“I’m not leaving you.” Now her voice nearly breaks.
He nods again.
Blythe sits down and tucks in her knees to her chest. No, she will not leave him. So for the next hour and a half she stays, willing some of his hurt to come her way. She would take this away from him if she could, somehow share whatever this is. For minutes at a time, she closes her eyes, sending him strength.
This will not break you. This will not break you.
He isn’t crying, so she doesn’t either. The battle against tears is one she almost loses several times. He is consistent, steady now. Brave. The only time that he stops again is when her life vest reaches him. She holds her breath as he struggles to untie the shirt and water bottle. His hands must be weak and trembling. He clumsily gets the wet shirt over his head, peeks behind him to the trees, and then downs the water. He raises the bottle in her direction as thanks.
Later, when he has completed his… goal? job?… he suddenly hurls both buckets off to the side, slamming them into sea-worn boulders. The sound echoes across the water, making Blythe flinch. He paces erratically, almost manically, for a minute, and then turns to her and raises both hands into the air, his palms held high, fingers spread.
Blythe raises hers, too, reaching out to him as though she is pressing her hands against his. Then she folds her fingers as if they could fall between his, while he simultaneously does the same. As if he knew she would do this. The boy moves his hands over his heart, and she follows the movement.
Blythe grins.
He just kicked a little ass.
He nods almost imperceptibly and then slowly turns and begins to wearily walk away from the water and back to his house.
The glow Blythe feels from their connection fades once the boy is out of sight, and a new restlessness sets in. She can’t relax.
After rowing back and tying up the boat, she takes the path to the house, pausing on its deck for a last look at the cove. One of the deck’s lounge chairs beckons, and she falls into it, staring out at the water and feeling exhausted.
A few minutes later, she hears James’s steps coming toward her across the creaky wooden deck. “You ready to go? I saw you come back a while ago. What are you doing out here?”
The lounge chair is digging into her back, but she still doesn’t move.
“Blythe? You okay? What are you looking at out there?”
“What? Oh yeah.” She keeps her focus across the cove. “Just looking at the water. The whole view.” She closes her eyes for a moment and then pulls herself away. “Sure, let’s go.” She stands up.
“You’re going to need to put on something over your bathing suit. I’m not letting you drive me around town half dressed. Besides, it’s going to get cold soon. You know how the nights are up here.” James looks around. “Where’s your Matthews shirt?”
“Oh. That. I don’t have it…”
“What do you mean? You lost it? How could you lose it?” He frowns as he unzips his own sweatshirt and hands it over. “That’s your favorite shirt.”
“Thanks.” Blythe slips her arms through the sleeves and struggles with the zipper because her hands are trembling. “It’s okay. My shirt… found a new home.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” She smiles at him as they head into the house. Being with James makes her feel better. “You know what?”
“What?”
“You’re a really good brother. I love you. And I love our family.”
James fakes a serious look. “Are you dying? What’s wrong with you?”
She laughs. “Shut up. Seriously, we’re lucky.”
“Does this mean that you’ll let me drive?” James swipes the car keys from the counter and dangles them in front of her.
“Hell, no, you’re not driving.” She snatches the keys from him. “Not only do you not even have a learner’s permit, but I wouldn’t trust you to get us through that narrow rut that’s passing as a driveway.”
“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “Let’s go get dinner, and hope this roadside seafood shack of yours doesn’t sell us clams that land us in the ER.”
“That’s the spirit!” She holds open the front door.
