Pieces of Home

30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jake

Rows of pastries and baked goods lined the glass display cases at The Cove Café—everything from banana nut bread to blueberry scones to massive cinnamon rolls.

Jake grinned as he watched Rye slowly scan the selections, his eyes wide and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He and Rye had been at the café for several minutes already, and Rye had yet to make a decision, which was completely fine. No one else was in line behind them, thanks to the early morning hour on a sleepy November Saturday in their tiny town, and Jake had told him to take his time. The barista, a kind teenager named Kelly, whose blue-and-magenta hair had seemed to surprise Rye almost as much as the wide selection of pastries, had also said not to rush, and she’d started making Jake’s coffee and Rye’s hot chocolate.

Rye moved a step closer to the display case and then glanced at Jake.

“Did you choose?” Jake asked, and when Rye nodded and then pointed at the row of strawberry turnovers, Jake grinned again. “Oh, yeah, those are so good. I’m usually choosing between that and a chocolate croissant. Or cinnamon roll.”

Rye’s eyes widened again, and he glanced back at the display case as though maybe he were rethinking his choice. But he didn’t say anything, and so, Jake just gave Kelly a small wave to let her know they were ready. He placed their order—in addition to their drinks, they wanted one strawberry turnover and one cinnamon roll—and then he paid as Rye stood by and watched, his hands stuffed back in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

A few minutes later, they had their drinks and food, and they headed back outside. The morning was still quite chilly, especially with the gentle breeze coming off the water, and ideally, they’d probably stay inside to eat. However, Jake had the feeling Rye would be more comfortable outside, even if it was cold.

He steered them over across the narrow one-lane road separating the small row of shops from the beach. Then they walked another fifty feet or so along the boardwalk at the edge of the road until they reached the first of a few benches positioned along the walkway. The view was gorgeous—a small grassy knoll falling away slightly to a crisp, sandy beach that curved along as far as he could see until disappearing into the rocky cliffs rising up out of the ocean waves to the south. He longed to just keep walking the little bit farther to where a trail led off the walkway and down into the sand, the strong tug in his gut almost overpowering. It’d been years since he’d spent so long without a walk on the beach. Not since his accident, in fact.

And when he realized that, a rush of gratitude hit him, warm and full and bright. He glanced at Rye, who was standing a couple of feet to his right, holding his hot chocolate in one hand and his pastry in the other as he stared out toward the ocean. Rye’s unruly blond hair blew back out of his face as the breeze picked up, and Jake could see the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Rye’s lips.

“Thank you for suggesting this,” Jake said quietly, quickly adding, “that we come down to the beach, I mean.”

Rye blinked and turned his head, and Jake smiled as Rye’s startlingly blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. That, plus Rye’s hint of a smile, just fueled all the things Jake was feeling—his longing for the beach, his gratitude toward Rye for essentially bringing him here, the amazement he couldn’t help feeling at their burgeoning friendship.

“We should, uh, probably sit and eat. Then we can walk on the beach a bit, if you’re still up for it? I’ll need my cane, so I can’t really walk and eat at the same time,” he explained, and Rye’s eyebrows pinched together for a second, like he was thinking. Then he nodded.

And they sat at the bench and ate, mostly in silence. It was comfortable, and Jake stole glances at Rye every once in a while, smiling to himself as he watched Rye’s expressions. The first bite of the turnover had Rye closing his eyes as he chewed slowly, probably savoring the burst of flavor. The second bite had an eagerness to it, and then the third bite was slow again. Jake took small bites of his own cinnamon roll and sips of his coffee, and when he was about half done, he finally cleared his throat to speak.

“Next week is Thanksgiving,” he said, and he turned to Rye again, who seemed to have a hard time tearing his eyes away from the ocean to look at Jake. The blue of Rye’s eyes was somehow even brighter than it had been a moment ago, and Jake almost got lost for a second.

How... incredibly resilient was this man? How beautiful was his kind heart? How gentle was his soul, even after whatever had happened to him ?

“My... mom says, um...” Rye pursed his lips together and blinked as he lowered his eyes to what was left of his pastry. “...she’s... inviting, um...” He shook his head as though frustrated, but then started over. “My mom asked... if she could invite family and—and friends over. There... will be a lot of people.”

Jake heard the clear worry in Rye’s words, and he gave Rye what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Does that make you nervous?” he asked softly, and when Rye nodded, still looking down at his pastry, Jake’s heart felt a little heavier.

“Mom says everyone...” Rye trailed off again, but this time seemed unable to reset himself, and instead, he brought his pastry up to his mouth for another bite. His hand trembled.

“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 a wheelchair 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 because I was 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.

Rye stood facing the ocean, 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, and because 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, he could try 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 get permanently worse 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 . . .

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 that made 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 are a lot of 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 my many bad 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 progress was tenuous. 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.