I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
The door opens. Morgan’s gaze dips to the fabric, then to me.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do this.”
Morgan closes the door and crosses the distance. The divide between us disappears. This isn’t about us, about trying to force together two mismatching pieces that won’t work. It’s just me reaching for my best friend because I’m scared, and him reaching back.
Wordlessly, Morgan sits behind me on the bed, and wraps his legs around my crossed legs. He reaches both arms around me and picks up the needle and thread, then perches his chin on my shoulder, and sews the next stitch.
Then I do.
We take turns like this until one side of the makeshift bag is sealed. Then, as wordlessly as he came in, he leaves. I want to call him back, and ask him to stay, but I’m frozen, hand clasped over my mouth, wondering if the pain I feel right now is how he felt every time I abandoned him when he needed me.
I marshal the courage to nestle the ten-pound cannonball weight inside the bag, then take down a photo of Finn that Seb had pinned above his bed. Looking into Finn’s sparkling, innocent eyes pushes me over again.
“I took him from you.” I choke on a sob, rubbing my thumb over his curls. “I’m sorry.”
I place the photo inside the bag, along with one of Seb and me when we were kids, sunburnt and speckled with freckles. Then, with a lump in my throat and numb resignation, I head down to the deck.
Wes adds a bottle of home-distilled gin to the bag.
“Are you sure Seb needs that?” Lawrence asks. “He wasn’t really a big drinker.”
“Lawrence,” Javi hisses, yanking him back by the hood of hisBriarAnterossweater.
“It’s okay, I brought some for us.” Wes opens his jacket and pulls out a matching bottle. “But just one sip for each of you. You can barely run the ship when you’re sober.”
“Rude,” Lawrence says.
Morgan places a baseball in the bag, avoiding my gaze. Was that the one we played catch with on Finn’s birthday?
“Just a sec.” Morgan lifts the backpack at his feet. “Finn has a few things.”
He unzips the bag and pulls out Finn’s mittens, a battered copy of the same seahorse bedtime story Finn’s loved for years, and an envelope withDADDYwritten in Finn’s blocky scrawl. Morgan or Shay must have helped him write it. The bag was already heavy, but the emotional weight of Finn’s offerings make it painful to carry.
“Last one.” From his jacket pocket, Morgan produces a black and red model boat no larger than his palm, exactly as Finn described on one of our calls.
“Wait, is that theBriar?” Wes asks.
“Yeah. I made it with Finn.” Morgan passes it to Wes, and the others each take a turn like they’re all blessing the boat before her maiden voyage.
“This is incredible,” Javi says.
“It came out alright,” Morgan says with a pleased smile.
Lawrence jabs Morgan with an elbow. “You know it’s way better than alright.” He brings the boat up to his eye like he’s trying to look inside the wheelhouse windows.
“Finn wanted Seb to have his home away from home, even after theBriarreturns to Seattle.”
Lawrence passes the boat to me.
“It’s perfect,” I say and carefully lower it into the bag.
My fingers are steady this time as I pick up the needle and thread. I can do this without Morgan. The others say a few words about Seb while I sew each stitch. Wes delivers a moving eulogy,probably because the poor man has had so much practice. Alejo thanks Seb for offering him a job and changing his life, then bursts into tears. Lawrence talks about how he’d probably be homeless or dead from an overdose if Seb hadn’t given him a second chance when he relapsed.
I let their words drift away and fade into the sound of the ocean, keeping my distance from their grief before I drown in it. I tie the final knot and sever the thread with my teeth.
Morgan speaks last. Maybe he was waiting for me to finish, but I don’t know where to stand or if he even wants me with him, so I follow his gaze to the ocean.