He shrugs. “It’s just what I do.”
“I mean, I know we haven’t really talked much or anything…or seen much of each other…but I’ve been around a while. Aware. You do a lot for him.”
“He’s a great kid, and Aeron has a lot on his plate. He does a lot for my mom. It’s a family thing.”
Aeron doesn’t surround himself with a close circle of…anything. That’s not to say he’s all out of choices; Gwen tells us his email inbox and social media accounts are full of messages of support from people who count him as a friend. That email is slander, vicious slander, they say, and there will always be morons who’ll say anything to knock him off the top. But none of these “friends” are close to him. They’re business associates, old acquaintances, and he keeps up appearances—nothing more. Any true friendship is fantasy on their part.
Ethan’s probably closer to Aeron than any of those hangers-on, and he calls him family. I don’t know what to think about that.
“Do you know how long we’re gonna be out here?” Ethan asks suddenly. “Only it’s been a week now, and he hasn’t said.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry. You have something to get back for?”
“My ma.” He presses his lips together. “I know we came out here to be safe, and this whole thing…I’m trying not to think about it. Serial killers and shit. But we can’t hide forever, right?”
I stare out across the water. Black birds, thick-bodied and dark of beak, dart about in front of us in search of scraps, cawing to each other. “No. We can’t.”
“There’s been some crazy stuff over the years, but this kinda takes the cake. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Literally. It messes with my head, like…ah. We could be here a real long time. I could invent my own freaking dragon theory.”
I nod. “I haven’t checked my email in two days. I don’t know whether to be horrified or proud.”
The hoarse rush of the tide fills our silence, springing up on to the sand just feet from where we sit. Even the sea smells clean here—barely salty, just sweet and warm. We’re surrounded by islands, some big enough to see in their entirety, and some just pin-pricks in the distance. Paradise. Isolation. Another one of Aeron’s beautiful cages…only this time, he got in with us.
“Ethan!” Ash comes scrambling toward us. “I got, like, seventeen crabs. And loads of shells. Can we build Crab Town now?”
He backs up on the sun lounger. “Whoa there. I never agreed to that, buddy.”
“You did!”
“I said it was a cool idea. But the claws, and the clippy…and the clip clip…” Ethan makes a claw out of his hand and snips away erroneously. “You’re on your own.”
I shuffle forward so I’m eye-level with Ash. “Are they just the teeny crabs?”
“Yeah. Like Ethan told me.” He looks so hopeful it’s almost sad.
“I reckon I can brave the small ones. Want me to help?”
“Well…alrighty,” he says, unsure.
“And Ethan can help with the shells, yeah? If we do the crabs.”
“Ethan will definitely only touch shells,” he says, his tone split between horror and amusement. “Come on then, Ash. Lead the way.”
We find a spot beneath one of the thatched sun shelters, and Ethan assumes his role as chief sandcastle builder like a seasoned pro. I do my best to feign enthusiasm for the little white creatures; they’re light and spidery and barely the size of a nickel, but Jesus, they can scuttle fast. Ash scoops them out of a bucket with small, sticky hands, passing them to me with shrieks of fascinated glee.
You going to sail off into the sunset and have lots of little killer babies? Is that what you want?
“Leo, look…they like the shell fort, they’re all dancing by it! Ethan, make another! Do another moat!”