Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

parents almost always chose to intervene surgically. Even when the odds weren’t in their favor, they were willing to try a Hail Mary pass to give their child a chance at life.

“Several of our family members are coming by to visit her later today,” Megan said. “Do you hear that, sweetheart? A whole group of people who love you are on their way. They’ve met you, but they can’t wait for you to meet them.”

He saw it all the time—large interconnected families, hanging on every breath of their newest, youngest, sickest member. They crowded into waiting rooms during surgery. Filled sections of the cafeteria and lobby. They often brought balloons, stuffed animals, cookies.

Those big families always threw his own situation—the fact that he had no one but the Colemans—into perspective.

“Everyone at our church has been praying for Isabella,” Timothy said to Sebastian. “Her story has spread to other churches in Augusta, and we’ve heard that they’re all praying, too.”

“We’ll let them know about the sepsis,” Megan said, her voice cracking. “And they’ll double down on their conversations with God.”

“You’ll put her back on the transplant list as soon as the sepsis is gone, right?” Timothy asked.

“When the sepsis is gone, we’ll reevaluate.” Sebastian excused himself and turned toward the break room.

He never made promises to family members that he couldn’t keep, because his mother had once assured him that she’d recover. He didn’t know if she’d believed that when she’d said it or not. Either way, she’d lied.

She’d died on a Tuesday, while he was at school.

The hospice staff had believed that she had several days left, and his mom had wanted him to continue his routine. So he’d gone to school even though he’d hated school and been nauseous with worry every morning when the old lady neighbor they were staying with walked him to the bus stop wearing her house shoes.

On that Tuesday when he’d returned home from school, he’d knocked on the door of the old lady’s apartment.

A young female voice had called, “Come in.”

He entered and watched two women raise their faces toward him sadly. The old lady was there, but so was the young one with curly brown hair who’d been coming around. They called her his social worker, except he wasn’t really sure what that meant.

His vision jerked to his mom, in her hospital bed. Smooth blankets covered her to her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, and she was too still. Too white.

Terror tightened his stomach.

“Sebastian,” the old lady said, “your mother passed away while napping a few hours ago.”

He couldn’t move or speak.

Your mother passed away.

No.

Your mother passed away.

No!

“I’m so sorry,” the social worker said.

“It was peaceful,” the old lady told him.

His lungs weren’t working, and a terrible buzzing noise filled his head.

“We didn’t know if you’d want to see her before she goes,” the social worker said, “but we wanted to give you that option. It’s totally up to you.”

His mom had died? And he hadn’t been there?

He was going to be sick all over his shoes.

“I want you to know that you’ll be safe and cared for,” the social worker said. “There’s a plan in place. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll take you to a family who lives near here. They have a room ready for you, and they’re very kind people.”

He hated the social worker with the curly brown hair. He’d never be safe, and he’d never be cared for, and he’d never be ready to leave this apartment. This is where his mom was.

His mom. She was his family.

These ladies were strangers.

He’d remained silent the rest of that awful day. They’d let him sit at his mom’s bedside for a long time. He’d stared at her because he’d been too scared to hold a dead person’s hand.

Sebastian forced his thoughts back to the present. In the break room, he downed trail mix and poured himself a mug of coffee. Then he took the mug with him up to the second highest floor of the building.

Occasionally, he needed fresh air to clear his head. It didn’t matter the season. The steamy heat of summer, the freezing wind of winter. He’d investigated every hospital he’d worked at until he’d found at least one space that could offer him quiet and privacy outdoors.

He passed through a rarely used conference room and exited onto a balcony. At the rail, he breathed the damp afternoon air. The coffee was bitter, but it also provided a needed shock to his senses. He took regular sips until he’d drunk half of it.

Checking his phone, he saw that he’d missed a call from Leah. The realization affected him like sunlight. It shoved aside the gray clouds.

He placed a call to her, anticipating the sound of her voice.

“I received a necklace from you today,” she said as soon as she picked up. “Did you hand deliver it?”

“I did, this morning. Before I got called back to the hospital.”

“The necklace is exquisite. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“However, it’s not my birthday.”

“I hope not. I plan to do much better on your birthday.”

“Sebastian!” she said, half laughing, half chiding. “I cannot possibly accept lavish presents given to me for no reason.”

“That wasn’t a lavish present.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that it was.”

“And it was given for a reason.”

“Which is?”

“I like you.”

“That’s not a valid reason.”

“That’s the most valid reason there is.”

“This is too kind. . . .”

“Is there such a thing as too kind?”

“Too generous—”

“Is there such a thing as too generous?”

“I value my independence. If I need a necklace, I will buy a necklace.”

His smile grew. “You’re one of those people, I can tell. The sort who don’t know how to accept a gift. I think you need more practice.”

“And I think you need to return the necklace and invest the money.”

“I view the necklace as an investment. Besides, I’m no fool. I bought you a custom-made necklace that can’t be returned.”

“In an effort to make me feel even more indebted to you so that I say yes to a