“I’m here to listen if you want to talk, but I won’t ask. You can tell me, or not. That’s completely fine. What I do need to ask is what you want to do when the road is fixed. Do you...”
Jake trailed off, and Rye’s stomach did that weird thing again. It didn’t feel good. He glanced over at Jake, whose expression was a little tight. Worry, maybe. He was worried? Jake smiled softly and shook his head.
“Sorry, I don’t want to upset you. But I have to ask again. Uh, when the road is fixed, do you... do you have a safe place to go?”
He couldn’t answer, but not because he couldn’t speak. Well, that was partly it. But actually, he just didn’t know. And that hurt. A lot.
He swallowed and dropped his forehead down onto the top of his knees. Would home still even be there, on Sycamore? Was his mom still there? Would she remember him? Did she... love him? Would she... want him?
God, he was so scared to find out.
His silence probably confused Jake, who was quiet for a moment as though wanting to give Rye enough of a chance to answer.
When Jake spoke again, his question was hesitant. “Before I found you on my beach, were you... at a place that wasn’t so safe?”
It hurt again. Worsethis time. And Rye held back a sob and nodded.
He didn’t want to think about it, though. He didn’t want to think aboutthere, where everything had been pain and fear. No, he wanted to think abouthere. And so, he kept his head down on his knees, but he opened up his eyes and stared at the dark material of the sweatpants he was wearing. Soft and clean. Not icky and tattered and dirty. And he moved his hands to rest on either side of himself, feeling the slightly rough fabric of the sofa against his fingertips.
“I’m so sorry, Rye,” Jake said softly. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe. Do you feel unsafe here?”
Yes and no. Mostly no. But... everywhere is unsafe if you can’t trust anyone.It made sense in his head, but of course, Rye didn’t say it out loud. He just pressed his hands down into the sofa more and forced himself to keep breathing.
Jake was also silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice still quiet, still gentle. “I want you to feel safe. I don’t know what to do about that except what I have been doing. But, uh, if I say or do anything that makes you feel unsafe, you can tell me, and I’ll change. Okay?”
There was another long pause. Then Jake asked, “Are you still okay with me being here?”
Yes. And no.
Rye nodded slowly.
A breeze blew in, and in the stillness that followed, the sounds of the ocean seemed to become louder, like he was sitting down on the beach. The waves crashed and then crashed again, and the rhythm was soothing in a way.
“When the road’s fixed, I’d like to take you into town,” Jake suggested after another few minutes. Rye scrunched his eyes closed as Jake continued. “I think we should go to the police station. I think... I think they’ll be able to help you there. And if you’ve got family nearby or somewhere safe... I think the police can help you find them.” There was a short pause, and then Jake asked, “Do you think we can do that? Hopefully on Friday, when the road is ready?”
A heaviness sat on his chest, the pressure like a massive weight.Yes!he wanted to say. And he wanted to nod and smile and be excited.Yes, we can do that!After all, it did sound like the best plan. The police could help him. He could tell them his name and his mom’s name, and they could find her for him. Even if she wasn’t here anymore.
But the fear trickled back in, the man’s words making him doubt. Even as he fought them. Even as he told himself the man had been wrong.
The man had been wrong.
The man . . . had beenwrong.
Mom . . .
“Y-yes. Please,” Rye stuttered, and he forced himself to turn his head and look at Jake. The kind brown eyes that met him seemed to somehow hear all the other words he hadn’t said. And suddenly, he just wished Jake knew all of it—everything he’d been thinking and feeling, and all the reasons this was all so, so impossible and difficult for him. He started to tremble again.
“That’s what we’ll plan, then, okay?” Jake said, nodding so, so gently. “We’ll find you help. We’ll get you home.”
Home . . . Mom . . .
Rye started crying then, silent tears that slid down his cheeks. “Home?” he repeated.
And Jake nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll get you home. Okay?”
An ache of longing for something he needed so much and just didn’t have spread through his chest, filling the empty hollow. And one more time, he managed a nod, though it was small and scary.
Then he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees and let himself cry some more.
