Ben laughed.
“You’re the one who asked me about my career,” Sebastian pointed out to Natasha.
“That’s because I’m trying to be a loyal friend,” Natasha said. “Which is sometimes hard where you’re concerned, Sebastian.”
“Very hard,” Genevieve echoed.
“In response to your latest promotion, I mostly want to pelt you with onion.” Natasha flicked a square of onion at Sebastian.
He caught it adroitly and for a split second, Genevieve saw a shadow of the boy he’d once been in his face. Almost immediately, he threw it back at Natasha, who squealed and dodged. The bit of onion plunked harmlessly against the backsplash.
They filled their bowls with chili and took seats around Natasha’s dining room table. Her sister had taken a page out of Mom’s book and crafted a fall centerpiece complete with pumpkins, vines, and votive candles.
“Tell them about that surgical procedure you did on that three-month-old baby,” encouraged Ben, ever Sebastian’s biggest fan.
Sebastian used words likecardiopulmonaryandaortic repair. It sounded wildly impressive because it was. That said, Genevieve had no earthly idea what he was talking about. She could tell that Natasha had no idea, either.
Their close-knit foursome divided evenly into two more closely knit groups of two. She and Natasha, sisters, sat on one side ofthe table. Sebastian and Ben, brothers in all but name, on the other side.
When they’d returned home from their disastrous trip to El Salvador, the Colemans had pulled Sebastian into the solar system of their family. Sebastian had resisted, but Ben’s outspoken, sassy, sweet, strict mother had overruled Sebastian’s objections. So had Ben’s sentimental rock of a father and noisy siblings. So had food. The Colemans loved to eat, and much of their family’s life revolved around talking about their next meal, making the meal, eating the meal, and cleaning up the meal.
The Colemans, an African-American family living in mostly Caucasian Misty River, were in the minority. So was a foster kid surrounded by kids who had permanent parents. With the Colemans, Sebastian had found the first family he’d known since the age of eight, when his mom had died.
Before El Salvador, Sebastian’s attitude toward school had been apathetic. He’d done the least amount possible to get by.
After El Salvador, Mrs. Coleman whipped him into shape. He’d tackled high school with unswerving ferocity, graduating in just two years.
Huh?the rest of them had often said to one another as they’d watched him climb toward what had seemed like impossible goals.He’s doing what?
He’d gone on to graduate from college in two years and medical school in three.Huh?
He’d become a pediatric heart surgeon at age thirty, a feat most doctors couldn’t hope to accomplish before thirty-five.Huh?
His focus was legendary. His ambition, boundless.
Whenever people tried to call Sebastian a child prodigy, he corrected them. He didn’t think God had gifted him with an extraordinary amount of skill or knowledge when young. He’d had a good brain, an excellent brain. But then, a huge number of young people with excellent brains didn’t become pediatric heart surgeons atthe age of thirty. Sebastian believed he’d achieved what he had not because of any particular inborn gift but because of simple, old-fashioned hard work.
Privately, Genevievedidconsider him to be a prodigy. A prodigy of determination.
If Sebastian was a windstorm, Ben was a ray of light. Optimistic, patient, calm. He was the one who’d set up the cot, sheets, blanket, and pillow every time Sebastian had spent the night in his room. He was the one who’d informed his parents that Sebastian needed to come with him to church on Sundays, church camp in the summer, and on family vacations.
During Sebastian’s two years of high school, Ben had been his closest ally. Ben was a strong athlete who’d played college baseball. Even so, Ben had convinced Sebastian that his choice to focus solely on academics was the right one. He’d brought Sebastian’s homework to him whenever Sebastian had been sick and made sure that Sebastian had a ride to and from school and study groups.
Genevieve dipped her spoon into her chili and scooped up a perfect bite that offered just the right amount of cheese, Fritos, onion, and jalapeño. The chili contained lots of deep, rich-flavored beef, but not a single bean, just the way Genevieve liked it. Since dinner two nights ago at Sam’s, she’d been trying to eat slower and spend time tasting her food. This dish probably wouldn’t be healthy enough for Sam. She’d have to ask him if he ever made Paleo chili—
For Pete’s sake! Why was it so difficult to get him out of her mind and focus on something—anything—else? Forty-eight hours had passed since their kiss, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
“What’s been going on with you guys?” Ben asked.
This was her chance to tell them about her Oxy problem. But guilt kept the words stuck in her throat. “Nothing much.I’m living in the cottage out at Sugar Maple Farm, which I’m enjoying. I’m spending most of my time working on my next Bible study.”
“Sam Turner runs that farm, right?” Ben asked.
“Right.”
“And owns Sugar Maple Kitchen?”
“Yes.”
