Page 6 of Ripple Effect

I kneel down beside him, ruffling his golden fur, and his sleepy eyes blink open, a low groan rumbling in his throat. I’m worn-out, probably looking worse for wear, but Bentley just thumps his tail gently against his bed.

The minutes stretch into an hour, the quiet of the early morning wrapped around the two of us. And yet, my body refuses to slow down. I keep circling back to the staircase, to the dizzying sensation of my heart threatening to burst from my chest.

The steady tick of the wall clock nudges me back to reality. It’s far too early, the sky outside still a blanket of stars, but it’s clear I won’t be getting any sleep for the rest of the night.

“Walk?” I ask Bentley, my voice a gravelly whisper in the still room. His ears perk up at the familiar word, and he’s on his feet in an instant, the sleepiness all but gone.

“Alright, buddy,” I murmur, pushing to my feet.

Maybe the fresh air, the open beach, will help clear my head. Maybe it will give me a chance to breathe. At the very least, I’ll be doing something other than sitting here, stuck and empty.

We make it over to Amber Isle in just a few short minutes. It’s been nearly a week since our last visit, and both of us have clearly missed the place.

The cold breeze brushes against my face as we walk along the beach, Bentley trotting carefully at my side.

Growing up in Boyer, a small town just off the nearest exit, has led me to take this place for granted over the years. But something about being here now just feels right. Again, I’m alone, cast away before the sun has risen.

It’s the calm and quiet I need to soothe my mind and reset my racing heart.

But as I keep walking, the pounding in my chest returns. This time, it’s coupled with a dizzying sense of fatigue, each step a calculated, grating effort. My legs feel like they’re made of lead, my body heavy.

Barely managing to catch my breath, I drop down onto the sand, pulling my knees close to my chest.

In, two, three, four, out.

I desperately count, working to ignore the urge to pass out. Bentley pads over to me, a low whine escaping him. It’s something of a feat, but I manage a weak smile, reaching out to scratch behind his ears.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him, lacking conviction.

Bentley seems to understand despite my own confusion. He curls up next to me, his golden head resting on my lap. His soft snores are soothing, the steady tempo a stark contrast to my erratic pulse.

And then, before I know it, my eyes are heavy, my body weak. Exhaustion pulls me under, and I let it, my last coherent thought being the hope that this will all pass by the time I wake up.

* * *

“Hey, are you okay?”

The question, soft but insistent, pulls me from the edges of sleep. I squint against the sun’s early glare, glancing up at a figure casting a tiny shadow over me. As I blink the sleep from my eyes, her features slowly come into focus.

She’s a girl, probably around my age, with sun-kissed blonde hair swept up into a ponytail. A pair of light brown eyes peer down at me, crinkling at the edges with concern. She’s dressed in a wet suit, her surfboard wedged up behind her like some oversized prop.

“Yeah,” I manage, my voice a gravelly echo of sleep as I boost myself up on one elbow. I blink away the sleepiness, trying to gather my scattered senses. “Just ... didn’t sleep very well.”

Her gaze briefly flickers to Bentley, who’s curled up by my side, his rhythmic breathing a testament to his undisturbed sleep. “Is your dog okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Aren’t you, buddy?” I ask, laying a reassuring hand on Bentley’s side. My faithful companion stirs at the touch, lifting his head and opening his eyes to regard the stranger. After a careful assessment of about two seconds, he gives her a friendly wag of his tail.

“Isn’t he just adorable?” A smile warms her face as she squats down, giving him a quick scratch on the neck. “What’s his name?”

“Bentley,” I mutter, working to stifle a yawn.

The encounter, though unexpected, isn’t entirely unwelcome. Now that I think about it, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any kind of normal face-to-face conversation, especially outside of my work.

“He’s a lucky dog.” She hums in approval, turning her attention back to me. “And you’re out here awfully early.”

“Could say the same for you,” I say, meeting her comment with a raise of my brow. The girl—she hasn’t given me her name yet—just laughs, the sound so sweet and soft.

“Fair point. But I’ve got to be if I want to catch the best waves,” she says fondly, that smile never fading. There’s a quiet certainty in her voice, like this is a ritual she wouldn’t trade for anything.

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