Chapter 7
Sebastian
Jackson had been staying with me for a couple of weeks already and he was healing up nicely.
I was sitting in my study listening to Claude Debussy when a knock came at the door.
Standing, I turned down the record player behind me and walked over to the door, opening it to find Jackson standing in front of me.
“Mr. um…I mean…Sebastian.” He stuttered.
He still wasn’t used to it and would start to call me Mr. Moore from time to time, but a flustered Jackson was very cute.
Jackson’s calming presence in my home was somewhat unexpected but as he got better and moved about the house more, it was great having someone else there to keep me company.
“What can I do for you, Jackson?” I asked, with my hands in my pockets. Rocking back on my heels, I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Din…dinner is ready. But you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. I made spaghetti. I don’t even know if you like spaghetti, but you had all the ingredients, and it sounded really good so that’s what I made. But I understand if you’re busy. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
“Jackson!” I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but he kept rambling. He closed his mouth and looked down at the ground. I beamed a grin at him and said, “It sounds delicious! Thanks for cooking! How’re you feeling?”
His head snapped up and what I thought was a smile started to form. “I’m good. Still a little sore in my ribs, but not bad.”
Jackson looked back down at the ground, so I reached up on instinct, “Let me see your face.” When I touched his chin, a moment passed between us.
A connection. I could tell that he felt it too, because he looked at me with a sense of longing.
Feeling a little embarrassed, I withdrew my hand.
“Your face is healing up nicely. How’s your jaw feel? ”
He smiled and grabbed his stubbled jaw. “Not bad. I can eat now without it hurting.” Jackson’s brown hair shaved in a curly high-top fade.
You could see it was growing in from whatever cut he had last. He was just short of my five-foot nine, and not super built or anything, but you could tell that he took care of himself and worked out.
A black button-up shirt, with the buttons open down to the collar, revealed a bit of his chest. The shirt wasn’t tucked, but hung down around his waist, barely over the top of his jeans. He looked good.
As I walked away, I said, “Good.” I grabbed my sweater from the chair and said, “I’ll join you for dinner.”
“You will? Great!” He smiled. Jackson the sunflower. Always smiling so big even when he was hurt and healing.
I motioned for the door. “After you, Jackson.” As we left my office, I pulled the door closed and followed him to the kitchen. I had a formal dining room but a small table and chairs in the kitchen, too. That was the table he had set for two.
The first week Jackson stayed with me, he was focusing on healing, so he slept, ate, drank plenty of water and rested.
The second week, he was up and moving about the house.
It was nice to see him doing better. I hadn’t thought past him getting better, but it was something we needed to talk about.
He couldn’t very well go back to the shelter, and I didn’t want him to.
From the sound of it, the money that was taken was all he had.
I hadn’t asked him about that since that first day when he realized it was gone.
Jackson served dinner and asked, “Do you usually drink wine or anything with your dinner, Sebastian?”
I nodded at him. “I do, but whatever you serve will be fine. I know you can’t drink right now so whatever you were going to drink is fine with me.
” He smiled and brought over two glasses of water that he had already prepared.
“Thank you. This looks incredible, Jackson. You didn’t have to do this, but it’s much appreciated. ”
“I love cooking. I haven’t gotten to do it in so long since…” His words trailed off as he looked down at his plate. He hadn’t gotten to cook since he lived at the shelter, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
We ate dinner and talked about random things. He asked how things were going at the office and mentioned how he was missing his role and looked forward to getting back. Finally, I decided to broach the topic of his living situation. “Tell me, Jackson. What are you going to do when you leave here?”
His fork scratched the plate, and he paused. I caught him off guard. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m sorry. I should’ve updated you on when I’d be leaving.”
“That’s not what I said, Jackson. I’m not telling you to leave. I’m just asking what you will do whenever you do leave here?”
Jackson set his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll do what I’ve always done, Sebastian. I’ll go to work each day, sleep each night, and keep working toward what I want.”
He was being vague. “And what’s that? What do you want?”
Jackson cleared his throat. “My independence. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I turned eighteen and was kicked out of the system.”
He was in foster care. “How old are you?”
He crossed his arms across his chest. “Twenty-four.”
“So, you’ve been living in a shelter for six years?”
“More or less. If I made it back there in time, I would always have a bed. The men’s shelter has a nine o’clock curfew. They’re strict about it. In the winter, they drop the curfew to seven o’clock.”
I wanted to know everything. “Have you ever missed curfew?”
He nodded. “A few times if I had to work late. By the time I returned to the office, I would have to catch the bus, which takes time. There have been times when I didn’t make it back in time.”
My stomach dropped. There were times he didn’t have a place to sleep because of me, because of the job. That was unacceptable and it made me sick. “Jackson, I’m sorry. Where did you sleep when you missed curfew?”
“Ya know, none of this really matters. It’s fine. I’ve survived my whole life.” He fidgeted with the napkin in front of him.
I cleared my throat and leaned into the table. “It matters, Jackson. Where would you sleep if you missed curfew?”
Jackson stood up. “I’m going to clear the table. This was a pretty good meal.”
Standing, I grabbed my own plate, took it to the sink and then went back to the table to grab my water. “Jackson…”
“Sebastian, we don’t have to do this. Everything is fine.”
“Things are not fine, Jackson. You got your ass beat in an alley. Had I not been there, we may be having a totally different conversation, or not one at all. Where would you sleep if you missed curfew?”
Jackson set his plate in the sink and then turned around, leaning against the counter.
Without making eye contact, he said, “When I missed curfew, I would sleep in the bus depot or under a bridge where I knew I had a better chance of being safe. Usually, it was the bus depot though because that was inside, and no one knew any better. I could’ve been waiting on the greyhound to go somewhere. People sleep there all the time.”
My insides were raging. His safety was put at risk multiple times because we were careless at work.
We knew nothing about his life. While it didn’t happen often, there were times we kept our employees late and it was hitting me that we did this without a second thought of how they were getting home or in Jackson’s case, to where he was sleeping.
I would hardly call that place home. Look at what happened to him.
Again, I cleared my throat before speaking, trying to suppress my anger.
“Jackson, I’m sorry that we’ve been careless at work and didn’t take into a consideration the needs of our employees to get home.
I can assure you that we will be more mindful in the future. ”
“It’s ok, Sebastian. Things happen. People have to work late. It is what it...”
I cut him off. “No. Hear me when I tell you that we will not be so careless. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. I know you’ll need time to figure out your next steps.”
“You’ve helped me enough, Sebastian. This has been more than anyone has ever done for me. I will be…”
Cutting him off again, I held up my hand.
“Take all the time you need and not a moment before. I don’t care how long it takes.
When you do leave here, I want it to be somewhere safe, not back to the men’s shelter.
Take the time you need. My home is your home.
” I enunciated each word of that last sentence, so he understood how serious I was.
“I’m going to bed. Leave the dishes. I’ll take care of them tomorrow. Get some rest.”
Jackson nodded in agreement, so I left the kitchen and went to my room. I was incredibly frustrated with myself and disappointed in Ian, too. I called him once I was sitting on my bed.
“Bash, what’s up?” Ian said in his usual cheerful tone.
I couldn’t bring myself to match him. “Ian, I want us to be mindful of what time our employees leave the office each night. I don’t want anyone to leave alone if they need to work late and don’t feel safe.
If it’s because they had to travel to pick up an item, they’re not to do it alone and we’re going to make sure they’re getting home safely. ”
His tone dropped a level. “What happened, man? How’s Jackson doing? Is he still staying with you? When’s he coming back to work?”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “He’s still here. He’s doing a lot better. I’ll let him decide when he’s well enough to return, but I don’t see it being too long before he’s back. Can you work with human resources tomorrow and make sure we get something in the employee handbook about working late?”
He agreed. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll take care of it.”
I hesitated but finally asked, “Ian, how much do you know about Jackson?”
He let out a breath, “Um, not really anything. He’s a good kid. He’s quiet and he’s insanely dependable. He’s one of our best employees.”
My head dropped and I looked at the floor.
Exactly as I thought. We knew nothing about the people who worked for us.
I was incredibly disappointed in us for our lack of care.
Most of the time, I didn’t speak to anyone.
I let Ian run the show. I kept to myself, and no one really knew anything about me, but I liked it that way.
Unfortunately, it had made me really detached from everyone.
The whole experience with Jackson was an eye opener.
Things needed to change. I was too hands off and Ian was too oblivious.
I said, “Alright. Look, I’m heading to bed.
I’ll catch up with you tomorrow morning. ”
“Alright, man. See you tomorrow.”