“I bet everyone is really looking forward to seeing you?” Jake suggested, and Rye let out a small huff as he nodded. “But that’s scary to you? The thought of seeing a lot of people?”
Rye closed his eyes as he nodded again. “I... won’t... know...” He frowned this time and shook his head and shifted just slightly, just so that he was twisted a tiny bit away from Jake.
And Jake’s stomach dropped. “You won’t know anyone?” he tried.
Rye nodded. “But they’ll . . .” He grimaced and shook his head. “Sorry . . . I can’t . . . talk.”
“Ah, no, you’re okay, it’s fine,” Jake reassured him gently. He paused for a second and then said, “Have you told your mom how you feel? Maybe she can invite fewer people, or—”
“No,” Rye cut in, shaking his head once more.
Jake smiled weakly. “I think I sort of understand how you feel, in a way,” he said, and even though the memory hurt, he knew he needed to share. “My accident happened early in the summer of my second year of grad school,” he started, and he looked back out over the water and took a deep breath. “I was in the hospital for a long time. Months, actually. I had good support while I was there—my sister more than anyone else, but my dad visited quite a bit, and my friend Steve came at least a few times a week.” Jake paused with a short laugh, and he shook his head. “Anyway, uh, when they finally discharged me, Steve had this wonderful idea that he’d throw me a big party. He invited everyone from school, all my family, everyone. And... I... was terrified.”
“Wh-why?” Rye asked, his soft voice catching slightly.
Jake smiled again, but it felt sad. Or maybe melancholy. He tilted his head a bit, remembering. “It’s that... I wasn’t really the same person then as I had been before the accident. I was still trying to deal with my injury and what it meant for my life, whether I was going to return to school, the fact that I still had to use awheelchair because I couldn’t walk yet. And all I wanted was to just... go home and hide from the world while I figured all my shit—er, stuff out. Ah, sorry.”
He grimaced as he glanced sideways. Rye’s shoulders were a little tight, but he hadn’t flinched away, which was good.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to curse. I’ll do better,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay,” Rye mumbled. He clenched his jaw and looked down at his pastry again. “Did you... want to...”
“Did I want to tell Steve to cancel the party?”
Rye nodded and then finally turned back to look at Jake again. His eyes held some sort of pain now, and it made Jake’s stomach drop.
“Ah, no. I mean, yes, I wanted to. Well, I both did and didn’t want to.” Jake laughed at his waffling. “I mean, I wanted Steve to cancel becauseIwas terrified. I didn’t want everyone to...” He paused, trying to think of the right words to say. “I didn’t want everyone to expect me to be happy and hopeful and cheery, and I didn’t want them to ask me questions that I didn’t know how to answer yet. But at the same time, I didn’t want to cancel because I knew all the people Steve had invited to the party just cared about me and wanted to see me. And I think, also...” Jake took a deep breath. “I think the biggest reason I didn’t want to ask Steve to cancel was that the party seemed really important to him. He’s a good friend, and I think he had some heavy feelings about what happened. The accident wasn’t his fault or anything,” Jake clarified, shaking his head. “Another boat hit ours, and it was their fault. But I think he struggled with the fact that I’d been injured and he hadn’t. I think he wanted to throw the party to try to help me feel better.”
It was convoluted, Jake’s reasoning, and he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to explain it in a way that Rye could understand. Hell, sometimes he didn’t really understand it himself.
He took a sip of his coffee, which was still nice and warm, and then he let his gaze drift back to the water. A layer of clouds far out over the ocean floated toward them, moving slowly with the light onshore breeze, and Jake let himself follow the cloud’s ever-changing shape for a moment.
“Steve was... like my mom,” Rye said finally.
Jake nodded, still looking out toward the ocean. “Yeah, in a way, I think. And... I understand you not wanting to ask her to cancel, even though having friends and family over for Thanksgiving might be a really difficult thing for you. But if you can, it might be good to let her know how you feel and that, uh, if she’s going to have a lot of people over, you might not be able to be there the whole time. You might need... breaks or something, you know?”
From next to him, Rye stayed silent, and Jake hoped he hadn’t said anything wrong. However, when he glanced over at his friend again, Rye was just watching the water, chewing the last bite of his turnover. Jake smiled to himself and then took a breath and finished his own pastry.
Ryestoodfacingtheocean, his shoes in one hand and his pants rolled up a bit past his ankles. A gentle wave broke as it hit the shore, and the water washed up in a swirl of white foam, covering Rye’s feet. A big, bright smile full of wonder and amazement broke out on Rye’s face as the water receded, and he glanced back over his shoulder at Jake, who stood back about ten feet so his shoes wouldn’t get wet.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” Jake said, laughing.
Rye nodded, but he was still grinning, and it was just about the best sight Jake had seen in a long, long time.
The water washed up again, the wave just a little bigger this time, and it splashed up Rye’s legs more than he’d expected. He jumped backward, but also laughed. Really, actually laughed.
Jake shivered, not because of the cold, and he leaned a bit more onto his cane and watched as Rye stayed there, right at the spot where the water just barely reached with each wave, his toes curled into the sand. The moment held a certain beauty to it, a shift, maybe in the direction of hope or healing, and it seemed nothing short of miraculous. In fact, the change in Rye in the last three weeks was just that—miraculous.
Jake was observant enough to know how tenuous it all was, how each moment they’d had today had been so hard-fought and hard-won. And that only made him respect Rye even more.
Rye hadn’t said much since they’d finished their food and drinks about thirty minutes ago, and their walk down the trail to the beach and then along the water’s edge had been mostly quiet on Jake’s end as well. But it had been, and still was, comfortable.
And he felt so fortunate to be here, experiencing this wonder and joy with Rye. The walk on the beach had truly been exactly what he’d needed. His leg had been getting better, but his progress was slower than he’d liked or expected. Visits to both his physical therapist and his doctor had confirmed that he’d strained a muscle in his thigh that morning he’d carried Rye up from the beach, andbecause of the location of the strain and his previous injury, it would just take a long time to heal. His doctor had warned him not to push himself too much to avoid reinjury, though he’d said if Jake was careful and took the stairs slowly and didn’t feel his pain increase, hecouldtry going down to the beach at his house. Unfortunately, Jake hadn’t been lying to Rye earlier when he’d said he hadn’t been brave enough yet to try.
The thought of hurting himself again—and possibly having it be worse than before—actually scared the hell out of him. And the thought that he could do additional, permanent damage, that his leg could getpermanentlyworse than it already was, that had stopped him every single time he’d considered whether he might be ready to make the trek down the stairs to the beach.
God, if he lost his mobility . . .
