Cal walked over. Shirt off, swim trunks low. He crouched beside Eli.
“What’s the plan here?”
Eli didn’t look up. “Defensive structure. Towers for archers. Moat to slow attackers. Sand compacts better when wet.”
Cal sat fully in the sand. Legs stretched. “How do you keep them from collapsing?”
Eli explained, patient, monotone. “Angle of repose. Forty-five degrees for dry sand. Thirty for wet. I’m using wet.”
Cal listened. Asked follow-ups. “What if you add shells for reinforcement?”
Eli considered. “Could work. Texture increases friction.”
They worked together. Cal digging, Eli directing. No small talk. Just facts. Patterns.
I watched from under the umbrella. Eleanor beside me, sunglasses low.
“He’s always been good with kids,” she said quietly. “When he forgets to be scared of them.”
I glanced at her. “Scared of what?”
“Of feeling too much. He learned early that emotions make you vulnerable. So he… shuts them off.”
My throat tightened. “He’s trying now.”
“I know.” She touched my arm. “But trying looks different for him.”
I looked back at the beach. Cal laughing, quiet, real, when Eli’s tower stayed standing after a wave hit the base.
Hope flickered. Bright. Hot.
But hope burned too.
Later, Cal’s phone buzzed on the towel beside me. He was in the water with Malcolm, tossing a football.
I didn’t mean to look.
Screen lit. Syd’s name.
I turned away.
He came back dripping. Grabbed the phone. Face tightened. Put it face-down.
Nothing.
Dinner that night was loud again. Outdoor table. Lanterns. Fish and plantains. Kids running between chairs.
Cal sat beside me. Hand on my thigh under the table. Casual. Steady.
Afterward we walked the beach. Moon high. Sand cool now.
He held my hand. Fingers laced.
I waited until we were far enough from the villa lights.
“What did Syd want?” I asked.
He hesitated. Steps slowed.
