Chapter 14 Sebastian
“You weren’t trying to take off, were you?” Sebastian asked Doc with a grin as he stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of
the Bean. He offered his hand, and Doc accepted it, responding with a handshake Sebastian had always thought was a perfect
representation of the man himself: firm, forthcoming, but not overbearing.
Also, Sebastian was always surprised by how soft Doc’s hands were. To look at him, you’d expect them to be rough and calloused.
He was the leader of a generation that had worked hard to keep Adelaide Springs a place that earned its laid-back lifestyle
and never took it for granted. He wore boots and Wranglers and looked like he not only belonged in the small rural town but
actually set the tone for its reputation. And he probably did. But in a community that valued working the land and living
a simpler life than most people desired or understood, Doc Atwater was a bit of a Renaissance man.
“Are you kidding?” Doc answered Sebastian’s good-humored chide with one of his own. “Do you think I’d miss an opportunity to see you trying to handle all of this? The circus doesn’t come within a hundred miles of here. We have to get our entertainment where we can.”
Shortly after Sebastian arrived in Adelaide Springs, he’d written a letter to his mother in which he tried to describe some
of the locals. He and his mother shared a love of literature—in fact, he’d only ever started reading fiction, as a teenager,
in order to try to connect with her, and it had worked. His true passion and path in life had been set by the little bit he
had in common with his dad. But the hobby he shared with his mom had brought them closer through the years, while his father
just slipped farther and farther out of reach, no matter how hard he tried to connect.
So, in that letter, he’d found a literary counterpart for all the notable personalities he’d come across in Adelaide Springs.
There were a few classifications he still stood by, even after getting to know them better—Jo Stoddard as Professor McGonagall
and Laila Olivet as Jane Bennet were chief among them—and he’d thought back on that letter many times through the years, amused
and proud of his ability to read people. But it hadn’t taken long to realize he’d only scratched the surface with his first
impression of Doc Atwater.
He’d compared him to Matthew Cuthbert from Anne of Green Gables , and when it came to his kindness and generosity, maybe he hadn’t been too far off. But what Sebastian had initially interpreted
as shyness, Doc had soon revealed to be a belief that unnecessary words could be just as damaging as the wrong ones. What
he’d dismissed as simplemindedness was actually an inspiring mix of humanity and humility.
Doc and Sebastian were, as far as he knew, the two most highly educated people in town.
Truth be told, Sebastian lost that contest, but Doc insisted that since they both held doctorates, it was a tie.
To truly understand how Doc Atwater surpassed him—in practically every way—Sebastian had only to look at the fact that he himself had arrived in Adelaide Springs six years prior compelled to narcissistically make sure everyone knew how smart he was.
No, he hadn’t talked to them about his achievements and awards, and he’d done all he could to conceal anything that would encourage them to rush to YouTube and pull up footage of him reporting from the West Bank.
(In addition to wanting to keep certain aspects of his past private, he also knew that thanks to the town’s antiquated connectivity, that sort of rush would, in Adelaide Springs, literally break the internet.) But he’d undoubtedly been a snot-nosed know-it-all who chimed in on every conversation with a firm belief his opinion was the correct one.
Doc, meanwhile, listened. To everything. To everybody. He’d give his honest thoughts when you asked for them, or if he truly
believed he had something worth saying. But then he didn’t expect anyone to attribute any more weight to his words than anyone
else’s. In spite of that, and probably because of it, everyone in town knew that every word out of Doc’s mouth was worthy
of a little extra attention.
As the handshake ran its course, Doc raised his eyes in Brynn’s direction. “How’s she doin’?”
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and surveyed her as she leaned against the Bronco and chatted with Orly, who was preparing
his equipment. “Fine, I think. Weird.”
“She’s doin’ weird?”
He turned back to Doc and chuckled. “Yeah. That about sums it up.” He took a deep breath and tried to process the events of
the morning. He wasn’t sure how much he was prepared to share with Doc—mostly because he still hadn’t determined what had
been real and what had been an art project, generously funded by the Brynn Cornell / Sunup Foundation for a Better Tomorrow. “The only reunion so far has been with Jo.”
Doc nodded. “I heard. Wasn’t exactly heartwarming, from the sound of it.”
“I don’t think ‘heartwarming’ was expected by anyone. They mostly pulled off ‘cordial.’” A cheeky grin overtook Sebastian’s
face. “I was able to reap one interesting nugget out of their time together.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
He kicked his leg out and rested the heel of his Vans on the cement as he crossed his arms, and then he leaned over and lowered
his voice. “Brynn Cornell’s real name is Brenda ?”
With a chuckle, Doc raised his hand and dismissed any potential juiciness to the story. “Yes, but she never went by Brenda.
Even as a kid. We’ve always called her Brynn.” His eyes and his chin both rose as he thought about what he had just said.
“Well, technically, I guess we called her Bren. As in B-R-E-N .”
Hmm. Well, admittedly it wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun to tease her about being fake and creating an image when she’d
done no more than modify the spelling to make it resemble a real name. Bummer.
“Oh. Well, Jo called her Brenda.”
Doc sharply took in some air through pursed lips. “That wasn’t nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure Elaine, Brynn’s mother, was the only person who ever called her Brenda. Which I’d imagine is why she’s gotten
as far away from it as she has.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Jo knows better.”
Dang it, Doc.
He had a way of making Sebastian feel like a horrible person just by being a really good one.
With a sigh he pulled out his phone and fired off a frantic text to Andi.
Forget what I said. Don’t let anyone call her Brenda. I didn’t know that was a traumatic thing. I was just being a jerk.
A funny jerk, he had thought, but in hindsight... just a jerk.
He looked back up at Doc, who had become completely preoccupied by the shingles hanging above Ken’s insurance agency, but
Sebastian knew he hadn’t missed a thing. Doc never missed a thing.
Sebastian peeked over his left shoulder again and was once again taken aback by what appeared to be actual human emotion on
Brynn’s face. Orly was leaning in, speaking emphatically. And though she was giving Orly her full attention, the way she was
digging her fingers into her arm gave the impression she was having to work pretty hard to stay present.
“There are moments when she reminds me of everything I hate about the life I left behind.” He turned back to face the man
who’d finally lost interest in pretending to show interest in shingles. “And there are moments when she sort of makes me miss
it.”
“Journalism, you mean?”
Yeah, journalism. Mostly journalism.
“I thought she was superficial. And don’t get me wrong—she is. Like, ninety-five percent of the time. But every so often...”
“Every so often, I suspect you get a glimpse of the girl we knew.” Doc cleared his throat gently. “I’m glad to know she’s
still in there somewhere. That’s the girl I was hoping to see today.”
“Well, I’d keep those hopes in check, if I were you. Like I said...”
Doc laughed. “Only five percent. I know.” His eyes softened, and the laugh lines began blending in with the rest of his weathered face.
“Funny. Humans and chimpanzees are identical in their DNA except for . . . what? One percent?” He chuckled.
“One percent is all the humanity it took to create the Mona Lisa and the steam engine. Beethoven’s Ninth and the Declaration of Independence.
Seems to me like there’s been a whole lot of
good to come from a whole lot less than the best five percent of someone.” He nudged Sebastian with his elbow. “Give her best
five percent a chance to grow into more. That’s how it happens. That’s how you bring out the best in people. Not by focusing
on the ninety-five, that’s for sure.”
Doc released a heavy sigh then, and it became clear he was shifting gears from the philosophical to the practical. “Bill’s
preparing to make a bit of a scene.”
“What do you mean?”
“He sent everyone home and decided the council needs a personal apology before Brynn can do any filming around town.”
Sebastian stepped away from the wall enough to get a better look through the window. He’d been so focused on Doc as he approached,
he hadn’t even noticed how empty the Bean was. Bill and Jo sat alone at a table in the back, and Andi’s face was scrunched
up and she appeared to be grumbling to herself as she sorted cream and sugar packets.
“Are you kidding me? He can’t do that. We voted. She has the right to—”
“I know.” Doc nodded and spoke calmly and slowly, no doubt hoping to bring Sebastian’s escalating temper alongside.
“She doesn’t owe us an apology. I mean, maybe she does, but not in any sort of official—”
“I know, Seb. I’m with you. And so is Jo. But you know what a stink Bill can cause—”
“Because we let him!” Sebastian seethed. “She’s going to think we...” He rolled his eyes as he saw it all playing out in
his mind. Great. “She’s going to think I set this up. Set her up.”
Doc shook his head. “Don’t worry about that.”
Sebastian scoffed. “Easy for you to say. She and I haven’t exactly been making progress on our Camp David peace accords as it is.”
As Doc’s eyebrows rose in amusement, Sebastian figured the older man was probably thinking at least one of the same two things
he was at that moment. Either “Camp David peace accords? Why do you always have to be such a dork?” or “Why do you care what
Brynn Cornell thinks?”
Doc was a lot nicer to him than he was to himself, so he was probably just thinking the second thing. They were both excellent
questions, but the dork one would be waiting for him later, as it was always waiting. The caring one probably deserved some attention he didn’t have time to give just then.
“I’ll talk to her,” Doc offered. “Let her know it’s not your fault.”
“Oh, whatever. I mean, only if you want. It’s not that I really care.”
“Of course.”
Sebastian felt like he should backpedal some more, but deep down he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Not when he didn’t have
a clue what he was pedaling away from or toward. Really, he was just spinning his wheels.
“I’ll, um... I guess I’ll go tell her you want to talk to her, then.” He tapped Doc twice on the arm with the side of his
balled-up hand and began walking back to Orly and Brynn.
“Isn’t it funny?” Doc called out, just as Sebastian turned away. “It’s just that tiny little percentage of difference between
us and the monkeys that keeps us from slinging our poop at one another.”
Hard to believe he’d never seen that cross-stitched nugget of wisdom hanging on Maxine’s wall.