Page 169 of Until the Last Star Fades

“Yeah. I bawled the first time I saw her after surgery: part relief, part shock. She was totally out of it. Her cheeks were gray. There were tubes everywhere…”

Riley nodded. “It’s so scary.”

Ben pushed his hair off his forehead. “Mum opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me, though, so I held her hand until she fell back asleep. The next visit was better. She told me to hop onto the bed so we could snuggle while I read to her about planets and stars. That became our thing, me reading to her, even when she left hospital and started chemo treatments. It was me looking after her…for a few hours anyway. I was only allowed to visit twice a week.

“Before Halloween, they let me move back home with her. It was the happiest day of my life. Mum was mine again. We baked and played her old records—it was perfect…and then, it wasn’t. She got sick again…ten months later. I went back to the group home. Mum went…” The words caught in his throat. “Into palliative care. I’d cry into my pillow, scared of that phone call in the middle of the night, I missed her so badly, but Mum never came home again, and neither did I.” His voice trembled with tears.

What does that do to a little kid? “Ben…” Riley pulled him into a tight hug, her tears falling quickly.

“I wasn’t with her when she died.” He wept over her shoulder. “I was in fucking PE class and the headmaster pulled me out and marched me back to his office. I knew. I knew before the social worker said a word. I felt it. I felt like something sharp had ripped my heart open…and all the love and everything good spilled out.”

Riley cradled his head with her hands. “Did you…say goodbye?”

“No. They wouldn’t let me see her.” He pulled back from their embrace and more tears slipped down his cheeks. “The social worker drove me home and said to grab what I needed because I couldn’t live there anymore. She had brought Mum’s suitcase from the hospice—the pink dotty one. I was in shock. I had no clue what to do. I flipped it open and found Mum’s photo album, my stuffed turtle, some clothes. I buried my face in her cardigan and that’s when I lost it. Her scent…brought her back to me.” Letting Riley go, he dug in his pocket and found a tissue. “I couldn’t stop crying. I scooped up the rest of her clothes on the floor and curled up in a ball with them. I don’t know how long I was like that. The social worker came back and told me we had to go. All I could think of was packing as much of Mum’s stuff as possible. I put the clothes in the case and opened her old trunk.” He wiped his nose and took a shuddering breath, his tears slowing their descent. “She hid her ‘wee treasures’ in there. I found the eighties t-shirts, her notebook full of recipes, some jewelry.” He lifted the cuff of his hoodie and his thin leather bracelet slid to his wrist.

“It was hers?” Riley touched it gently. “That’s why you never take it off…”

He nodded, pulling his sleeve down. “There was one other thing that meant the world to her. She’d save it for best…that silver bracelet with a puffin charm…”

Riley’s mouth fell open, her eyes darting to her own wrist. “This?”

“Yeah, Mum brought it back from a school trip in northern Scotland.” Ben fidgeted, ripping apart the tissue in his hand. “You love puffins so much, I wanted you to have him…Mum would’ve, too.”

“Oh, Ben…” Holding the little silver bird between her fingers, Riley felt the knots in her shoulders and chest release.

Trembling in the cold wind, Ben’s sad smile faded. “I ran into my bedroom, grabbed some clothes, and found the last birthday card she gave me, but that’s all I took. The social worker said we had to get going and she’d make sure my books and Mr. C’s telescope were sent on to me…but I never saw them or the flat again. I found out later, social had called my father, hoping to place me there, but he didn’t return their messages…I had no one.”

He was just a kid…with nobody left to love him. A deep ache overwhelmed Riley’s chest.

Ben nudged the grass with his boot. “It was raining…the day of her service. It was in the crematorium, over there. The vicar was kind; he asked me about her. Then he stood up and said some nice words, how she was a ‘great mother to Benjamin Fagan,’ how she was with the angels now.” Ben stared off into the distance. “The thing was, I was the only one there, if you don’t count my two social workers and a lovely nurse who treated Mum at the hospice.”

That fear… Riley swallowed heavily. Being entirely alone…I thought about it all the time while Mom was sick, but Ben has LIVED it.

“I rattled around the foster care system until I turned eighteen. I lived with four different families—”

Riley’s eyebrows lifted. “Four?”

“Four years, four homes.” He sniffed and stuffed the shredded tissue in his pocket. “The first foster parents hit me with a belt. The next home was with a thirty-something woman who wasn’t around much—she was just in it for the payments from social services, I think. So, I fended for myself, having cereal almost every night.”

“You must’ve been so lonely, Ben.”

“Yeah, and angry. I missed Mum so badly, I couldn’t stand it. I ran away a few times, got hauled in by the cops for underage drinking. I smoked joints, had sex…didn’t have many friends. When stuff went missing at school, I’d get blamed by the teachers. Back then, I swear I didn’t steal, but I soon figured, ‘Well, if they’re blaming me anyway, might as well get something out of it.’ I knew it was wrong, but…” He shrugged. “When I was sixteen, I joined foster family number three, in Windsor. They were an older couple, proper strict: no computer games, TV for only an hour a night after homework, household chores. They laid down rules, but it felt like they cared, you know? I liked them. We got along pretty well after a few months. I overheard them talking one night about maybe adopting me…”

“But they didn’t?”

“Their next-door neighbor’s daughter…” Ben glanced away. “We…had sex a few times. She got pregnant. I got blamed.” He looked up, gauging Riley’s reaction.

He’s got a kid? She gripped her flowers, trying not to look alarmed.

“They told me having sex at sixteen made me a ‘bad influence’ on their own kids…” He shook his head. “I told them I’d been careful, it couldn’t be mine, but they weren’t having any of it. They called social services, sent me packing. Of course, the real father came forward when the baby was born, but by then I was already with foster family number four. I kept my head down, studied, went to my drama school audition, and counted the days ’til I turned eighteen. I hightailed it on my birthday.

“I know fostering helps lots of kids, but when no one wants you…you turn inward. All I had was my memories…and grief. I was told I’d ‘get over it’, but grief isn’t something you get over, or move on from. Grief sticks. It finds its way into your bones and changes you. I felt like I’d lost myself. I wasn’t Shannon’s son anymore. If Mum could’ve seen me, she wouldn’t have recognized me.” He squinted into the sky, the sun sneaking out from behind a gray cloud. “That August I moved to London for uni, met Mark—the first real friend I had in a bloody long time. Through him I met Spencer and…other girls.” Ben began raking the toe of his boot through a pile of windblown leaves. “I think I was looking for someone who might love me, but…I was pretty fucked up. I confused lust and sex with love. I thought if they fancied me, they cared for me. Took me a while, but I realized the girls most interested in drunk, no-strings sex weren’t going to be there when I felt lost or couldn’t afford bus fare.” He tilted his head, meeting Riley’s sympathetic stare. “It triggered those old feelings of not being loveable, you know? And if I felt anything resembling love, I didn’t trust it. So, I’d have sex and move on, ditch them before they ditched me. Why stick around for rejection? I’ve had more than my fill.” He ran a hand over his frown. “I’m a bit ashamed, looking back. I wasn’t doing it to be an insensitive dick. I was desperate for companionship, even if I didn’t know their names the next morning…”

I called him a fuckboy. Riley’s stomach soured. “Ben, I’m sorry I called you a—”

“Fuckboy? If it quacks like a duck…” The corners of his lips turned up. “No, it’s okay. I own it.” He looked away. “I know it sounds weird, but I think I forgot how to care about anyone, or how it feels to be loved…” His eyes found her again. “And then, this pretty New Yorker stole my suitcase…”

“Uh, you know you’ve got that backward,” said Riley, in on the joke.