“It’s been almost a week,” I said, seated across from Sebastian. He looked at me like he always did when I was overcome with despair. Like he understood. Like he cared. We were eating crepes, just like old times, and he sat across from me with a blanket placed over his legs and a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

“Dr. Perry tells me Liz is getting healthier every day.”

“And Jonah?” I asked.

Sebastian pursed his lips. “Jonah is stable, but not good. We must continue to bother God, eh? For him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “From one daddy to another. Maybe he’ll understand.”

“God understands more than you give him credit for, David. So does Liz.” Sebastian set his coffee cup down and rolled his wheelchair around the table. He placed his cold hand upon my shoulder and leaned into my ear. “You will see,” he said, smile resolutely fixed in place.

Now that he’s gone, I’m writing again. I’m only doing this to give myself something to do. I suppose I will later go through all my notes, my laptop docs, and those old dictaphone recordings in order to sift through my undersea incarnation. For now, it’s just to keep from going insane.

I’m terribly worried for my son.

God in Heaven, please heal my little boy. Take my life in place of his, if you would. I’ll make any bargain.

And please help Liz, whatever that means and however that works.

And please help me in the coming days. Help me to do well and make things right. I don’t really care about what’s next for me. All I want is for my wife to be well and my son to live.

Please be their father and husband, since I have done such a poor job of it so far.