Collared(65)

My fingers feel limp compared to his, but he rubs my fingers, warming them, bringing them back to life. “That’s not why I’ve locked myself away.”

“Why then?”

I don’t want to reflect on that question, because I’m scared of the answer. I’m scared where thinking about it will lead me. I’m not ready. But . . . “What if I had found out I wasn’t chained to anything, Torrin? That I was free to go out that front door one day?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either. That’s the problem.”

He scoots closer until his arm is running down mine. His body’s warmer than the warm breeze blowing over us. “Well, nothing like an afternoon at the beach to relax and reflect, right?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t smell the same,” I say, wondering if I can just delay the inevitable forever. I think it would be better than confronting the realization that I might never have carried that chain out of the front door if I had found it was bound to nothing.

Torrin lifts our hands and drops them on his chest. He’s not letting me bury mine again. “Well, you know where to find that when you’re ready.”





I’M READY. OR at least I think I’m ready. Or I am for sure pretending to be ready.

Either way, we’ve loaded the Tahoe and are parking at the public beach access, and Dad’s shutting off the engine. It’s my first time outside in two weeks, and I’ve been on the cusp of a meltdown ever since we backed out of the garage.

The media’s still camped out, as abundant and vicious as ever, but Dad got his windows tinted super dark a few days ago. That, and a blanket tossed over me sprawled out in the back, meant a successful escape without a caravan of news trucks following us.

“Hey, you’ve got this.” Torrin gives my hand a quick squeeze before moving it away because my dad has spent as much time checking the rearview mirror as he has the windshield. “I’ll be right here the whole time.” When Dad exhales loudly, Torrin adds, “We’ll all be right here.” When Dad turns around in his seat, Torrin tacks on, “The whole time.”

I bite my lip and bob my head, but I’m losing it on the inside. Not even Torrin’s injection of confidence can penetrate my skin this time. It doesn’t get inside and spread like I’m used to.

When I’d worked up the nerve to go to the real beach, I’d only planned on including Torrin. But when my parents found out, I knew they were hurt that the plan didn’t include them. So I invited them. And they invited Sam and her family.

So my first outing outside the house in two weeks is a family affair. I’d wanted to only include Torrin so that if I lost it—like I felt close to—my family wouldn’t have to witness it happening. Again.

“I’ll grab the cooler and chairs and find us a spot.” Dad checks me through his sunglasses then lifts a brow at Torrin before crawling out the door.

“Okay, so, sweetheart, you put on that special sunscreen I gave you, right?” It’s Mom’s turn to twist around in her seat and inspect me.

I answer her with a nod.

“And you’ve got the glasses and hat?”

I nod again.

“I brought the sunshade, so why don’t you just wait here while your dad gets it set up?”

I exhale at this suggestion. Lately, she’s been treating me like a preemie in the neonatal unit who has to be protected inside a clear plastic box.

“I know you put on your swimsuit, but you should probably stay covered up today just to be safe. Your skin hasn’t been exposed to sun in years. I don’t know if it’ll burn or blister, but let’s be safe just in case.” I sigh, but she keeps going. From the looks of the mental checklist she’s crossing off, she’s just getting started. “Oh, and the ocean. I know I used to not be able to get you out of the water, but it’s been a long time since you’ve swam. You should start in a pool first . . . not with the currents and tides and everything.”

This time I groan as I reach for the door handle. I need to get out of this car and away from my mom’s endless stream of concerns. “I’m made of flesh, Mom, not porcelain. Give me a little more credit.”

I swing my legs out the door, and the sticky ocean breeze coats them instantly. The smell hits me next, and it’s everything I remember. Briny—like seawood’s drying in the sunshine—and a little sweet.

“Torrin . . .” Mom says as I start for the beach.

“She’ll be fine, Eleanor.”

The waves are breaking, and the breeze is blowing, and the sun’s ducking in and out of the clouds, and the seagulls are screaming—and I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d want to be than right here. With him. With them.

Torrin lopes up to me when I’m halfway to the ocean’s edge. He’s loaded down with bags and chairs and boards, but he’s moving as fast as I am—like neither of us can wait to go play. Dad pauses from working on the sunshade when he sees us coming. He even breaks form and smiles in Torrin’s general direction when he sees the one on my face.

“Great day for the beach, isn’t it?” Dad says, wrestling with one of the shade’s poles.

I nod, but great doesn’t begin to sum it up. This is something else.

Torrin drops his load and helps my dad with the shade. Torrin’s wearing the same boardshorts and sweatshirt from our afternoon at the guest bedroom beach. I smile when I watch him. With the wind toying with his hair and the flip-flops on, he looks like the Torrin I fell in love with. The fifteen-year-old version is inside the man before me.