Chapter 8 - Better than Expected
In the weeks that followed, Shawn didn't exactly fall into a routine at Mr. Feeny's house. But there were things they did most days, or a few days a week.
Shawn did spend a lot of his time away from Feeny's house. He was pretty sure it was the only way he could have survived. He spent at least one meal each day at the Matthews, and he walked Little Cory at least once a day. He went out with Cory a lot of days, and they visited other friends. Shawn was even able to go on dates. Feeny didn't really mind, as long as he was home by dinner—or if he was out for dinner, he had to let him know, and be home by curfew. That wasn't too bad; it was pretty similar to Jon's rules.
But the time Shawn spent with Feeny was a lot better than he'd expected it to be. Shawn worked in the garden with him most days. At the very least, he helped with the watering in the morning and afternoon. He'd never realized there were so many types of plants, all with different purposes and needs. He knew plants used sunlight, but he hadn't really understood how. Feeny had explained it in class a few times, but it was different hearing his explanations while sitting outside by the plants and looking over all of the parts, and being able to ask whatever questions he wanted.
Feeny didn't give him a piano lesson every day, but he did encourage Shawn to practice every day. Shawn didn't really need any encouragement. He liked playing the piano. Within a couple of weeks, he was playing songs with both hands. They were simple songs, and they took a lot of practice, but they sounded good, and it felt amazing to be able to make music on his own. Shawn pretended to resist Feeny showing him classical music, and Shawn did his best to act offended when Feeny pretended to begrudge him and humor him, listening to his tapes. They both had their pride to consider, after all.
They did some cooking together, although not much. Feeny's cooking was okay, but he didn't make anything very interesting. Jon had been a pretty good cook. Some of his recipes were weird, but Shawn definitely had a few favorites, which he requested to make with Feeny. Feeny was all for it until he heard the names of some of the dishes. Shawn didn't know which was better—the look of horror on Feeny's face when he saw Shawn dumping Tang powder into the sauce for the chicken, or the look of shock on his face when he tried it and realized it was pretty good. Shawn wished he'd had a camera.
True to his word, Feeny didn't make him read, but he himself did read. A lot. And he wouldn't let Shawn watch TV if he was using the living room to read, even thought he had the entire house and yard to read in and Shawn could only watch TV in the living room. One evening, Shawn got so bored that he ended up reading one of the books Feeny left on the table. It was a book of poetry. Shawn almost put it back and went to watch TV at Cory's house, but it was kind of late, and he decided one poem wouldn't hurt—it was something to laugh at. Before the week was out, Shawn found himself having long discussions about poetry with Feeny. He couldn't stop himself. He figured it was something he could just deny if anyone ever asked him—but who would ever ask him about that?
Other than Jon, of course. Jon always wanted to know everything that was going on with Shawn. Shawn missed him so bad, it tore him apart, but he made the most of each day, as best as he could.
And every day, he visited Jon and told him all about it.
Well . . . he told him about the good parts, anyway.
What had Shawn expected? Feeny was Feeny. He was a lot nicer to Shawn than he had ever been in the past, and they had a lot more in common than Shawn had ever imagined, but there were still things. Little things, for the most part, though they added up.
For one thing, he was strict about cleaning. Shawn could understand Feeny making sure Shawn cleaned up after Little Cory, but they also had to do dishes after every single meal. There could never be any garbage or clutter on any of the surfaces, and Shawn had to make his bed every single morning. And one time, when Shawn tracked dirt into the house, Feeny actually made him vacuum it up. Shawn wasn't sure Jon ever vacuumed, and he'd almost never told Shawn to make his bed. Sure, they did dishes, and Shawn had to clean his room every now and then, which Shawn had sometimes argued about, but after this, Shawn didn't think he'd ever complain about Jon's rules about chores again.
Shawn was also annoyed at times, though not surprised, that the fancy vocabulary Feeny was always using at school wasn't just a school thing. He did that all the time. It was nice for talking about poetry, and it felt right for piano lessons, but it made it harder to relax at the dinner table and just chat about their day, like Shawn had always been able to do with Jon. Feeny never corrected Shawn's grammar or anything, but Shawn felt like he would.
The worst part, though, was that he took rules to be absolutes, rather than just guidelines. Jon might have given Shawn a stern look and a warning if he came in five minutes after curfew, but at Feeny's Shawn came in five minutes before curfew, and Feeny took it upon himself to lecture Shawn preemptively. Jon didn't care if Shawn lay in bed at night listening to his Walkman to fall asleep, but Feeny would actually come check on Shawn at bedtime to make sure he was going to sleep. And Feeny had additional rules about manners that Jon had never cared about.
Still, it was better than staying at the Matthews. In some ways, it was even a good summer. But with every day that passed, Shawn missed Jon more and more.
Little by little, Jon regained his strength.
Speech came to him more slowly than he wanted. It seemed obvious that walking would be hard-fought, but the words were all in his mind, ready to come pouring out, and his lips simply wouldn't form them. Meanwhile, the physical therapy was excruciating, and with so many separate injuries, it just seemed like it never ended.
Shawn's visits were both the bright spot and the most stressful part of his day. Jon found himself looking forward to the kid's visits all day, but feeling so helpless to do anything about the desperate worry in Shawn's eyes was more painful than any of the physical therapy.
Fortunately, Shawn seemed to be doing really well, for the most part. He was doing all the things Jon would have expected him to do during the summer, and he was also learning to play the piano, to garden, and—most astonishingly to Jon—to appreciate classic poetry. Other than the worry for Jon, Shawn was happy and healthy. He wasn't even just pretending to be; Jon could tell the difference.
About halfway into the summer, though, things took a different turn.
Jon had been making good progress, but he pushed himself too hard, and he ended up with some complications that, according to doctors, would set him back "no more than a month or two in the long run." Jon had already been in the hospital for over a month, so he wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean.
Jon wasn't going to tell Shawn about it, but based on the look on Shawn's face when he came into the hospital room, the doctors had already let him know.
"Hey," Jon said.
Shawn's jaw pulsed, and he looked away.
"Shawn." Jon waited for Shawn to look toward him, but Shawn didn't, so he finally just said, "Gonna be okay."
"How did this happen, Jon? You were doing so well."
Jon couldn't get out all of the words to explain how difficult it was, day in and day out, to balance how hard he pushed himself, so that he would make progress quickly but not overextend himself and wind up getting injured. "Doctor says it happens," he said instead.
"What if you're not home by the end of summer? Am I gonna be living with Feeny during the school year?"
"Hope not."
"I didn't want to spend the whole summer with him."
Jon frowned. "You've been doing well."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to stay there forever. Living with you is so much better. Feeny is so annoying."
Jon knew Shawn was probably just venting. He'd never said anything negative about his time at Feeny's place. Jon knew better than to think there had been no bumps in the road at all, but he also knew that if Feeny had mistreated Shawn, Shawn would never have been the least bit quiet about it. Shawn didn't even keep it from Jon when he thought Jon was being unfair about something. He had vague memories of the last fight they'd had before their accident; he knew there had been yelling on both sides. Admittedly, though, his memories of the days leading up to the accident were hazy.
Even if Shawn was exaggerating now, it was a good opportunity to find out what he'd been keeping to himself. "Annoying how?"
Shawn's voice caught. "He makes me clean my room, like, every day, and make my bed. And he's always talking in that stupid pretentious voice, like he's so much smarter than me."
"Oh." Jon should have known; that was just Feeny.
"Plus he talked my ear off this one time because I cut it close to my curfew."
"You were late?"
"No! I was early!"
Jon sighed. Maybe he should talk to Feeny about that one.
"I just . . . I miss you, Jon. You're so much cooler than him."
Jon chuckled to himself. He remembered when Shawn had said exactly the opposite, talking about how his dad had never had rules or curfews at all. You're not my dad was one of his favorite lines, and Jon had lost track of how many times those words had pierced his heart.
"What's so funny?"
"You thinking I'm cool."
Shawn swallowed. "I always thought that."
"Not always."
Shawn looked away, blinking, but his eyes shone anyway.
Maybe Jon had said too much. He held out his arms. "Hey. Come here."
Shawn wiped his eyes and stepped closer. He bent over the bed to hug Jon, very gently, and Jon did his best to hug back.
