Page 23 of All Along The Watchtower

Of course she’d bolted. Because that was what kids like us did when shit got too real or uncomfortable. Damn it, I shouldn’t have left them alone.

The worry etched across his face matched the churning in my gut. “What happened?”

“I started asking questions. She took it wrong, thought I was trying to get rid of her.” He slumped against the door frame and squeezed his temples. “I was just trying to work through the logistics.” The eyes he lifted to mine were panicked. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

My mind raced through possibilities. If the meeting had gone badly and she was running… “Maybe back to the ferry terminal? She might try to get off-island.”

The color drained from Ford’s face. “Shit. I didn’t even think?—”

“Go check there. The last ferry left more than an hour ago, so she couldn’t have been on it. I’ll get out and look myself.” I grabbed my keys from under the bar. “If we don’t find her within the next hour, we pull in the others.” I couldn’t explain why I didn’t want to pull them in now. My instincts still shouted at me to keep this secret small and tight in order to protect her.

We split up. I brought up a mental map of the island, thinking about which way she might’ve gone from my place. I was fairly centrally located, only a mile and a half from the ocean in three directions. If she wasn’t immediately trying to get the hell off-island, she’d probably want to be alone. I would.

The route to the sound side of the island would have taken her through the village. Plenty of shops she could duck into, but I didn’t think she’d seek out people if she was upset. The south would take her toward the lighthouse and her grandmothers. Not that she’d know that yet. But the stretch of salt marsh between here and there would mean she’d be walking in the open for a lot of the way. Ford would probably have seen her. Which left either the beach on the Atlantic side or the maritime forest. There were plenty of places in the latter to get lost, and if she was from Oregon, maybe she’d seek out woods. But I was banking on beach.

I drove past the marina, following the curve of the shoreline. In the distance I could see the lighthouse, but I didn’t make the turn. I kept going, on out toward the far eastern edge of the island. A squat clapboard building came into view. The research station where Astrid Thompson conducted her sea turtle research. No lights on inside. This time of year, she often didn’t work at the station. It was well outside breeding season. But I took advantage of the small crushed-shell parking lot todrop my Jeep, because this stretch of beach wasn’t accessible by vehicle.

It was exactly why I’d come here myself over the years. Sometimes I craved the isolation and the endless waves. Sometimes I just needed to scream my heart out. The surf was loud enough that no one would hear.

A flash of movement caught my eye. Just a quick shadow ducking behind one of the taller dunes. My heart kicked into higher gear. I’d bet my brewery that was Peyton.

Careful not to move too fast or seem like I was trying to sneak up, I picked my way closer. When I rounded the dune, I found her huddled in the sand, arms wrapped around her knees. Her face was streaked with tears. She was hunched into her sweater, which wasn’t strictly warm enough for January on the Outer Banks. Not with the wind gusting as it did on this side of the island.

One thing at a time.

I settled into the sand a few feet away, staring out at the ocean instead of the girl. “This is where I always come when everything feels like it’s falling apart. Somehow I can breathe here.”

I’d spent what felt like months of my life out here in the years after I’d cut Ford out of my world.

She swiped roughly at her cheeks, but didn’t respond.

“The waves help. It’s kinda like they’re washing everything away. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

I caught the barest of nods in my periphery.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

“He wants to send me back.” She spat the words.

“Did he actually say that?” I knew he hadn’t. He wouldn’t.

“He said we needed to contact my case worker. That’s the whole point of her.”

I fixed the girl with a look. “Peyton, honey, you ran away from the people who are legally responsible for you. I don’t know how you thought all this was gonna go down, but functionally, wedohave to let them know where you are and that you’re safe. Because there will be police and other folks out looking for you. It’s not fair to tie up those resources when you’re not really missing.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small.

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’ Listen, I’m not saying Ford handled it perfectly. But maybe consider he’s had less than twenty-four hours to adjust to this whole dad thing, what with not knowing you existed. Maybe cut him a little slack. He’s got a lot to figure out.”

When she said nothing, I continued. “Look, I’ve known your dad since we were kids. He’s one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met. When he commits to something—or someone—he’s all in.” The words felt like glass in my throat, but Peyton needed to hear them. “He’s the guy who spent three days searching the woods for my dog when she got lost back in high school. The guy who was first in line to help shovel out the rubble when the brewery burned years ago.”

Peyton picked up a handful of sand, letting it sift through her fingers. “Why’d you stop being friends?”

My chest tightened. “Who said we weren’t?”

“Y’all didn’t act like friends back at the house.”

No, I don’t suppose we did.

---