehow, I didn't think he'd care...
I fingered the soft, warm blanket I was covered with, slipping the fabric between my fingers to sooth myself as I listened to the rain pouring down outside. As the lightening struck and thunder roared loudly, I waited for Cal to come running to crawl into bed with me. He would wriggle up close and take up a death-grip on my shirt as though he would never let go.
But there was no patter of little feet. There was no huff of childish breathing in my ear and no tiny fist over my chest. My heart hurt as I thought of Calix, the pressure building until I couldn't hold it back. In a single, sharp motion, I rolled to face the wall and covered my ears, squeezing my eyes shut so that no one would see my tears.
They ran down my face: hot, and frustrated, and full of pain as my shoulders jerked with the forced of my sobs. I ruined everything. I was useless. I couldn't save anyone; I couldn't fix anything. All I could do was stand by as my body strictly refused to die and watch everyone I knew, cared for, and loved fall around me.
At some point, a warm hand found its way into my consciousness: tracing a line up the back of my neck and then back down. It gently stroked my tense back, the thumb running back and forth before moving to my taut shoulder and squeezing gently.
The caring motions were comforting, and I felt the stress drain from my muscles... but the internal pain that was loss remained, and my sobs did not stop. With a quiet murmur, Scout rolled me onto my back and sat down beside me on the bed.
For several minutes, he didn't say anything. He simply watched me, his hand moving as though it had a mind of its own. His smooth fingers traced my forehead, brushed away tears on my cheeks, and stroked my dark hair out of my face. A moment later, his second hand came down on my shoulder and held me down as he leaned over me, concern written over every inch of his features.
Tears were streaming down my face: a fountain that had been stopped up since I was nine.
Was that right?
No, it was eight.
"I'm not supposed to cry." I whispered. "I'm not. I'm just not."
I wasn't sure what I expected him to say, but he only smiled sadly.
"Why not?" he asked calmly. "Why aren't you supposed to cry?"
"Because I'm the strong one!" I sobbed. "I was the strong one before, and I need to keep being that!"
He played gently with my hair, considering his answer before he spoke it aloud.
"I know everything went wrong, Nova..." he began quietly, "but it's not your fault-"
And then I cut him off.
"No! It's not!" I shouted at him, and he shot our sleeping companions a wary look, gesturing for me to be quiet. I ignored him, per my usual. "Why do you care? You hate me! A single year in the same vicinity would have been sufficient to prove that! But you had years!"
He slowly leaned back in his seat, almost casually, but with an expression almost of self-hate. I still went on, my voice rising.
"Years! Years of secrets, and sarcasm, and bullying! And now he's dead, and it's your fault! I mean nothing to you, and you mean less than that to me!"
Scout's hand moved impossibly slow up to his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly, his thumb and index finger finally coming to rest on either side of the bridge of his nose.
"I suppose I deserve all that," he murmured. His hand slipped off his face so that his exhausted eyes could meet mine.
"Yeah, Nova," he admitted, "I was an idiot, and a bully. I antagonized you, and I put you on your guard against me and everyone else..." he removed his hand from my shoulder. "I'm sorry for that..." it came out as a whisper. "I am... and I'll say it a thousand times." I stared at him, my tears giving way to exhausted as I sank back against the pillow, my eyes trained on him and only him. "I had my reasons..." he scoffed out a laugh, "excuses..." he corrected himself. "But they're stupid now... something about not wanting you to suspect me, and not wanting to become attached in case something went wrong. It doesn't matter, anymore..."
He jolted from his chair to pace a small circle, rubbing his face furiously and murmuring something to himself as he seemingly decided what to say. He came to an abrupt halt, staring toward the far side of the room.
"And as to you being the strong one... well..." he turned toward me again, moving forward to sit down on my bed once more. "No one can debate that, Nova. But even 'the strong one' has to break sometime and let someone else be strong for a bit."
There was a moment of silence, filled only by my breathing as we stared at each other.
He was offering a truce... but he was offering so much more than that...
He was offering to care.
I dropped my chin to my chest in a half-reluctant nod, and he breathed out almost in relief. He offered me his hand and I took it, allowing him to sit me up and pull me against his chest in a tight embrace. And then he pulled away and stood up, squeezing my shoulder comfortingly.
"I'll be back in a minute. I found something you might want."
He disappeared around the corner into another room and returned a minute later with a small package. He faltered two steps from my bed and hesitated, staring down at the odd wrapping as though second guessing himself. Finally, he handed it over.
I carefully untied the string and tore the paper away, and then I inhaled sharply as I removed the item inside, handling it as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
Looking a little worse for wear, but still like itself, was my brother's teddy bear.
"But-" I stuttered. "But - but he lost this in the ocean!"
Scout resumed his seat at my bedside and looked at it regretfully.
"I... found it," he said quietly. "I was looking for you all, and I saw it flowing down a stream. I recognized it. Your brother was rarely without it. Pulled out my GPS and traced the river... it lead me within a mile of you..." he paused and then pulled a face that was halfway between a cringe and a grin. "I followed your... screaming... for the remaining distance..."
"Why would you even mention that?" Madeline questioned from across the room.
Scout's head turned fast enough to give him whiplash. He shrugged unhelpfully.
"I dunno…" he admitted. "It seemed important to the story."
She rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, Five. Real important."
She climbed out of bed, being careful not to wake Echo.
"I'm going to make something for breakfast. Try not to make her hate you..." she stretched before adding: "again. I can't tell you how many times I had to hear about 'Scoutfield did this' and 'that jerk, Scoutfield' and 'this is Scoutfield's fault' and-"
"I did not!" I contradicted.
"Not in those words, but that was the gist of it."
Madeline disappeared from the room and Scout's head swivelled back to me.
"Wow. You really did hate me," he stated, impressed.
My face fell, but I wasn't completely sure why I felt bad about it. But Scout didn't require an explanation. He took my hand in both of his and ran his thumb against the top of it, staring down at the point where our palms touched.
"I'm sorry, Child," he said quietly.
And for once, I believed him.