The Art of Breathing (The Seafare Chronicles 3)

And I’ve done that.

I had big plans. Grandiose ideas. I was going to change the way people think. I was going to alter the future of mankind. I was going to be an astronaut. A rocket scientist. A furniture salesman (because I do love couches so). I was going to run PETA and every human being on the planet was going to convert to vegetarianism. I was going to become an ecoterrorist (the good kind) and thwart the diabolical plans of Big Oil and corrupt CEOs who dumped their wastes into the marshlands that were the home of the rare Bicknell’s Thrush so that these magnificent birds would once again flourish. I was going to do it all.

And who knows. I still might.

But first, I’ve got different plans.

To change the big, you’ve got to start small. Or rather, you just have to start different.

Which is why I’ll be going to school in Oregon to become a social worker. To work with kids to make sure they know they’re not alone. So they know everything is going to be okay. The scared ones. The lost ones. The angry ones. All of them. I’ll start there. One at a time. It’s not going to be easy work. I’ve talked with Georgia Ehrlichman, my former social worker (and Dom’s), many times about it. She tells me that the job makes her cry a lot. That there are times when bad things happen and there is nothing you can do about it. Where kids are put back into situations that aren’t good for them and there’s nothing you can do about it. She says those are the ones that are the hardest. And that it happens more than she cares to think about. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. As a matter of fact, she did everything she could to try to talk me out of it. “It’s a hard life,” she told me over the phone, “for the kids and those trying to help them. You’re underpaid, underappreciated, and see the worst in people on a daily basis. I’ve seen a child whose mother put her cigarettes out on her arms. I’ve seen children who’ve been pimped out by their parents in exchange for drugs. This isn’t easy work, Tyson. It never is.”

“But is it worth it?” I asked her, my voice shaking.

“Every bit of it,” she said. “If you can help one kid, then yes. It’s worth it.”

“Then that’s what I’ll work for.”

She sighed. “And you’ll do great at it.”

And I will.

It’s not fame. It’s not glamor. It’s doing what’s right.

And hell, I have the rest of my life to take over PETA and the rest of the world. I’ve got to start somewhere. Might as well be where I’m needed the most.

Bear wasn’t pleased about this decision, but I think he understands now. I think part of him was just relieved that I’d be coming back home.

Yeah. I’m not moving in with Dominic. At least not yet. We’ll get there. Eventually. We want to get Ben used to the idea of me in his routine again, though Dom seems to think it’ll happen quickly, just like it did before. I’m not going to be his father. He already has one of those. And a mother too. Instead, I’ll be whatever he needs me to be. His friend. His brother. His caretaker. I’ll watch over him as if he were my own. Because he is. He’s a part of me now. Bear said once that family isn’t defined by blood. It’s defined by those who make us whole, who make us who we are.

He’s a smart one, that Bear. Sometimes.

So, you see, I’m not giving anything up. I’m gonna do what I think I’m meant to do surrounded by the people I’m meant to be with. I think it was inevitable. I can stand on my own, and I can carve my own path, but I’m not whole without my family. They’re the ones who have made me who I am and have helped me to see who I’m supposed to be.

Creed and Anna. JJ. Jerry and Alice Thompson. Stephanie and Ian Grant. Stacey. Ben.

Julie McKenna, my mother.

Mrs. Paquinn, my real mother.

Izzie, my sister, who I have not forgotten.

Otter, my almost-father.

Dominic. My love. My life. My future.

But if you were to strip them all away, if you were to reduce this story, my story, to the most single common denominator that there is, what has this been about? What has it been about since you and I met so very long ago?

My brother and me. That’s what this has been about. The whole time.

There are others to our story. Great people and grand loves. They surround us just as surely as we surround them. But it always comes back to Derrick and Tyson McKenna. Bear and the Kid.

He is the reason I can breathe. He is the reason I can stand on my own. Not because he did it for me, but because he taught me how. That’s what brothers do. That’s what he’s done for me. I hope he can say I’ve done the same for him.

Someone once said, “I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three.” Bear told me that a long time ago.

We were scared, once.

We’re not scared anymore.