Stop. You have to stop now. It’s too much.
Who knows how long he’d been doing this before she noticed? This is insane. But the boy keeps going, focused and unfailing in his routine. Even when he stumbles and spills half of a bucket, he continues.
Jesus, stop!Blythe pleads silently.Put the buckets down. You’re going to pass out. This is crazy.
Finally he pauses, turning his back to her as he looks toward the trees. Holy shit. His back is badly sunburned. If she can tell from this distance, it is definitely bad. It must hurt like hell, or at least it will later. He continues looking toward the trees for a bit, craning his head to the side. Looking for something? Someone? He drops the buckets and leans over, bracing himself with his hands on his legs. Catching his breath, for sure. The boy moves toward the water, looking down as he wades in a few feet. He seems to be shaking his head.
When he raises his head, Blythe finds herself clearly in his sight. She should probably be embarrassed, having been caught staring at this stranger, but she isn’t. She takes her hand from her eyes and stays where she is. The boy is looking right at her. His exhaustion, his sadness, his hopelessness, they all travel over the water and rip through her. Something is very wrong here.
She lifts her hand and gives him a tentative wave. He returns the gesture.
Blythe cups her hands to her mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi, back!”
“Are you… okay?”
He puts his hands on his hips and looks off to the side for a second before answering. He calls back, “Yes. I’m fine.”
“What are you doing?” She tries to feign curiosity rather than concern. “With the buckets. Are you in training for something?”
She can see him laugh. “Sort of!” he yells.
“You’ve got a terrible sunburn. You should put on a shirt.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, really. It’s bad.”
“I’m gonna be all right. Promise.”
“Is that your house? Please just go grab a shirt.”
He glances behind him. “I can’t. I shouldn’t… I can’t really talk. I’ll be fine.”
Blythe frowns. “I’ll give you mine. I can row it over to you.” She crouches down and starts to untie the boat from the dock, but he stops her.
“No! Don’t do that!” The alarm in his voice is startling and worrisome. He looks behind him again and then back at her. “Just… no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She can feel her heart pounding as she stands back up.
They stand silently. She can’t take her eyes off him. Desperation and exhaustion radiate from this boy. Blythe is afraid to move, afraid he’ll drop to his knees if she breaks away. So she holds their unspoken exchange.Whatever this is, it isn’t forever. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.She is nodding to him.I’m here. I’m right here.
Finally he says, “I have to keep going.”
Blythe is unable to speak for a bit. She doesn’t want him to keep going. She doesn’t understand what is going on, but everything about this feels off. Dangerous.
She nods. “If you say so. I’m going to stay with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m going to. I want to.”
“Thank you.” She thinks that she hears his voice break. He picks up the metal buckets and begins pointlessly filling them and transporting water from one side of the shore to the other. She knows precisely how hard it is to walk through the heavy wet sand at low tide. Your feet sink in deep, making each step trying and draining. It can be fun if you are digging for clams, even funny when you lose a shoe to the thick sludge. This? Whatever this boy is doing, this is not fun. He only pauses once to slowly take something from the bucket and set it a few feet deeper into the ocean.
Near tears, Blythe peels off her shirt. She looks around for a solution, since he’s made it so clear she should not row to him. Then it hits her: the life vest. She sits down with it. It takes a few minutes, but she manages to tie her Matthews shirt and her water bottle to the vest by using the straps. She moves to the end of the dock, her toes hanging off the edge, getting as close to him as possible. Blythe throws the life vest as far as she can. “The tide is coming in,” she yells.
The boy looks her way as he walks.
