"I never would've thought to ask for that," he murmured.
"Yeah, if there's one thing I've learned from my mother, it's how to travel comfortably." I hooked a thumb toward the bungalow. "Can I grab something for you?"
"Unless it's croutons and crystalized ginger, I'm good with whatever you're having."
Inside, I poured myself a glass of water and selected a beer from the assortment in the fridge. I was about to return to the patio when I spotted a paperback book on the table near the entrance. It didn't look like any of the other books tucked into the shelves around the bungalow and it was just sitting there on the edge of the table as if someone had forgotten about it.
With the book tucked under my arm, I walked out to the patio. "Is this yours?" I asked, holding it up.
Sebastian accepted the beer bottle, saying, "Oh. Yeah."
I glanced at the cover. "You're readingThe Chronicles of Narnia? The allegorical fantasy series written for small children?"
He held up a hand. "I can explain."
"I cannot wait to hear this." I settled into the lounge chair beside him. "Please. Don't leave me in suspense."
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing like a highly inconvenienced teenager. "I found a copy ofThe Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobein the ER one night. It was during the time when every day was hell and it just didn't get better. When I didn't leave the hospital for days. The world was terrifying and it wasn't like I could sleep, so I read a book."
"And you'restillreading it?"
"No. I mean, obviously, yes, but I don't like it. I have so many problems with this story. I don't even know where to start with my problems."
I murmured in agreement. "Yeah, that does seem to be a theme with you."
"You're lucky you're so cute," he said with a sidelong grin. "I read the first book and I had to see how it turned out, so I read the other six."
"That is a serious commitment for a story you don't like."
"There's a lot I don't like, but there was a thread running through all the books that just—I don't know. There's something that stuck with me."
"I want to hear about the sticky part."
He flipped through the pages for a minute. "It's about these kids who walked through the back of a closet into a new world. They had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side. Nothing could've prepared them. They're thrown into it. They have to take sides and fight wars—and then they have to go home. They climb out of the closet and go back to their old lives as if nothing had happened. As if they'd been playing in the backyard all that time. They couldn't tell anyone where they'd been or what they'd seen. They couldn't talk about the losses they'd experienced or the ways the war changed everything about them. They had to stare out at the world through eyes that had witnessed all these things and—and act like they were the same kids who'd gone into that closet."
I wrapped both hands around my glass. That hit close to home. "Whoa."
He bobbed his head. "Like I said, there was a lot of material I didn't enjoy, but there was an artery of truth in there. The subtle part about living through a war and coming out of it changed, yet not having anywhere to put all of that change, hooked me hard. I started going back to the books just to press that artery again. I guess that's the choice, right? Cut the oxygen to my brain or keep wondering if I'm crazy."
I didn't have the words to make any of this right. Instead of trying to do that, I set my glass aside, plucked the book and the abandoned journal from him, and tucked myself in beside him on the lounge chair.
"You get it," he murmured, his hand on the back of my head.
I nodded against his chest. "I do."
He was quiet for a minute, then he brushed his lips over my hair. "Thanks."
Chapter26
Sebastian
From the bedthat I was still hoping she'd return to, I watched as Sara buzzed around the bungalow. She wore a fluffy white bathrobe that brushed the floor because she was a little teapot and she had her hair twisted up in a hot pink microfiber towel that she'd brought with her from home.
It was a luxury to watch her prepare for the day. I would've forked over every cent to my name just for the privilege of watching her apply moisturizer to her entire body one more time.
When she switched on the hair dryer, I resigned myself to the fact she wasn't coming back to bed. I wandered around the bungalow in my boxers and read the headlines on my phone while I made myself some coffee and heated water for her tea.
But then an eruption of noise sounded from the bathroom—a crash, a slam, a snarl—and the hot pink towel flew out the door as I approached. I found her with her hands braced on the edge of the long marble vanity, the hair dryer on the floor and a load of makeup spread out before her.
