Jake shook his head to push the thought away as Rye turned and started back in his direction, the smile still lighting up his face. His hair blew forward with the breeze, and he reached up with his free hand to tuck a strand back behind his ear, then looked up at Jake.
“Thank you,” he said.
Jake’s smile softened, and he shook his head lightly. “I feel like I should be thanking you,” he said, and Rye blinked and lowered his eyes as he stopped in front of Jake. “It was such a good idea to come here. I feel a little silly that I didn’t think of it myself. I’ve spent two weeks moping around about the fact that I couldn’t go down to the beach at my house, and there’s been a beach right here all along.” He chuckled, and Rye looked back up at him, his smile fading but his eyes still bright.
“Your beach is...” Rye’s expression tightened, and he glanced just to Jake’s left, back in the direction of town.
Jake twisted around to follow his gaze. He could see just to a bend in the road where the boardwalk ended into the trail down to the beach. A couple of cars were parked in designated spots along the shoulder, and another few beachgoers now walked on the boardwalk or toward them along the beach. Rachel Eisenberg’s truck was also parked along the shoulder, as it had been since shortly after they’d arrived at the café earlier.
“There are . . . no other people there . . . at your beach,” Rye finished, his voice soft but clear. “I . . . like it there.”
There was a wistfulness in Rye’s words, but also a sort of uncertainty thatmade Jake’s chest feel a little tight. He turned back to Rye and nodded.
“Yeah, it’s nice and private there,” he said with a small smile. But Rye blinked and looked down at his feet, stuffing his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, and Jake suddenly heard a different interpretation of Rye’s words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think... Are you nervous here, now that there are more people showing up? I’m afraid it’ll definitely start to get busier, even though it’s cold. Not that there area lotof people, not anything like how busy it can get here during the summer. But there are people now and—”
Rye lifted chin to look at Jake, and Jake couldn’t help but laugh at the amused expression on Rye’s face.
“Yeah, yeah, I ramble a bit sometimes. My sister tells me it’s one of mymanybad habits,” he said, still laughing, and Rye pursed his lips, almost as though he were trying to hold back a laugh of his own.
The thought struck Jake then that until the last three weeks, it was possible Rye hadn’t laughed in... years. And it was heartbreaking and immediately sobering.
“Are you nervous now?” he repeated quietly, and though he tried to keep at least a soft smile, he wasn’t sure whether he succeeded.
Rye’s expression became more serious, too, and he didn’t answer out loud. But Jake saw his answer easily enough. It was in the way he lowered his eyes, and the way he seemed to suddenly become preoccupied with curling his toes into the sand. And it was in the way his jaw clenched and his shoulders tightened.
“You’re safe here, Rye,” Jake said softly, and Rye nodded and then looked back toward town.
“Maybe... we can—” Rye’s speech cut off abruptly as he flinched, almost like he’d been hit. He screwed his eyes shut with a sharp inhale and shook his head. Then he seemed to force out the rest of his words through pauses and stutters that broke Jake’s heart. “—go. Maybe... w-we can go to... that store. To find... the yellow w-warbler.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. That’s a good idea,” Jake said, trying to keep his voice level.
Tenuous.He’d thought it earlier, and now it was even more abundantly clear: Rye’s progress was tenuous at best. And also very, very context-dependent.
A chilly breeze blew in off the water then, ruffling Rye’s hair and sending a shiver through Jake, despite the heavy coat he wore. But Rye lifted his eyes back to Jake’s again, and something in them was so warm, so intense, even with his uncertainty and fear, and Jake just couldn’t really feel all that cold.
Yes, Rye’s progresswastenuous. But it was also obvious how hard Rye was fighting for every word and every step in the right direction, how determined he was to heal, how much he wanted it. His resilience and his strength were incredible and inspiring, and Jake wanted Rye to know that. But this time, it was Jake’s words that failed.
For a moment, all he could do was stare, Rye’s eyes so deep and full of all those things—hope, strength, but also fear and uncertainty. Finally, Jake managed a small smile. “Yeah, it’s a good idea,” he repeated softly. He cleared his throat and blinked. “Uh, and I think it’s probably almost nine...”
Holding back a grimace as his leg complained a bit—either from the walk or from standing on the sand for so long, he wasn’t sure—Jake leaned more heavily on his cane and pulled his new cell phone out of his pocket to check the time.
“Ah, yep, nine oh five,” he said, lifting up the phone to show the screen to Rye. “So, um, they should be open at Beach and Beyond, I think. We can head back now and check it out, if you’re ready, that is.”
Rye looked down at his feet for a moment, curling his toes in the sand again. Then he glanced back up at Jake and nodded.
And together, they started back toward town.
Chapter Thirty
Rye
PeanutandButter.
The two yellow warblers Rye had seen earlier, and apparently the only two yellow warblers that could be seen in the area this time of year, had names. And they were Peanut and Butter.
Rye sat cross-legged on his bed, the house quiet except for the occasional clinking of dishes from the kitchen, where Aunt Tanya was working to make dinner. He had a book in his hands—one Jake had bought him at the gift shop in town—and he ran his fingers over the title on the front cover.Birds of Northern California: A Field Guide.
Jake had been right. Yellow warblers migrated south during the winter. The man at the gift shop, whose name Rye couldn’t remember right then, had been happy to tell them the story of how and why Peanut and Butter didn’t migrate south like they should. The two birds had fallen ill a few summers ago and had been taken in by someone in town and rehabilitated—which Jake had explained meant they’d been treated and taken care of until they were healthy. After they’d recovered and been released again, both birds had just stuck around town rather than migrate, making Rocky Cove their year-round home.
