Origins - Chapter 1/7
Title: Origins
Gift: Fic and Fic Song
Recipient: afrakaday
Pairing/Characters: Sharon O'Dwyer, Andrea Hobbs, Andrea/Sharon, Andy Flynn and Jackson Raydor as minor supporting characters
Rating: K for all chapters except for Chapter 3, which is MA
Word Count: 42,000 total (divided among 7 Chapters and an Epilogue)
Synopsis: Sharon O'Dwyer and Andrea Hobbs' challenging childhoods prepare them for meeting one another in college. Growing together and apart, they mature and age, up to present day.
Trigger Warning: PTSD and gun violence in Chapter 5
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: This was written for the 3rd Annual Gift Exchange at majorcrimes. Thank you defyingnormalcy for her beta and for shepherding me through the process of writing and posting my first ever fanfic. This gift is primarily a fic, but in the Epilogue, there's a link to an original song that one character writes for the other. afrakaday, based on your requests, this is backstory, AU romantic history, and Andrea/Sharon. Happy holidays and happy new year!
CHAPTER 1
Sharon pulled her coat around her as she left the library and stepped into the first snowfall of the season.
She was smiling to herself, still dwelling in the satisfaction of feeling completely prepared for her Constitutional Law exam. She was one of the few undergraduates enrolled in the course, but she had every intention of competing with the older Law Students who thought of her as either inconsequential or a welcome safety buffer for the class curve.
She thought about arriving early to class in the morning and asking her Professor if the grades would be posted publicly. She wasn't sure which she preferred: the secret knowledge that she'd aced the exam and unseated a smug 1st year Law Student, or, the satisfaction of publicly shocking everyone, despite the target it placed on her back.
Sharon hurried across the quad as the snowfall thickened. She wanted to get back to her dorm room, shower, and get into bed. Since high school, she'd prided herself on successful study habits. Instead of procrastinating, then cramming until the last minute, Sharon studied in a timely manner, which allowed her to stop at a reasonable time and get a full night's sleep.
Already anticipating putting on her snug PJs, Sharon turned the corner without looking up.
"Whoa there," a familiar voice said, as Sharon nearly collided with two young men. "Sharon?"
Sharon looked up into Jack's amused face.
"Hi Jack," she greeted him, flatly. As the only person from her high school who now attended her college, Sharon had gotten used to the unpleasant surprise of occasionally running into Jack Raydor.
"It's good to see you," he smiled, genuinely pleased to see her.
The disinterest on Sharon's face was evident. She was about to say goodbye and continue walking.
"Uh, this is my roommate, Andy," Jack jumped, desperate to detain her a minute longer.
"Hi," Andy stuck out his mittened hand to shake Sharon's. "You must be THE Sharon. I've heard a lot about you."
Sharon managed to lift the left side of her mouth into a half-hearted smile, which came across as a grimace.
"Strange how little we see each other, isn't it?" Jack tried to make small talk.
"Not really," Sharon sighed.
"Ouch," Andy mouthed, looking in Jack's direction. Jack kept staring at Sharon; apparently surprised, and hurt.
"'Goodnight Jack. Nice to meet you Andy," Sharon said cordially, though not warmly, as she carefully sidestepped around the dumbstruck duo.
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Sharon had first noticed Jack when they were in the tenth grade. They were both on the debate team.
She'd joined because she knew, even then, that she wanted to be a lawyer. Debate would be a helpful extracurricular to develop her logic and oratory skills. Plus, she thought she might meet like minded students; she wasn't having much luck making friends among the school's general populace.
Sharon could tell Jack had a decent intellect. He could come up with an argument about a current event, even in the middle of goofing off. The debate coach would call on him, mostly to get him and his friends to stop snickering about an unrelated inside joke, and Jack would instantly conjure an opinion, no matter the topic.
Sharon often found flaws in Jack's opinions, but he seemed to fool most people into thinking his arguments were sound. She suspected a lot of it had to do with his bravado.
To Sharon, the ability to think on your feet, present strong arguments, and gloss over any gaps in logic by projecting confidence, were increasingly attractive traits in a potential debate partner.
Since Freshman year, Sharon's debate partner had been one of the smartest kids in school. Ben was two years older than her. He was a slow, methodical thinker with a fear of public speaking. She respected him and his intelligence, but he'd still be formulating his intricate thoughts on paper when it came time for their rebuttal. If it was his turn to speak, he'd start sweating, well aware he wasn't ready. Sharon would frantically pass him scribbled prompts on notecards, which his shaking hands would often drop.
Meanwhile, Jack's bravado extended to all aspects of his personality. If he wasn't joking with his buddies, he was flirting with any woman in sight.
And, no matter who he was talking to, if Sharon walked by, he'd curtail his conversation and chase after her, asking about her weekend, or sharing about his. Sharon was invariably hurrying to her next class, or mentally crafting a mnemonic device for something she'd learned in the last. For some reason, Jack always made an effort to connect.
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The high school state tournament was Ben's final debate event before graduating. By the end of the night, Sharon was particularly exhausted. She'd carried them to the finals, only to be defeated by a team of true equals. After the awards ceremony, she approached Jack, who'd won first place in one-on-one debate.
"Congratulations, Jack."
"You two Sharon."
Sharon shrugged, truly feeling that second place in the state wasn't worthy of praise.
She stepped towards him, looking him in the eyes. She said, seriously, "I think we'd be great together."
Jack's face flickered with surprise, then settled into a cool nonchalance. "I do too. I've liked you for a long time." He reached out and touched her lightly on the waist.
Sharon startled, leaning away from his touch. "I think we'd be great debate partners," she clarified, "if you'd consider switching to team debate."
"Oh, yeah. Of course. I knew what you meant." Jack ran his fingers over the top of his head and through his hair, not knowing what else to do with a hand that had been so viscerally rejected.
"So is that a yes?" Sharon asked, wanting his brains and bravado on her team, despite the awkwardness in the air.
"Definitely." He smiled wide, holding out his arm for a casual, sideways high five. "You and me."
She smiled, genuinely thrilled. Jack grinned back, lost in her eyes, and high on the feeling that he'd gotten Sharon to smile.
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Their Junior and Senior years of high school, Sharon and Jack saw two regional titles, a state championship, the national semi-finals, and five conversations where Jack asked her out and Sharon said no.
Also, countless times, Sharon put on her running shoes, jogged to the houses of Jack's buddies, and rang the doorbell.
"Hi Mrs. Richardson. Is Jack here?"
"Hi Mr. Chen. Have you seen Jack this evening?"
Parents loved her. Sharon O'Dwyer was always in the school newspaper for one achievement or another. They looked at her with those why-couldn't-you-have-been-our-child eyes. They'd let her in, no questions asked, secretly hoping some of her traits would rub off on their sons. She'd go upstairs and knock on Alex's bedroom door, or she'd head out back to the boys' favorite hangout spot, Matty's garage.
"Hey Shar!" Jack greeted her with the enthusiasm of a disobedient dog who'd forgotten he was in trouble with his master. "Come on in!"
Matty and Alex were less excited to see her. They'd look away, mumble "bummer" or "buzzkill," then turn up the music or start talking amongst themselves, knowing that until Sharon left, often with Jack in tow, it was like someone had just pressed pause on their party.
Jack on the other hand, had a failing memory when it came to Sharon's arrivals. He would light up, as if the party had just walked in the door.
"Shar! I was expecting you!"
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, saved you a seat." He patted the small space next to him on the beanbag chair. "Saved you a beer too." He smiled and threw her a can. She caught it easily, placed it on the nearest flat surface, and crossed her arms.
"Hmm, that's ironic. Because I was expecting you. At practice."
It always took a few exchanges before it hit Jack that Sharon wasn't going to act the way she did in his dreams. When he "awoke" it was embarrassing for him, and everyone watching. That was Matty and Alex's cue to shuffle outside, away from the ensuing argument.
"Hey now, I figured we kicked so much ass last weekend, we might as well take the week off. You always say resting up is important before a tournament."
"I say that meaning we should train and practice and prepare ahead of time, so we can sleep well and eat well immediately beforehand. I do not mean slack off entirely and drink."
"Sharon, Sharon," he pouted. "How about a hug?"
"God, Jack. I am going to dump you."
"Are we dating?" he winked. "I didn't even realize it! Can I get a breakup kiss?"
"I'm dumping you as my debate partner, dummy."
"Shar, I'm sorry. I really am. Can we practice tomorrow? I'll meet you at lunch. And right after school. I promise."
"Bring copies of Newsweek, the Times, and the Wall Street Journal. We're behind on our clippings from last week."
Sharon would turn and leave without saying goodbye. She'd close the door behind her, call goodbye to the parents, and jog home.
Jack would sigh, lean his head against the beanbag chair, and crack another beer, relieved he'd salvaged their relationship for at least another day. It was like he got off on the thrill of being in trouble and getting out of it, over and over again.
Sharon stuck with him because she loved debate, she loved winning, and there weren't other prospects on the team.
Also, the truth was, she was comfortable being the responsible one. After all, that's the role she played in her family. She had a sense that it wasn’t the healthiest way to be, but keeping other people in line made her feel good about herself. It made her feel like she had value.
She soothed herself by vowing that when she got to college, things would be different. She'd find people like her.
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Sharon returned from the law library early, having forgotten her notes. As she stepped into her dorm's common room, she noticed all her roommates were gathered, lounging on the futon and floor pillows, laughing about something. They stopped talking the moment she walked in.
Sharon couldn't help but notice the floorplans for off-campus apartments, spread across the floor. Only Freshmen lived on campus at their college. So, by the end of Freshman year, people paired up or teamed up and found off campus housing. Sharon hadn't given herself time to think about next year; she was focused on her upcoming finals.
Now, what hurt her heart, was the realization that her roommates were planning on moving in together next year, and they'd intentionally excluded her from the equation.
"Sorry, could you hand me…" Sharon gestured toward the end of the futon, without making eye contact. She hoped her throat didn't sound as dry as it felt. One of her roommates obligingly reached for Sharon's notebook. "Thanks." Sharon took the notebook in hand, keeping her face lowered. Tears threatened to cloud her vision as she stepped quickly out of the common room, back into the hallway, and closed the door behind her.
As soon as the door shut, she leaned against the wall for support, pressing her lips together and squeezing shut her eyelids, to keep from bursting into tears.
"Awkward!" she heard one of her roommates say, before the others started squealing in the affirmative.
"Do you think she knew what we were doing?"
"You're asking if brainiac could tell? Uh, of course she could."
Nervous laughter.
"I'm just saying, social smarts don't seem to be her thing. She might not have noticed."
"She probably thought we started a study group without her."
Snickering laughter.
"Ooooo, man. That probably would feel worse to her."
"Nah, I don't think that's her style. I've never seen her study with anyone. Have you?"
There was silence, as everyone in the room presumably shook their heads.
"Think about it. I've never seen her have a conversation longer than a minute with anyone except a Professor."
The room burst into unbidden laughter.
Sharon knew she couldn't soothe herself in her dorm room. Her return would be conspicuous.
Besides, her bunk didn't feel like home. It didn't feel like hers. She was an outsider. An interloper. A temporary, financial aid pity case who didn't belong. She never had.
So she fled to the only place in the world that felt like home.
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Since the age of nine, Sharon had taken refuge in the library.
Sure, she fit the cliche of an isolated child getting lost in the world of books. But Sharon didn't use books to lose herself. She used books to find herself.
Books were where she found courageous characters, historic people, ideas, concepts, and philosophies she related to. When she looked up from her books and observed the kids around her, she often found she didn't relate. How could they be so carefree? As far as she was concerned, the world was a serious place, filled with people who needed help.
And she felt driven to help them.
It wasn't until the eighth grade that Sharon realized her desire to save the world, was a misplaced desire to save her family.
Her third grade year, she'd been cast as the lead in a school play, probably because she was the best reader in class. Her teacher rightly assumed that Sharon would be able to read and memorize her lines, as well as the fifth graders. The night of the performance, she met that expectation, but to her surprise, her parents weren't in the crowd. When it came time for her final monologue of the night, her parents still weren't there. So she stalled. She didn't speak. She wanted to wait and give them one last chance to show up.
Other kids on stage started urging, "talk!" And from the wings, Sharon's teacher whispered the beginning of the line, as if to jog Sharon's memory. But Sharon did remember. She remembered everything. She remembered seeing her mom proudly post the play announcement on the refrigerator door two months ago, then point to it every few days as she asked Sharon how rehearsals were going. She remembered feeling her dad plant a kiss on her forehead as she ate breakfast that very morning. He called, "see you tonight, honey," before walking out the door.
Sharon started delivering her final lines, but her heart wasn't in it. She enunciated her words and projected her voice, just like she'd practiced. But tears clouded her vision.
After the play, as parents hugged children and handed them flowers, Sharon's eyes scanned the auditorium, increasingly frantic. Her teacher approached, holding a scrap of paper, and wearing a sympathetic, knowing expression. "Sharon, I'm going to give you a ride to your parents, okay?"
"Did mom have the baby?" That was the first thing that came to Sharon's mind. She knew her mom was only 6 months pregnant, but last year, when Denny and William were born, they had tried to come too early. Maybe, this baby wanted out even earlier than the twins.
Sharon's teacher shook her head, and smiled faintly, attempting to be assuring. "As far as I know, your mom and the baby are fine. Go on, grab your coat. We'll talk in the car."
Instead of driving Sharon to the two bedroom house where Sharon shared a room with two year old Julian and the one year old twins, Sharon was taken to the hospital, where she found her mother pacing and wringing her hands, in a hallway that smelled of antiseptic.
Sharon's mom ran towards Sharon and gripped her in a hug so tight, Sharon worried the baby in her mom's tummy might get squished.
Sharon's mom told Sharon to sit down, explaining that she was telling her these things because she was a big girl, and everything would be okay.
Dad had collapsed at work. He was brought to the hospital and the doctors discovered he had something called septic shock. Something was blocking his large intestine, which was causing bacteria to leak into his blood. His blood had become toxic, and that's why he'd gone unconscious.
The doctors had started doing emergency surgery, to go in and clear whatever was blocking his colon. Once the doctors looked inside, they discovered the blockage was a tumor.
Sharon had heard of tumors. She'd read a book about a little girl, her age, who had a brain tumor. The little girl never got to turn ten. Sharon bit her bottom lip as her mom kept talking.
Dad was still in surgery. The doctors were removing the tumor. The surgery would take another hour. Then, they'd wait for Dad to wake up. Julian, William, and Denny were with Mrs. Rogoff, the neighbor from church.
Sharon nodded solemnly, her mind full of questions. Although she'd always been inquisitive, for the first time in her life, Sharon forced herself to not ask anything. She was afraid of what she'd find out.
The surgery must have taken much longer than another hour, because by the time Sharon's mom woke her up, saying it was time to go in and see Dad, Sharon rubbed her eyes and read 3:35 on the clock above the nurses' station.
Sharon walked into the beeping, buzzing room, not knowing what to expect. She thought she'd see her dad, laying in a hospital bed, maybe looking like her mom had after her mom had given birth to Julian and the twins. Her mom had looked calm: a mixture of tired and happy. She had also looked satisfied and full of hope. To nine year old Sharon, hospitals were places where miracles happened.
That's why she wasn't prepared for what she saw.
As she approached the bed, she saw a person, but it didn't look like her father. Her father was rosy cheeked and boisterous, with a twinkle in his eye and an open hearted laugh that made everyone else laugh, in return.
This man was pale. His cheeks were sunken, like a ghost's. It was as if he'd lost twenty pounds, overnight. An oxygen machine was hooked up to his mouth; instead of the familiar sounds of his snoring, she heard the sounds of the machine. Sharon approached the bed on tiptoes, turning to her mom and whispering, "I don't want to wake him up."
The moment Sharon spoke, her mom's eyes welled with tears. "He's not asleep honey. He's unconscious. Go ahead and talk to him. We want him to wake up."
In that moment, Sharon felt the full weight of her mother's fear. Sharon's eyes filled with tears too, as she reached for her dad's hand. It was cold. Limp. Unmoving. She gave it a squeeze. She expected it to squeeze back. But it didn't. She knew it was her dad's hand because she recognized the hair on the back of his knuckles; but it didn't feel like her dad's hand. This hand didn't feel alive.
Sharon's mom was on the other side of the bed, holding her dad's other hand, stoking his still-as-death face, saying over and over again, "Richard? Richard? It's me. I'm here. I love you. I love you, honey. Richard, stay with us. Come back to us, Richard."
Sharon started talking too. The words came out garbled, as her sinuses started filling with mucus. "Dad? It's Sharon. I love you. I love you, Dad. Please wake up. Please wake up, Dad."
But Dad didn't wake up. He didn't wake up that night. He didn't wake up the next day. He didn't wake up the following day.
The doctors said they'd removed the tumor successfully. But Sharon's dad was in a coma from the sepsis. Sharon heard the doctors talking to her mom in low voices, just outside the room. They said things like "vegetative state" and "not sure if he lost brain function" and "even if he wakes up, he might not be all there."
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Sharon and her mom stayed at the hospital, falling asleep on one another, taking turns standing by her dad's bed, holding his limp hand and talking to him, just in case he could hear.
The morning of day four, Sharon was holding her dad's hand, reciting all her lines from the play, not knowing what else to talk about. She was saying her line about the pinto pony, when she felt pressure on her hand, and saw her dad's eyelids start pulsing, as if trying to open.
"Dad? Dad?" Sharon started calling, as if her dad was a lost boy, trapped in a dark, faraway tunnel and only Sharon's voice could reach down and pull him out.
His eyelids flew open.
"Dad!" Sharon screamed with excitement.
"Richard? Can you hear me?" Sharon's mom was instantly beside the bed.
His facial muscles started to move, then stopped. Maybe he was trying to smile, but was too tired to complete the gesture.
"Dad, can you hear me?"
His eyelids closed, too heavy to keep open. But Sharon felt him squeeze her hand. "He squeezed yes!" She announced, absolutely certain he had communicated.
It turned out, he had.
And he hadn't lost any brain function.
He had survived: both body and brain. He was in recovery for months as he healed from the surgery, and from the unintended complications of surgery. But he was the same Dad inside. It was just the outside that was different.
He had been a wholesale meat salesman, which meant he had relationships with restaurants, sports stadiums, catering companies: anyone who needed to buy large quantities of meat. He was good with people; people liked him. Over the years, he'd kept his clients and added new ones; his job had been stable because as long as he worked hard and remained his jovial self, he could be successful, and more successful with time. In fact, he had told Sharon that once the new baby was born, they'd move into a bigger house so Sharon could have her own room.
But that was before.
Life changed the night of the play.
After two months, although her dad was at home, he wasn't recovering as quickly as expected. It turned out he'd gotten something called a staph infection, from his time in the hospital. So, back to the hospital he went. And apparently, a staph infection was contagious, so this time, Sharon and her mom and brothers had to stay away. And that's when Sharon's mom had the baby.
Marky was a healthy, normal baby. That's what the nurses said. They tried to tell mom she had a lot to be grateful for. She had another healthy child. But every time they said something like that, about being healthy, her mom broke into tears. Sharon understood why. Dad wasn't healthy. He couldn't be near the new baby. He lived at the other end of the hospital, the sad wing, as Sharon had started calling it in her mind.
Sharon's mom and Marky were able to come home before Sharon's dad. But after a few weeks, Dad came home too. And once his energy was better, he tried to go back to work. But in the five months he'd been off, his company had given his accounts to another salesman. Dad had to start over.
Sharon heard her parents talking about money, late at night, when they thought she wasn't listening. But their bedroom walls were thin; she could hear right into their room. They had bills, lots of bills, from Dad's time in the hospital. Mom said as soon as Marky was done nursing, that she'd go to work too. But she heard them do the math, writing down numbers, adding things up. And they always came to the same conclusion: childcare would cost more than Mom could make, given her education and the kinds of jobs she could get.
"If only Sharon were older," her mom sighed.
"Someday," her dad agreed. "Someday."
Through the walls, Sharon heard them, loud and clear: if she were older, she could either work to make money or fully take care of her brothers, or both. Sharon set her nine year old jaw and got to work on getting older.
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From nine on, Sharon babysat her brothers, helped clean the house, and did everything she possibly could to take burdens off her parents. She mentally drilled herself on spelling words and math problems, even while she burped Marky or stopped the twins from fighting. She'd decided school was incredibly important, because she wanted to go to college, get a good job, and support her family. But in the meantime, she wanted to take care of them in whatever ways she could.
That's why she didn't understand the other kids in her third grade class. They had different dreams, different desires. Hers were primal, basic. She didn't have time to play around. She had work to do.
Her dad's health had returned, but his business hadn't. He said it would just be a matter of time before he'd build up a new, loyal customer base. But it was harder to develop his clientele the second time than it was the first. Part of the problem was that he'd already saturated the local market; the salesman who'd inherited those customers now occupied the space. So, just to get business and keep business, he had to drive farther, spend more money on gas, and spend less time at home.
Even with all his efforts, they lost the house. Her parents couldn't make the mortgage payments; not with the medical bills they were still paying. Sharon heard her dad weep with shame one night, through the still thin wall. They moved into a two bedroom apartment. Julian, William, and Denny slept in the living room, Sharon and little Marky slept in one of the bedrooms, her parents slept in the other. It had always been crowded in the house, but it had felt like home. Now, in the apartment, it just felt like a too small hotel room, a temporary landing place until they got back on their feet. Or at least, that's what they told themselves and one another.
Sharon could never relax in that apartment. She associated it with one thing: hard work. She was always taking care of one problem or another; she had no space to herself. They might not have had expensive things, but what they did have, Sharon kept spotless. She took pride in keeping their apartment hygienic and well organized. It was an impressive feat, considering she had four brothers to train. She set up rules for them: where they took off their shoes and where they hung their clothes. She created chore lists and assignments when they were old enough. But of course, she gave herself the most tasks, the hardest tasks. Her parents let her run the household, since her dad was busy building his business and her mom was busy working at the grocery store.
In those preteen years, the only place Sharon ever relaxed was in the library. While she waited for her brothers to finish study hall so she could walk them home and make them dinner, she'd sit in the library and spend a precious hour, maybe two, actually enjoying herself. She'd get lost in a book and envision herself as someone else. The characters she loved were always responsible and hard working, but their lives were more exciting and their deeds were more noble: they solved mysteries, fought crime, and saved strangers.
When Sharon turned fourteen, she got a job at a local restaurant. She woke up pre-dawn, to do kitchen prep before first period. Then, after debate practice, studying, and helping her brothers with their homework, she'd head back to do dishes after dinner service. She slept five hours a night.
Sharon's high school graduation was the first time her mom and dad had shown up to an event since Sharon could remember. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted to come to her debate tournaments and school award ceremonies; they just hadn't had the time. After she was handed her diploma, shook Principal Weaver's hand, and walked across the stage, her mom accosted her with a hug before Sharon could make it back to her seat. While in her tight embrace, Sharon's mom whispered, "We'll miss you Sharon. You've been my right hand."
Instantly, Sharon felt riddled with guilt. She'd told her parents she was going to college. She'd told them when she started getting acceptance letters and scholarships. And when she'd picked where she was going to start in the fall, she'd told them that too. Now, it was clear, that though her parents had congratulated her on her college plans, it would hurt them when she left. She worried she was making the wrong choice.
That summer, Sharon worked overtime at the restaurant. She gave ninety percent of her paycheck to her family, saving a few dollars for her class registration fee and bus ticket.
The last day of August, her bags were packed. She'd said goodbye to her parents before they each left for work. Now, seven year old Marky clamped onto her foot, as if they were playing the old game where she would try to move her leg with him attached. He'd grown too big for her to be able to lift her foot, but that was exactly his intention this time. He didn't want her to move. He didn't want her to go anywhere. The twins shoved each other, mock-arguing about who got to hug her first. Ten year old Julian hung back, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, watching with sullen, angry eyes. He felt betrayed. His sister, his protector, was abandoning him.
It took all of Sharon's self-cultivated determination to stand by her life plans. She swore to her brothers that she was going to college so she could become a lawyer and support them all. As Sharon dragged her suitcase away from the apartment, toward the city bus stop that would connect her to the Greyhound, Julian glowered, tears in his eyes, caught between mistrust and needing to believe her.
She called her family once a week. Her brothers would fight for the phone and clamor to tell her about the happenings at school or on the playground. Her parents would tell her not to worry and to focus on her studies. They said her dad's business had gotten better, they were "out of the hole" financially, and they were actually putting aside money for a down payment on a house. Secretly, Sharon was hurt that they didn't seem to need her anymore. Taking care of people had become as natural as breathing. She'd spent half her life being a helpful big sister and obedient daughter. Her sense of identity was based on how useful she was to others.
Sharon considered sending money home, so she could feel like she was still contributing. But she found that even with all the financial aid she was getting, she needed her job at the library, just to buy books.
It wasn't surprising that of all the campus jobs, working in the stacks was the one Sharon had wanted. Now, not only did she spend hours studying in the library, she spent hours working in the library. And on that Freshman year night, when Sharon fled from her snickering roommates, her one wish was that she could have slept there, too.
There was something structural, literal, about the safety of a library. It was a public space, like a hospital, but it didn't smell like new chemicals; it smelled like old paper. And instead of a place where stories ended, it was a place where stories began.
"Time to go home," the guard said, finding Sharon in one of her go to spots in the corner of the library.
Sharon nodded, standing up to pack her things. It was time to go home.
But home wasn't her parents' apartment. Home wasn't her dorm room.
She was already as close to home as she'd ever felt.
But the library closed at 8.
CHAPTER 2...
Gift: Fic and Fic Song
Recipient: afrakaday
Pairing/Characters: Sharon O'Dwyer, Andrea Hobbs, Andrea/Sharon, Andy Flynn and Jackson Raydor as minor supporting characters
Rating: K for all chapters except for Chapter 3, which is MA
Word Count: 42,000 total (divided among 7 Chapters and an Epilogue)
Synopsis: Sharon O'Dwyer and Andrea Hobbs' challenging childhoods prepare them for meeting one another in college. Growing together and apart, they mature and age, up to present day.
Trigger Warning: PTSD and gun violence in Chapter 5
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: This was written for the 3rd Annual Gift Exchange at majorcrimes. Thank you defyingnormalcy for her beta and for shepherding me through the process of writing and posting my first ever fanfic. This gift is primarily a fic, but in the Epilogue, there's a link to an original song that one character writes for the other. afrakaday, based on your requests, this is backstory, AU romantic history, and Andrea/Sharon. Happy holidays and happy new year!
CHAPTER 1
Sharon pulled her coat around her as she left the library and stepped into the first snowfall of the season.
She was smiling to herself, still dwelling in the satisfaction of feeling completely prepared for her Constitutional Law exam. She was one of the few undergraduates enrolled in the course, but she had every intention of competing with the older Law Students who thought of her as either inconsequential or a welcome safety buffer for the class curve.
She thought about arriving early to class in the morning and asking her Professor if the grades would be posted publicly. She wasn't sure which she preferred: the secret knowledge that she'd aced the exam and unseated a smug 1st year Law Student, or, the satisfaction of publicly shocking everyone, despite the target it placed on her back.
Sharon hurried across the quad as the snowfall thickened. She wanted to get back to her dorm room, shower, and get into bed. Since high school, she'd prided herself on successful study habits. Instead of procrastinating, then cramming until the last minute, Sharon studied in a timely manner, which allowed her to stop at a reasonable time and get a full night's sleep.
Already anticipating putting on her snug PJs, Sharon turned the corner without looking up.
"Whoa there," a familiar voice said, as Sharon nearly collided with two young men. "Sharon?"
Sharon looked up into Jack's amused face.
"Hi Jack," she greeted him, flatly. As the only person from her high school who now attended her college, Sharon had gotten used to the unpleasant surprise of occasionally running into Jack Raydor.
"It's good to see you," he smiled, genuinely pleased to see her.
The disinterest on Sharon's face was evident. She was about to say goodbye and continue walking.
"Uh, this is my roommate, Andy," Jack jumped, desperate to detain her a minute longer.
"Hi," Andy stuck out his mittened hand to shake Sharon's. "You must be THE Sharon. I've heard a lot about you."
Sharon managed to lift the left side of her mouth into a half-hearted smile, which came across as a grimace.
"Strange how little we see each other, isn't it?" Jack tried to make small talk.
"Not really," Sharon sighed.
"Ouch," Andy mouthed, looking in Jack's direction. Jack kept staring at Sharon; apparently surprised, and hurt.
"'Goodnight Jack. Nice to meet you Andy," Sharon said cordially, though not warmly, as she carefully sidestepped around the dumbstruck duo.
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Sharon had first noticed Jack when they were in the tenth grade. They were both on the debate team.
She'd joined because she knew, even then, that she wanted to be a lawyer. Debate would be a helpful extracurricular to develop her logic and oratory skills. Plus, she thought she might meet like minded students; she wasn't having much luck making friends among the school's general populace.
Sharon could tell Jack had a decent intellect. He could come up with an argument about a current event, even in the middle of goofing off. The debate coach would call on him, mostly to get him and his friends to stop snickering about an unrelated inside joke, and Jack would instantly conjure an opinion, no matter the topic.
Sharon often found flaws in Jack's opinions, but he seemed to fool most people into thinking his arguments were sound. She suspected a lot of it had to do with his bravado.
To Sharon, the ability to think on your feet, present strong arguments, and gloss over any gaps in logic by projecting confidence, were increasingly attractive traits in a potential debate partner.
Since Freshman year, Sharon's debate partner had been one of the smartest kids in school. Ben was two years older than her. He was a slow, methodical thinker with a fear of public speaking. She respected him and his intelligence, but he'd still be formulating his intricate thoughts on paper when it came time for their rebuttal. If it was his turn to speak, he'd start sweating, well aware he wasn't ready. Sharon would frantically pass him scribbled prompts on notecards, which his shaking hands would often drop.
Meanwhile, Jack's bravado extended to all aspects of his personality. If he wasn't joking with his buddies, he was flirting with any woman in sight.
And, no matter who he was talking to, if Sharon walked by, he'd curtail his conversation and chase after her, asking about her weekend, or sharing about his. Sharon was invariably hurrying to her next class, or mentally crafting a mnemonic device for something she'd learned in the last. For some reason, Jack always made an effort to connect.
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The high school state tournament was Ben's final debate event before graduating. By the end of the night, Sharon was particularly exhausted. She'd carried them to the finals, only to be defeated by a team of true equals. After the awards ceremony, she approached Jack, who'd won first place in one-on-one debate.
"Congratulations, Jack."
"You two Sharon."
Sharon shrugged, truly feeling that second place in the state wasn't worthy of praise.
She stepped towards him, looking him in the eyes. She said, seriously, "I think we'd be great together."
Jack's face flickered with surprise, then settled into a cool nonchalance. "I do too. I've liked you for a long time." He reached out and touched her lightly on the waist.
Sharon startled, leaning away from his touch. "I think we'd be great debate partners," she clarified, "if you'd consider switching to team debate."
"Oh, yeah. Of course. I knew what you meant." Jack ran his fingers over the top of his head and through his hair, not knowing what else to do with a hand that had been so viscerally rejected.
"So is that a yes?" Sharon asked, wanting his brains and bravado on her team, despite the awkwardness in the air.
"Definitely." He smiled wide, holding out his arm for a casual, sideways high five. "You and me."
She smiled, genuinely thrilled. Jack grinned back, lost in her eyes, and high on the feeling that he'd gotten Sharon to smile.
✢✢✢✢✢
Their Junior and Senior years of high school, Sharon and Jack saw two regional titles, a state championship, the national semi-finals, and five conversations where Jack asked her out and Sharon said no.
Also, countless times, Sharon put on her running shoes, jogged to the houses of Jack's buddies, and rang the doorbell.
"Hi Mrs. Richardson. Is Jack here?"
"Hi Mr. Chen. Have you seen Jack this evening?"
Parents loved her. Sharon O'Dwyer was always in the school newspaper for one achievement or another. They looked at her with those why-couldn't-you-have-been-our-child eyes. They'd let her in, no questions asked, secretly hoping some of her traits would rub off on their sons. She'd go upstairs and knock on Alex's bedroom door, or she'd head out back to the boys' favorite hangout spot, Matty's garage.
"Hey Shar!" Jack greeted her with the enthusiasm of a disobedient dog who'd forgotten he was in trouble with his master. "Come on in!"
Matty and Alex were less excited to see her. They'd look away, mumble "bummer" or "buzzkill," then turn up the music or start talking amongst themselves, knowing that until Sharon left, often with Jack in tow, it was like someone had just pressed pause on their party.
Jack on the other hand, had a failing memory when it came to Sharon's arrivals. He would light up, as if the party had just walked in the door.
"Shar! I was expecting you!"
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, saved you a seat." He patted the small space next to him on the beanbag chair. "Saved you a beer too." He smiled and threw her a can. She caught it easily, placed it on the nearest flat surface, and crossed her arms.
"Hmm, that's ironic. Because I was expecting you. At practice."
It always took a few exchanges before it hit Jack that Sharon wasn't going to act the way she did in his dreams. When he "awoke" it was embarrassing for him, and everyone watching. That was Matty and Alex's cue to shuffle outside, away from the ensuing argument.
"Hey now, I figured we kicked so much ass last weekend, we might as well take the week off. You always say resting up is important before a tournament."
"I say that meaning we should train and practice and prepare ahead of time, so we can sleep well and eat well immediately beforehand. I do not mean slack off entirely and drink."
"Sharon, Sharon," he pouted. "How about a hug?"
"God, Jack. I am going to dump you."
"Are we dating?" he winked. "I didn't even realize it! Can I get a breakup kiss?"
"I'm dumping you as my debate partner, dummy."
"Shar, I'm sorry. I really am. Can we practice tomorrow? I'll meet you at lunch. And right after school. I promise."
"Bring copies of Newsweek, the Times, and the Wall Street Journal. We're behind on our clippings from last week."
Sharon would turn and leave without saying goodbye. She'd close the door behind her, call goodbye to the parents, and jog home.
Jack would sigh, lean his head against the beanbag chair, and crack another beer, relieved he'd salvaged their relationship for at least another day. It was like he got off on the thrill of being in trouble and getting out of it, over and over again.
Sharon stuck with him because she loved debate, she loved winning, and there weren't other prospects on the team.
Also, the truth was, she was comfortable being the responsible one. After all, that's the role she played in her family. She had a sense that it wasn’t the healthiest way to be, but keeping other people in line made her feel good about herself. It made her feel like she had value.
She soothed herself by vowing that when she got to college, things would be different. She'd find people like her.
✢✢✢✢✢
Sharon returned from the law library early, having forgotten her notes. As she stepped into her dorm's common room, she noticed all her roommates were gathered, lounging on the futon and floor pillows, laughing about something. They stopped talking the moment she walked in.
Sharon couldn't help but notice the floorplans for off-campus apartments, spread across the floor. Only Freshmen lived on campus at their college. So, by the end of Freshman year, people paired up or teamed up and found off campus housing. Sharon hadn't given herself time to think about next year; she was focused on her upcoming finals.
Now, what hurt her heart, was the realization that her roommates were planning on moving in together next year, and they'd intentionally excluded her from the equation.
"Sorry, could you hand me…" Sharon gestured toward the end of the futon, without making eye contact. She hoped her throat didn't sound as dry as it felt. One of her roommates obligingly reached for Sharon's notebook. "Thanks." Sharon took the notebook in hand, keeping her face lowered. Tears threatened to cloud her vision as she stepped quickly out of the common room, back into the hallway, and closed the door behind her.
As soon as the door shut, she leaned against the wall for support, pressing her lips together and squeezing shut her eyelids, to keep from bursting into tears.
"Awkward!" she heard one of her roommates say, before the others started squealing in the affirmative.
"Do you think she knew what we were doing?"
"You're asking if brainiac could tell? Uh, of course she could."
Nervous laughter.
"I'm just saying, social smarts don't seem to be her thing. She might not have noticed."
"She probably thought we started a study group without her."
Snickering laughter.
"Ooooo, man. That probably would feel worse to her."
"Nah, I don't think that's her style. I've never seen her study with anyone. Have you?"
There was silence, as everyone in the room presumably shook their heads.
"Think about it. I've never seen her have a conversation longer than a minute with anyone except a Professor."
The room burst into unbidden laughter.
Sharon knew she couldn't soothe herself in her dorm room. Her return would be conspicuous.
Besides, her bunk didn't feel like home. It didn't feel like hers. She was an outsider. An interloper. A temporary, financial aid pity case who didn't belong. She never had.
So she fled to the only place in the world that felt like home.
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Since the age of nine, Sharon had taken refuge in the library.
Sure, she fit the cliche of an isolated child getting lost in the world of books. But Sharon didn't use books to lose herself. She used books to find herself.
Books were where she found courageous characters, historic people, ideas, concepts, and philosophies she related to. When she looked up from her books and observed the kids around her, she often found she didn't relate. How could they be so carefree? As far as she was concerned, the world was a serious place, filled with people who needed help.
And she felt driven to help them.
It wasn't until the eighth grade that Sharon realized her desire to save the world, was a misplaced desire to save her family.
Her third grade year, she'd been cast as the lead in a school play, probably because she was the best reader in class. Her teacher rightly assumed that Sharon would be able to read and memorize her lines, as well as the fifth graders. The night of the performance, she met that expectation, but to her surprise, her parents weren't in the crowd. When it came time for her final monologue of the night, her parents still weren't there. So she stalled. She didn't speak. She wanted to wait and give them one last chance to show up.
Other kids on stage started urging, "talk!" And from the wings, Sharon's teacher whispered the beginning of the line, as if to jog Sharon's memory. But Sharon did remember. She remembered everything. She remembered seeing her mom proudly post the play announcement on the refrigerator door two months ago, then point to it every few days as she asked Sharon how rehearsals were going. She remembered feeling her dad plant a kiss on her forehead as she ate breakfast that very morning. He called, "see you tonight, honey," before walking out the door.
Sharon started delivering her final lines, but her heart wasn't in it. She enunciated her words and projected her voice, just like she'd practiced. But tears clouded her vision.
After the play, as parents hugged children and handed them flowers, Sharon's eyes scanned the auditorium, increasingly frantic. Her teacher approached, holding a scrap of paper, and wearing a sympathetic, knowing expression. "Sharon, I'm going to give you a ride to your parents, okay?"
"Did mom have the baby?" That was the first thing that came to Sharon's mind. She knew her mom was only 6 months pregnant, but last year, when Denny and William were born, they had tried to come too early. Maybe, this baby wanted out even earlier than the twins.
Sharon's teacher shook her head, and smiled faintly, attempting to be assuring. "As far as I know, your mom and the baby are fine. Go on, grab your coat. We'll talk in the car."
Instead of driving Sharon to the two bedroom house where Sharon shared a room with two year old Julian and the one year old twins, Sharon was taken to the hospital, where she found her mother pacing and wringing her hands, in a hallway that smelled of antiseptic.
Sharon's mom ran towards Sharon and gripped her in a hug so tight, Sharon worried the baby in her mom's tummy might get squished.
Sharon's mom told Sharon to sit down, explaining that she was telling her these things because she was a big girl, and everything would be okay.
Dad had collapsed at work. He was brought to the hospital and the doctors discovered he had something called septic shock. Something was blocking his large intestine, which was causing bacteria to leak into his blood. His blood had become toxic, and that's why he'd gone unconscious.
The doctors had started doing emergency surgery, to go in and clear whatever was blocking his colon. Once the doctors looked inside, they discovered the blockage was a tumor.
Sharon had heard of tumors. She'd read a book about a little girl, her age, who had a brain tumor. The little girl never got to turn ten. Sharon bit her bottom lip as her mom kept talking.
Dad was still in surgery. The doctors were removing the tumor. The surgery would take another hour. Then, they'd wait for Dad to wake up. Julian, William, and Denny were with Mrs. Rogoff, the neighbor from church.
Sharon nodded solemnly, her mind full of questions. Although she'd always been inquisitive, for the first time in her life, Sharon forced herself to not ask anything. She was afraid of what she'd find out.
The surgery must have taken much longer than another hour, because by the time Sharon's mom woke her up, saying it was time to go in and see Dad, Sharon rubbed her eyes and read 3:35 on the clock above the nurses' station.
Sharon walked into the beeping, buzzing room, not knowing what to expect. She thought she'd see her dad, laying in a hospital bed, maybe looking like her mom had after her mom had given birth to Julian and the twins. Her mom had looked calm: a mixture of tired and happy. She had also looked satisfied and full of hope. To nine year old Sharon, hospitals were places where miracles happened.
That's why she wasn't prepared for what she saw.
As she approached the bed, she saw a person, but it didn't look like her father. Her father was rosy cheeked and boisterous, with a twinkle in his eye and an open hearted laugh that made everyone else laugh, in return.
This man was pale. His cheeks were sunken, like a ghost's. It was as if he'd lost twenty pounds, overnight. An oxygen machine was hooked up to his mouth; instead of the familiar sounds of his snoring, she heard the sounds of the machine. Sharon approached the bed on tiptoes, turning to her mom and whispering, "I don't want to wake him up."
The moment Sharon spoke, her mom's eyes welled with tears. "He's not asleep honey. He's unconscious. Go ahead and talk to him. We want him to wake up."
In that moment, Sharon felt the full weight of her mother's fear. Sharon's eyes filled with tears too, as she reached for her dad's hand. It was cold. Limp. Unmoving. She gave it a squeeze. She expected it to squeeze back. But it didn't. She knew it was her dad's hand because she recognized the hair on the back of his knuckles; but it didn't feel like her dad's hand. This hand didn't feel alive.
Sharon's mom was on the other side of the bed, holding her dad's other hand, stoking his still-as-death face, saying over and over again, "Richard? Richard? It's me. I'm here. I love you. I love you, honey. Richard, stay with us. Come back to us, Richard."
Sharon started talking too. The words came out garbled, as her sinuses started filling with mucus. "Dad? It's Sharon. I love you. I love you, Dad. Please wake up. Please wake up, Dad."
But Dad didn't wake up. He didn't wake up that night. He didn't wake up the next day. He didn't wake up the following day.
The doctors said they'd removed the tumor successfully. But Sharon's dad was in a coma from the sepsis. Sharon heard the doctors talking to her mom in low voices, just outside the room. They said things like "vegetative state" and "not sure if he lost brain function" and "even if he wakes up, he might not be all there."
✢✢✢✢✢
Sharon and her mom stayed at the hospital, falling asleep on one another, taking turns standing by her dad's bed, holding his limp hand and talking to him, just in case he could hear.
The morning of day four, Sharon was holding her dad's hand, reciting all her lines from the play, not knowing what else to talk about. She was saying her line about the pinto pony, when she felt pressure on her hand, and saw her dad's eyelids start pulsing, as if trying to open.
"Dad? Dad?" Sharon started calling, as if her dad was a lost boy, trapped in a dark, faraway tunnel and only Sharon's voice could reach down and pull him out.
His eyelids flew open.
"Dad!" Sharon screamed with excitement.
"Richard? Can you hear me?" Sharon's mom was instantly beside the bed.
His facial muscles started to move, then stopped. Maybe he was trying to smile, but was too tired to complete the gesture.
"Dad, can you hear me?"
His eyelids closed, too heavy to keep open. But Sharon felt him squeeze her hand. "He squeezed yes!" She announced, absolutely certain he had communicated.
It turned out, he had.
And he hadn't lost any brain function.
He had survived: both body and brain. He was in recovery for months as he healed from the surgery, and from the unintended complications of surgery. But he was the same Dad inside. It was just the outside that was different.
He had been a wholesale meat salesman, which meant he had relationships with restaurants, sports stadiums, catering companies: anyone who needed to buy large quantities of meat. He was good with people; people liked him. Over the years, he'd kept his clients and added new ones; his job had been stable because as long as he worked hard and remained his jovial self, he could be successful, and more successful with time. In fact, he had told Sharon that once the new baby was born, they'd move into a bigger house so Sharon could have her own room.
But that was before.
Life changed the night of the play.
After two months, although her dad was at home, he wasn't recovering as quickly as expected. It turned out he'd gotten something called a staph infection, from his time in the hospital. So, back to the hospital he went. And apparently, a staph infection was contagious, so this time, Sharon and her mom and brothers had to stay away. And that's when Sharon's mom had the baby.
Marky was a healthy, normal baby. That's what the nurses said. They tried to tell mom she had a lot to be grateful for. She had another healthy child. But every time they said something like that, about being healthy, her mom broke into tears. Sharon understood why. Dad wasn't healthy. He couldn't be near the new baby. He lived at the other end of the hospital, the sad wing, as Sharon had started calling it in her mind.
Sharon's mom and Marky were able to come home before Sharon's dad. But after a few weeks, Dad came home too. And once his energy was better, he tried to go back to work. But in the five months he'd been off, his company had given his accounts to another salesman. Dad had to start over.
Sharon heard her parents talking about money, late at night, when they thought she wasn't listening. But their bedroom walls were thin; she could hear right into their room. They had bills, lots of bills, from Dad's time in the hospital. Mom said as soon as Marky was done nursing, that she'd go to work too. But she heard them do the math, writing down numbers, adding things up. And they always came to the same conclusion: childcare would cost more than Mom could make, given her education and the kinds of jobs she could get.
"If only Sharon were older," her mom sighed.
"Someday," her dad agreed. "Someday."
Through the walls, Sharon heard them, loud and clear: if she were older, she could either work to make money or fully take care of her brothers, or both. Sharon set her nine year old jaw and got to work on getting older.
✢✢✢✢✢
From nine on, Sharon babysat her brothers, helped clean the house, and did everything she possibly could to take burdens off her parents. She mentally drilled herself on spelling words and math problems, even while she burped Marky or stopped the twins from fighting. She'd decided school was incredibly important, because she wanted to go to college, get a good job, and support her family. But in the meantime, she wanted to take care of them in whatever ways she could.
That's why she didn't understand the other kids in her third grade class. They had different dreams, different desires. Hers were primal, basic. She didn't have time to play around. She had work to do.
Her dad's health had returned, but his business hadn't. He said it would just be a matter of time before he'd build up a new, loyal customer base. But it was harder to develop his clientele the second time than it was the first. Part of the problem was that he'd already saturated the local market; the salesman who'd inherited those customers now occupied the space. So, just to get business and keep business, he had to drive farther, spend more money on gas, and spend less time at home.
Even with all his efforts, they lost the house. Her parents couldn't make the mortgage payments; not with the medical bills they were still paying. Sharon heard her dad weep with shame one night, through the still thin wall. They moved into a two bedroom apartment. Julian, William, and Denny slept in the living room, Sharon and little Marky slept in one of the bedrooms, her parents slept in the other. It had always been crowded in the house, but it had felt like home. Now, in the apartment, it just felt like a too small hotel room, a temporary landing place until they got back on their feet. Or at least, that's what they told themselves and one another.
Sharon could never relax in that apartment. She associated it with one thing: hard work. She was always taking care of one problem or another; she had no space to herself. They might not have had expensive things, but what they did have, Sharon kept spotless. She took pride in keeping their apartment hygienic and well organized. It was an impressive feat, considering she had four brothers to train. She set up rules for them: where they took off their shoes and where they hung their clothes. She created chore lists and assignments when they were old enough. But of course, she gave herself the most tasks, the hardest tasks. Her parents let her run the household, since her dad was busy building his business and her mom was busy working at the grocery store.
In those preteen years, the only place Sharon ever relaxed was in the library. While she waited for her brothers to finish study hall so she could walk them home and make them dinner, she'd sit in the library and spend a precious hour, maybe two, actually enjoying herself. She'd get lost in a book and envision herself as someone else. The characters she loved were always responsible and hard working, but their lives were more exciting and their deeds were more noble: they solved mysteries, fought crime, and saved strangers.
When Sharon turned fourteen, she got a job at a local restaurant. She woke up pre-dawn, to do kitchen prep before first period. Then, after debate practice, studying, and helping her brothers with their homework, she'd head back to do dishes after dinner service. She slept five hours a night.
Sharon's high school graduation was the first time her mom and dad had shown up to an event since Sharon could remember. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted to come to her debate tournaments and school award ceremonies; they just hadn't had the time. After she was handed her diploma, shook Principal Weaver's hand, and walked across the stage, her mom accosted her with a hug before Sharon could make it back to her seat. While in her tight embrace, Sharon's mom whispered, "We'll miss you Sharon. You've been my right hand."
Instantly, Sharon felt riddled with guilt. She'd told her parents she was going to college. She'd told them when she started getting acceptance letters and scholarships. And when she'd picked where she was going to start in the fall, she'd told them that too. Now, it was clear, that though her parents had congratulated her on her college plans, it would hurt them when she left. She worried she was making the wrong choice.
That summer, Sharon worked overtime at the restaurant. She gave ninety percent of her paycheck to her family, saving a few dollars for her class registration fee and bus ticket.
The last day of August, her bags were packed. She'd said goodbye to her parents before they each left for work. Now, seven year old Marky clamped onto her foot, as if they were playing the old game where she would try to move her leg with him attached. He'd grown too big for her to be able to lift her foot, but that was exactly his intention this time. He didn't want her to move. He didn't want her to go anywhere. The twins shoved each other, mock-arguing about who got to hug her first. Ten year old Julian hung back, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, watching with sullen, angry eyes. He felt betrayed. His sister, his protector, was abandoning him.
It took all of Sharon's self-cultivated determination to stand by her life plans. She swore to her brothers that she was going to college so she could become a lawyer and support them all. As Sharon dragged her suitcase away from the apartment, toward the city bus stop that would connect her to the Greyhound, Julian glowered, tears in his eyes, caught between mistrust and needing to believe her.
She called her family once a week. Her brothers would fight for the phone and clamor to tell her about the happenings at school or on the playground. Her parents would tell her not to worry and to focus on her studies. They said her dad's business had gotten better, they were "out of the hole" financially, and they were actually putting aside money for a down payment on a house. Secretly, Sharon was hurt that they didn't seem to need her anymore. Taking care of people had become as natural as breathing. She'd spent half her life being a helpful big sister and obedient daughter. Her sense of identity was based on how useful she was to others.
Sharon considered sending money home, so she could feel like she was still contributing. But she found that even with all the financial aid she was getting, she needed her job at the library, just to buy books.
It wasn't surprising that of all the campus jobs, working in the stacks was the one Sharon had wanted. Now, not only did she spend hours studying in the library, she spent hours working in the library. And on that Freshman year night, when Sharon fled from her snickering roommates, her one wish was that she could have slept there, too.
There was something structural, literal, about the safety of a library. It was a public space, like a hospital, but it didn't smell like new chemicals; it smelled like old paper. And instead of a place where stories ended, it was a place where stories began.
"Time to go home," the guard said, finding Sharon in one of her go to spots in the corner of the library.
Sharon nodded, standing up to pack her things. It was time to go home.
But home wasn't her parents' apartment. Home wasn't her dorm room.
She was already as close to home as she'd ever felt.
But the library closed at 8.
CHAPTER 2...