Page 41 of On the Beat

“What are you doing here?” I’m relieved to see him, considering all my attempts to help get Eddie out of the water with as little force as possible have failed.

“I heard you yelling. I followed the sound, and I ended up here.” He looks down at Eddie, who is looking back up at him with something much like hero worship. Right. I forgot that he and Ryder have been getting along, if getting along means Eddie tagging along after Ryder like a little Ryder Black groupie.

“Tito Ryder,” the kid addresses him, sounding far too polite and composed for the fact that we’re in the middle of the ocean and it’s way past anyone’s bedtime. The notion of someone addressing Ryder as their uncle is laughable to me. Or it would be, if I wasn’t so concerned about this child drowning.

Ryder smiles, and says, “What have you been up to, Aquaman?”

“I came out here to find my mom, so I could bring her back, but this lady is trying to stop me.”

Well, I guess that’s not an inaccurate summary of events, but…

“Your mom isn’t here, Eddie.” Ryder’s tone is softer than I’ve ever heard it, barely a whisper above the crash of the surf. “She’s not coming back. And staying out here will not bring her home. She’s gone, okay?”

A silent war seems to wage in Eddie’s mind, between believing Ryder and clinging to what little hope he has left. The fight seems to be over and Ryder’s words seem to win out. He nods, the light fading from his eyes, as he steels himself, folds his arms across his chest, and says, “Okay.”

Eddie takes Ryder’s hand and follows him out of the water.

Chapter 20: Ryder Black

Something wrenched in my chest when I saw Isla out in the ocean, with Eddie. The way she tried to coax him into coming back to shore… how, even though she was clearly terrified of the water, she still tried to comfort him. Still tried to make him feel better. I see her in my mind’s eye, in the moonlight, trying to talk Eddie out of going any further into the ocean, and a strange sensation curls up in my stomach.

I thought she was just a journalist. But is she actually more than that? No. I’m being silly. Anyone would save a child from drowning, that doesn’t make her special. Well, anyone except sociopaths and serial killers and I haven’t ruled her out as not being either one.

No. It’s not like she knew that I would think better of her for it. It’s not like she knew I would be there at all. She didn’t do it for me, she was out there for him.

Those thoughts plague me as I walk down the streets of El Nido. Colourful stalls flank me on either side, with hawkers selling textiles of specific weaves and patterns, advertising their clothing is only to be found on this part of the Philippines. I stop to look at a booth selling scarves.

Poppy would like this, I think as I look at the scarves before I push away the thought. Why does it matter what she would like? She hasn’t even bothered to text me since our fight. She only texted me when she needed something.

Still, the braided material and red striped pattern stare up at me, and I find myself handing over some money to buy it anyway. Even if she doesn’t ever accept it from me, it’s a scarf. It could fit anyone.

For reasons I can’t understand, my mind jumps to the idea of Isla wearing it. I brush the thought away. My brain needs to stop coming up with ridiculous ideas and start coming up with songs.

Accepting the scarf when it’s been tucked into a paper bag by the seller–a middle-aged woman with soft brown eyes and a bright pink dress–I turn to head back to the beach house. However, her hand lands on my arm, and she says, “I’m sure your girlfriend will love the scarf.”

I open my mouth to clarify, but I can’t find any reason to. People have been saying false things about me for so long that I don’t see anything wrong with letting this rumour spread. “Thank you. Have a nice day!”

With the gift in my hand, I walk back to the bungalow, alternately shaded by leafy palm trees and scorched by the sun’s heat as it lands on my back. I thought I knew what burning heat was when I lived in Kentucky, but apparently, the American south has nothing on the Philippines.

When I get back to the house, Paulo greets me. “Where have you been?”

“I went for a walk to clear my head.” My free hand runs through my hair. I don’t mention what I wanted to clear my headfrom.

Paulo’s expression changes to one of concern. Or maybe his brows were furrowed all along and I was too lost in my own thoughts to notice. “I thought you might have run away, like Eddie did.”

“Eddie?” My brain, in addition to my body, is apparently fried from the heat, because it takes me a minute to catch up with what he’s saying. “I know he went out sleepwalking – or maybe just swimming last night – but he didn’t go missing, did he?”

Paulo sighs. “No, of course not. I just heard from my mother about his late-night… excursion, and I don’t know why my mind jumped to you. My cousin does seem to have grown attached to you.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Shifting the bag between my hands, the coarse string rasps against my palms. “I did meet him when I first came here, a few days after I arrived. I talked to him for a few minutes–he seems like a nice kid. It’s a shame about his mom.”

“Yeah no kidding,” he says, rubbing the nape of his neck as he glances at the scarf. “Hey, what’s that?”

“A gift for my sister.”

“Right, Poppy, how is she doing?”

How do I tell him I haven’t spoken to her for months? It’s not like the two of them were ever close, since Poppy immediately glommed onto Skye as her best friend and has stuck by her ever since. But of course, he’ll have questions if I tell him that I haven’t been on good terms with her and that’s putting it mildly for a while.

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