“Wait.”
I turn back towards Mom as she reaches for a ziplock bag, tucks a few cookies inside, and holds it out to me. I take it and slide it into my hoodie pocket.
“Be home before dark,” she calls after me as I head for the door and shove my sneakers on.
“I will!” I call back, already halfway down the front steps.
I grab my bike from the driveway and pedal hard down the dirt road, past the alder and birch trees that line the ditch like a tall, quiet guardrail. Beyond them, open fields stretch wide with endless rows of green potato plants that are ready to harvest. The road narrows where the gravel turns soft and gives way to red sand, pulling me to a stop as the tires start to sink.
Silas’s bike lies on its side near the edge of the dunes, so I drop mine beside it and walk towards him. He’s in the middle of the beach, knees drawn up to his chest as his arms rest loosely across them, and his gaze is fixed on the incoming tide as the water laps along the shore.
I lower myself onto the sand beside him and look out at the water as well.
“Mom is sad,” he says quietly.
I nod and reach into my hoodie pocket, pulling out the ziplock bag. I pass him a cookie, and he takes it without looking away from the water.
“Was your dad home?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Silas mutters, and takes a bite. “I wish he was.”
I nod again as a seagull cries in the distance, and we both watch the next wave slide forward to wash over the old tide line before it slips back into itself, leaving a darkened trail of wet sand that glistens under the sun.
Silas’s mom loves him. I know she does. She makes his lunches, helps him with homework when she can, and stands up for him when the school calls. But she gets overwhelmed fast, and she cries a lot. My mom says it’s because she wants to do everything right but doesn’t always know how; that they’ve struggled with him ever since he was adopted at two years old, and she feels a lot of guilt for not always doing the right thing.
Especially because his dad gets it. He doesn’t get mad when Silas shuts down or panics or lashes out, and he knows when to talk, when to wait, when to push, and when to give Silas space. My parents explained to me that Silas’s brain had a hard start, and that some parts of learning how to be safe, calm, and understood didn’t happen when they were supposed to. And his dad isn’t scared of that.
Neither am I.
“He’ll be around more soon,” I say, shifting my eyes up to the sky, where the sun seems to hang lower every day, like it’s tired from the summer and is ready to hand things over to the fall.
Silas doesn’t answer. He just sighs and finishes the last bite of his cookie.
I know he’s missing his dad more lately, since school started. We’re now in middle school, and the new building, new routines, new teachers, and new expectations are a lot. He doesn’t handle change well, and none of this feels familiar yet. But his family owns a large potato farm, and harvest season is in full swing until the end of October. His dad’s been gone before sunrise and home long after dark, so he doesn’t see much of him these days. It’s only the end of September, but it already feels like it’s been this way for months.
I sink my fingers into the red sand beside me. The top layer is warm from the sun, but just below the surface, it’s cool and damp. The breeze carries a bite as it brushes over my skin, the last heat of summer barely hanging on. Seagulls call in the sky above the point, circling the rocks near the old lighthouse as waves lap against the beach in a rhythm that slows everything else down.
“Come on,” I say, pushing to my feet and holding out my hand.
Silas looks up at me with that familiar look of defeat lingering behind his eyes.
I hate that look. I hate what puts it there.
But he takes my hand, and I pull him up.
I smile at him as his hazel eyes peer into mine, and he waits for me to say the words. The breeze ruffles his dark blond hair across his forehead, and when it covers his eyes, I twist away and take off running.
“Race ya!” I call over my shoulder.
I catch the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth just before I hear him shout, “You cheated!”
I laugh as my feet sink deep into the soft red sand and I push harder. The sand makes each step feel heavier than the last, but I keep going, aiming for the lighthouse at the end of the beach.
Silas gains on me anyway, since he’s always been faster. He passes me just before the path turns to stone, and he reaches the door to the lighthouse first, flinging it open without stopping. I catch it before it swings shut and chase him in.
His footsteps echo through the old lighthouse as he heads up the spiral staircase. I grab the railing and take the steps two at a time, my lungs burning as I climb, and my breath loud in my ears.
When I reach the top, he’s waiting for me with a big smile on his face as his chest rises and falls with short, sharp breaths.
