He was ready to ask her about it when a knock came at the front door, followed a second later by Uncle Jon’s voice calling out a greeting.
“Good morning! Sorry I’m almost late,” Uncle Jon said, closing the door behind him. He was carrying a blanket, bright blue and white with some random floral pattern, and he held it up. “This is what you wanted, right, Shirl? The beach blanket? I had to dig it out of the bottom of my closet. We haven’t used it in years.”
“Yes! That’s the one. Thanks, Jon.”
“No problem. You two headed over to the beach today? I thought you had to work soon, Shirl. And Rye, how are you doing? I feel like we keep missing each other lately.”
“I-I’m okay,” Rye managed, and he glanced at his mom, frowning. She’d want him to try. She always encouraged him to try. But he just couldnottalk to Uncle Jon, still, even after six months. Or at least, he couldn’t seem to manage anything more than short, stunted sentences and a nod or shake of his head. He clenched his jaw as she gave him another of her supportive smiles. And he tried again, sort of pretending he was talking to her instead of to his uncle. “I’m going... to... to the beach. Me and Jake. F-for a picnic.”
That was a lot more than he’d managed to say to Uncle Jon in a long time, and when he lifted his eyes, the older man’s smile was kind.
“That sounds like a good day, there. Hah. I remember when we used to go down to the beach when you were little. You’d dig holes in the sand deeper than you were tall, and then you’d try to build these sand bridges across them.”
Rye swallowed hard. He had vague memories of going to the beach and building sandcastles, but no memories of digging deep holes in the sand or making sand bridges, just like he had no memories of his grandma. Or her summer parties.
A flicker of anger burned in his chest, but it was short-lived. There was maybe something more important that hedidremember.
He closed his eyes and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I... wish I could remember,” he said. “But... it’s okay that... I can’t.” He spoke quietly, focusing on each word, hoping that whatever it was that made it so difficult to speak to Uncle Jon would just leave him alone long enough for one more sentence. “It’s okay because I’m... I’m making new memories.”
“Oh, that’s so true, sweetie,” his mom agreed.
Uncle Jon nodded. “Definitely.”
Then his mom mentioned that they really did need to leave soon so she wasn’t late to work, and Uncle Jon agreed he needed to get going too. They said their goodbyes, which were always a bit awkward because he was nowhere near ready for goodbye hugs, and then Rye’s mom excused herself to finish getting ready.
Alone in the kitchen, Rye pulled out his cell phone, smiling as he saw Jake’s name pop up in his notifications. He clicked on the message.
Jake (7:41 a.m.):Are you sure you want chocolate chip *only*? I found some cookies with M&Ms in them and then this other batch Krista made that she labeled “chocolate turtle cookies.” I think they’re chocolate and caramel topped with pecans? I’m not sure I’ve had them before.
Rye laughed and quickly typed a response.
Rye (7:52 a.m.):You. Have. A. Sweet. Tooth.
Jake (7:52 a.m.):So I can bring all of them, right?
Rye burst out laughing again, shaking his head.
Rye (7:53 a.m.):Bring all the cookies
A second later, a row of smiley face emojis popped up on his screen, followed quickly by another text.
Jake (7:53 a.m.):See you around noon ;)
Rye (7:53 a.m.):K
With another grin, Rye stuck his phone back in his pocket. Then he double-checked everything in the tote one last time, hoping he didn’t forget anything, and he hurried off to his room to finish getting ready for his day—a day he was really, really looking forward to.
A day where he’d be making new memories with his best friend.
“Doit.That’swhywe’re here, right?”
Rye grinned and pushed the tote with their lunch back a bit to give Jake more room. They’d just settled on the big blue-and-white blanket Uncle Jon had brought over that morning, and they hadn’t even eaten yet, though Rye was also quite excited to share the potato salad he’d made. This was more important, however, and he nodded eagerly as Jake hesitated.
“Go on. I mean, unless you have weird feet or something, and you don’t want me to see,” he teased.
Jake groaned and then shook his head, laughing. “No, I don’t have weird feet,” he retorted, but he was grinning now, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. And it felt good, warm, happy.
Rye wanted to hang onto that feeling as long as he could. “I don’t know. You look like you might have weird feet,” he said, and when Jake huffed another laugh, Rye continued. “I read a book last week where one of the characters hadreallylong toes. Like, the second toe and third toe were longer than the big toe. So weird.”
