It was eerily similar to the panic he used to feel at times after his accident. For months after he’d woken up and even several months after he’d been discharged from the hospital, when something—anything—triggered him, he’d get this sense of dread that would be just as overwhelming, and he’dneedto call up Steve or his advisor or his other colleagues who’d also been on the boat,needingto know that they were alive and okay.
This, though... for whatever reason, this felt even more acute. He tightened his grip on the phone in his pocket and took a shaky breath.
Rye was fine. He’d been fine and healthy since whatever that cough he’d had during the first week or two had disappeared, and there was norationalreason tothink otherwise. Yet the feeling persisted, and Jake had to force his hand to stay in his pocket, since he seemed unable to release his grip on his phone.
“If you’re gonna head down, Phil and I can come with you.” Krista’s gentle voice came from just behind him, and Jake managed to shake his head as he turned away from the stairs.
“No, I . . .”
His sister reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that was both warm and comforting, and he felt another shudder rattle him.
“You still haven’t gone down?”
Jake shook his head and mumbled a quiet “no” into his sister’s hair. She smelled of strawberries now. Maybe her shampoo.
“You know, um...” Krista hesitated, but then gave him a little squeeze and stepped back to look up at him. “Have you thought of maybe asking Rye if he’ll help you?”
“Ask Rye to help me?”
“Yeah, because it’s about him. Right? You told me before, it’s like that feeling you got after your accident, how you—”
“Yeah,” he interrupted, his shoulders tensing. “Yeah, it’s like that.”
“So, maybe if he’s here and he walks down to the beach with you, your fear won’t feel as strong?” Krista gave him a small, hopeful smile.
Jake pursed his lips, thinking. She might be right—ugh, she was usually right—but the idea also sounded risky. And he wasn’t sure whether asking that of Rye would be too much. Rye was just starting to heal himself. Asking him to help Jake deal with this trauma response...
He shook his head. “I don’t know. What if—”
“You know, it might be healing for him, too. To help you, I mean. Maybe not quite now, not yet. But soon? Or, you know, you could call up Dr. Green and talk to her.” Krista’s voice had softened again, and Jake closed his eyes. “She helped me so much after Sheila left.”
Jake remembered all too well how much Krista had struggled in the months after her now ex-wife had left her and Phil, with no real warning, to take a job offer at an upscale restaurant in France. Krista had started seeing a therapist almost right away, and it had helped. It had helped her, and by extension, it had helped Phil.
And given how he hadn’t been having any real luck trying to face his fear on his own, he should probably at least consider it.
He opened his eyes to see his sister looking up at him. “You still have her number?” he asked quietly, and Krista nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks.”
And she pulled him in for another hug.
Jakestillhadhishand in his pocket, gripping his phone, nearly fifteen minutes later, when he finally went back into the house. Krista was in the kitchen, cooking again, which wasn’t a huge surprise, and Phil had turned off the TV and was sitting on the floor in some odd contorted position, reading one of the books Jake had given him. The young boy looked up briefly, grinned, and then went back to reading, shifting to lie on the floor in a straddle split position while propping himself up on his elbows.
Jake raised his eyebrows and glanced at Krista, who laughed quietly and shrugged. “Does he always—”
“All the time,” Krista cut in, not letting Jake finish his sentence. “If he were just sitting normally on the couch, I’d worry he was sick or something.”
It was Jake’s turn to laugh this time. He stopped just in front of the dining table and rested his free hand on the back of the closest chair, and just as he’d finally convinced himself to let go of the grip he had on his phone, it buzzed with what seemed like a text message notification.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked down at the screen. The notification was from a local number, but one he didn’t recognize. The phone buzzed again, and Jake clicked on the notification anyway. As soon as his eyes skimmed the first few words, all that tension he’d been holding since earlier, when he’d been standing outside at the top of the stairs looking down at the beach, all that fear and discomfort and anxiety melted away, replaced by warmth and relief and some other wonderful feeling that he couldn’t quite put a name to.
707-555-8633 (9:03 a.m.):Hi! This is Rye. Mom got me a phone for Christmas and she said I should text you so you have my number. So hereit is
707-555-8633 (9:04 a.m.):707-555-8633 in case it doesn’t show
707-555-8633 (9:05 a.m.):Merry Christmas!
