Page 48 of String Boys
“He needs to hear good things,” Linda said softly. “Make him happy, okay?”
Seth nodded and tried hard to pull himself from that place in his head. Kelly needed him.
“Ouch,” he muttered, because who wouldn’t? Kelly had a brace around his throat, and his left eye was brick red, the flesh around it puffy and swollen. Various tubes were coming from his arm, and one from under the covers.
“You think?” Kelly mouthed.
“I think your mom’s not gonna let you leave the house for a year,” Seth said, pulling a chair up next to the bed.
“No more Soccer Wednesday, anyway,” Kelly sighed.
“Well, yeah, but in the fall—”
Kelly frowned. “You’re going.”
Seth frowned back. “You want me to leave?”
“To Bridgford.”
Seth’s stomach cramped. “No.”
“Please—”
“Don’t talk about it,” Seth ordered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stuffed animal, this one an absurdly bright orange. “Here.” He reached over to Kelly’s hand, which was wrapped, but not in a cast, like it had been injured but not broken. “I brought this for you.”
Kelly smiled a little, his eyes watering. “Seth, what he did to me… it hurt. It hurt so bad.”
Seth stood and leaned over the bed then, dropping the rail on the side and kissing his forehead gently. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make that better. All I want is for you to feel better. I’d do anything to fix that, fix that thing he did. But all I can do is wrap my arms around you forever. It’s all I got.”
“I’m afraid,” Kelly whispered. “For me. For you. I’ll be afraid forever. You need to go so I’m not afraid.”
Seth shook his head. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised rashly. “I’ll make sure you never have to be afraid again. I swear. He’ll never touch you. I promise.”
“No—”
But Seth was crying again, and so was Kelly, and they didn’t have words.
It would take them years before they found words again.
This moment right here, Seth holding Kelly’s hand around the little comfort object, them rubbing their salty cheeks together, crying, would be one big howl in their chests for long goddamned years.
SETH’S DADwas asleep next to little Agnes when they got back, and Seth slipped quietly out of the apartment. They’d stopped for food on the way home, but Seth wasn’t hungry.
He slid in his own front door and went where he always went—to his music stand and his instrument.
He played angry scales, again and again, the rote memorization of the chords guiding his hands, his muscles, his talent—it was all he had.
He finally set the violin down, hands and shoulders shaking, T-shirt drenched in sweat. Before he could ask himself what he was doing, where he was going, he’d slammed the door behind him, forgetting his phone and barely remembering his keys.
He knew where he was going.
Night had barely fallen, a faint river breeze ruffling the beech trees lining the sidewalk as Seth strode into the purpling dark. He wondered where his dad had gone. He’d probably offered to watch Lily and Lulu and help with dinner or something, and Seth was glad.
His dad loved him. Loved Kelly. He thought Seth was a good boy. Seth didn’t have the heart to tell his dad that he had inherited the same violence in his heart that his father had. Craig Arnold had worked so hard to protect Seth from that in the past years.
It wasn’t Craig’s fault it was roaring through Seth’s soul tonight.
The vacant store was still marked by police tape, but as Seth moved through the night, he knew he wouldn’t find Castor there.
