Page 88 of Sparrow

I’m in love with Mars and Orion.

It doesn’t bring anything but a surge of hope and affection with it, and I put it down for the moment.

It feels too big, too important, to try it on again. But I will.

Later.

“Where are we going?” I ask, looking out across the field. It doesn’t look like anything special, if you discount the hundreds of wildflowers, softly swaying grasses, and forest in the distance. Is this some sort of surprise?

“I told you, I want you to myself,” he says. “And no one’s going to bother us up here.”

Well all right, then.

I get off the bike and follow him into the field, trailing my hands through the grasses until we get to a spot where Mars stops and lays out a blanket he produces from somewhere.

“Lay down,” he says gently.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I lay down on my back and stare up at the sky above us. It’s bright and blue, not yet washed out by the summer sun, and the clouds are so white they hurt my eyes. When Mars lays next to me, he puts his arm out and I put my head on his shoulder and snuggle into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The truth is, it’s hard to remember a time when I couldn’t do this.

Hard to remember a time before him.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“Playing a game.”

“Oh, obviously. What sort of game?”

He tells me about the game Sammy and Cam made up when they were young, and then starts pointing out clouds that could be shapes.

“A rabbit,” he says, pointing at one.

“Absolutely not,” I say quickly. “That’s a horse.”

“Actually, it’s a dragon,” he corrects.

I laugh, and then he starts laughing with me, loud, booming laughter unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. And I realize that Mars is lighter than I’ve ever seen him. The gold of his hair is golder, the blue of his eyes bluer. He’s actually happy.

This is what Mars looks like when he’s safe, and when someone else is there to take care of him.

I turn to him with a smile and press a kiss to his cheek, pleased beyond belief at this realization. I still don’t know what’s going to happen here, but the sky above is blue and the clouds are puffy. Around us, the birds are singing their love songs and butterflies are dancing their way along the wind. It’s beautiful and safe and lovely here, and the problems of the world below us–even the town Mars calls home–feel far away.

“What do you think it will be like next year?” he suddenly asks. “I mean, how long do you think it’ll take us to rebuild the garage?”

Us.

How long will it take us.

“Daniel thinks maybe another week or two,” I say quickly. “Time for the concrete to cure and all that. Certainly not a year.” I pause, then realize that there was a much deeper thought in his question. “And I think next year, spring will come earlier than it did this year. Shall we bet on it?”

It’s not an actual statement. It’s far from a plan. But it’s a code, and I feel the sigh in his chest as he clocks it.

“I’ll bet you a bike that you’re wrong,” he whispers.

“A bike of my very own? But I like riding with you!”

“Oh, I’ll still take you out. But I was thinking you might like one of your own, too. So you can ride with Orion and me when we go on trips.”