Chapter 9: The Park on a Saturday
We chose Lincoln Park.
A Saturday morning, mid-November, cold enough for hats and gloves but clear.
I told the kids we were meeting someone, that it was the man from the restaurant, that his name was Sebastian and they could call him whatever felt comfortable and they didn't have to call him anything at all if they didn't want to.
Lucas asked if he could call him by his first name.
I said yes.
Ethan asked if he had to shake hands.
I said no.
Sophie asked if she could bring her sketchbook.
I said absolutely.
---
He was waiting at the entrance to the nature boardwalk, hands in his coat pockets, looking out at the water.
He had dressed down — jeans, a dark coat, no tie.
He looked like he had thought carefully about what not to wear.
The kids saw him before he saw us.
Lucas stopped walking.
*That's him.*
*That's him,* I said.
*He's tall,* Ethan said.
*You're going to be tall too,* I said.
*Probably.*
Ethan considered this with visible satisfaction.
Sebastian turned and saw us.
He went very still for a moment.
Then he walked toward us — not quickly, not slowly.
Carefully.
He stopped about four feet away.
*Hi,* he said.
He was looking at all three of them, his gaze moving from face to face with an expression I didn't have a word for.
*I'm Sebastian.*
*I'm Lucas,* Lucas said immediately.
*That's Ethan.
That's Sophie.
She brought her sketchbook.*
*I see that,* Sebastian said.
*Do you draw?*
Sophie held the sketchbook slightly tighter.
*Yes.*
*What do you draw?*
*People mostly,* she said.
*And birds.
And sometimes buildings but buildings are hard.*
*I agree,* he said.
*I've tried.
The angles never come out right.*
Sophie looked at him with new interest.
*You draw?*
*Badly,* he said.
*Very badly.*
*I could show you how,* she said.
*If you want.*
*I would like that very much,* he said.
---
We walked for two hours.
Lucas talked almost the entire time — a continuous stream of information about his current interests, which included deep-sea fish, the rules of a card game he had invented, and a strong opinion about which flavor of oatmeal was objectively the worst.
Sebastian listened to all of it with complete attention.
Ethan was quieter.
He walked beside me for the first half hour, watching Sebastian from a slight distance.
Then, gradually, he drifted closer.
By the time we reached the south end of the boardwalk, he was walking next to Sebastian and pointing out a heron standing motionless in the shallows.
*He's been there the whole time,* Ethan said.
*Waiting,* Sebastian said.
*For fish.*
*Probably.* Sebastian looked at the bird.
*Patient.*
*Herons are very patient,* Ethan said seriously.
*They can stand still for hours.*
*That's impressive.*
*I can't,* Ethan said.
*I tried once.
I lasted four minutes.*
Sebastian looked down at him.
*Four minutes is pretty good.*
Ethan considered this.
*It really is.*
---
Sophie drew him at the end.
We had stopped at a bench and the kids were eating the snacks I had packed, and Sophie had her sketchbook open on her knee.
She worked quickly, the way she always did, not looking up much.
When she finished, she held it out to him.
It was a simple sketch — Sebastian standing at the edge of the boardwalk, looking at the water, hands in his pockets.
She had gotten the posture exactly right.
The slight forward lean.
The stillness.
He looked at it for a long time.
*Sophie,* he said.
*This is remarkable.*
*You can keep it,* she said.
*If you want.*
He looked at her.
*Are you sure?*
She nodded.
He folded it carefully and put it in his coat pocket.
*Thank you,* he said.
*I'm going to frame it.*
Sophie looked pleased in the way she always looked pleased — quietly, privately, like the feeling was hers to keep.
---
On the drive home, the kids were tired and warm and mostly quiet.
Halfway back, Lucas said from the back seat: *He's nice.*
*Yeah,* Ethan said.
*Sophie,* Lucas said, *you gave away your drawing.*
*I know,* Sophie said.
*You never give away your drawings.*
*I know,* she said again.
She was looking out the window.
In the rearview mirror I could see her profile — the small serious face, the lopsided braids she'd slept in again.
*I wanted him to have something of ours,* she said.
*So he wouldn't forget.*
I kept my eyes on the road.
*He won't forget,* I said.
May you like
*I know,* she said.
*But now he has proof.*
