Page 48 of River & Rue

That clown can think what he wants. I’m just concerned, as a friend would be, about the shadows beneath Rue’s eyes, growing darker every day.

She may put on a convincing front for everyone else, but I know exactly how much sleep she’s getting.

I’m getting even less.

The slam of a door and the sudden uptick in voices bring me back to the present. I stiffen and open my eyes, but my meager hope fizzles out at the sight of the four people crowding the tiny changing area: Anna and Wyatt, along with the last two people I want to see.

Penelope cowers behind Wyatt, her eyes downcast. She’s been the picture of humility since that doomed dinner, and the others are caving. I can’t begrudge them for welcoming her back into the fold—after all, they did the same for me—but I also don’t feel inclined to make nice.

The final person, I’m even less inclined to welcome.

I’d much rather punch him.

Matteo stops at the edge of the pool, grinning as he lifts two six-packs of beer.

“Rejoice! The party hath arrived!”

What a dipshit.

I lean toward Dan. “I’m going to head out.”

He nods, his eyes knowing. “Get some sleep. You look like shit.”

“Fuck you too.”

I clap him on the shoulder, then hop out of the pool. Not bothering with a towel, I step into my flip-flops, grab my discarded shirt, and slip out the door while everyone’s distracted.

The drop in temperature is a welcome shock to my overheated body, the silence a balm to my senses. Solar lights illuminate a forking path, one direction leading to the Lodge and the other to the saltwater pool. I head down the latter to grab a towel from the cabana and dry off in peace. Then I’ll do what I’ve done every night this week—return to the empty cabin, crawl into bed with my sketchbook, and wait for Rue’s bed to creak.

She’ll fall asleep almost instantly. I’ll doze until she starts thrashing and whimpering.

I freaked out the first time I heard it, thinking someone was hurting her. I tested her door and found it locked, then checked her windows just in case. Finally, I realized if someone else had been in her cabin, I’d have heard them as clearly as I heard her.

Physically, she’s safe. Mentally, she walks through hell in her sleep.

The first couple nights, I tried waking her. Calling her name. Pounding on the wall. Nothing worked. All I could do was stand witness, flinching each time she cried out, until her cries eventually tapered off.

Last night made all the previous seem like a walk in the park. Her distress was so harrowing, I nearly tested my theory that all the cabins use the same entry key. Instead, I texted my mom and asked what she and Dad did when we had nightmares growing up. Even though it was the middle of the night, she answered within a few minutes. The only thing that ever soothed us was singing.

So I sat with my back to the wall and sang. And it worked.

Within five minutes, Rue’s cries softened, then cut off with a gasp as she woke. Past the point of caring whether or not she heard me, I didn’t stop singing until she fell back asleep. Then I stayed awake another hour to make sure the nightmares didn’t come back.

The pool is empty when I arrive. The heated waters are dark and still, faint curls of vapor rising from the edges. A glowing ribbon of moonlight floats on the surface, disappearing off the infinity edge. There’s no wind, the night so quiet I can hear the crash of waves a mile away.

Stopping a few feet from the pool’s edge, I tilt my head back. The full moon sits directly overhead, a massive, brilliant ring of light encircling it.

“It’s called a lunar halo. Nature’s lens flare.”

At the sound of Rue’s voice, goosebumps erupt on my chest and arms. My head snaps toward the pool loungers on my right, my eyes finding her instantly.

She reclines not ten feet away, her face angled skyward. Her hair is wet, a dark towel draped over her from chest to thighs. I can’t tell if she’s wearing a bathing suit under the towel, but I really fucking hope so.

I take a quick breath, but my head is full of static. Now that the moment I’ve been waiting for has arrived, I can’t think of a single thing to say.

“Sorry,” she says with a sigh. “You probably already knew that.”

I clear my throat. “I didn’t, actually.”