Page 62 of On the Run
“Who decides when you’re happy enough, Beale? You do. You decide when you’re as happy as you want to be. You don’t need to have crazy ambitions if they don’t feel authentic. Most people would kill to have plenty of money and spend each day doing things that make them happy. What more could you want?”
You.
I disregarded the thought immediately, but it was so ridiculous, my rhythm was thrown off and we floundered for a second.
“Sweet mother of dragons, I thought you were kidding about the dropping thing!” Toby cried.
“I was. I had a… a cramp. Sort of. Continue what you were saying.”
“Hmph. I’m not sure if—”
“Toby.”
“Look, there’s a part of me that very much wishes I could stay here, Beale, but I can’t. For one thing, I’ve lied about my identity and our relationship to absolutely everyone on the island. It’s gonna be bad enough when I inevitably fake-break-up with you,” he said mournfully, and my heart skipped a beat. “It’ll be even worse when they learn I’m not who I said I was. Plus, I’m meant for city life. Do you know, there’s not a Neiman Marcus around here for miles? You, on the other hand… you know where you belong, and it’s here.”
“It is. The idea of evenvisitinga city like New York gives me hives,” I told him honestly. “There’s an energy here on the island—an interconnectedness maybe—that feels right to me. Like I’d starve without it.”
“Soownit. The beauty of having lots of money is doing whatever you want, right? When you’re rich, you’re not weird, you’re eccentric. So stick to your guns. Why limit yourself? If I had millions, I’d devote myself to doing nothing but visiting luxury resorts around the world so I could rank them. I’d enjoy every single minute without a care.”
Five days ago, I might have believed that.
I stared down at his wet hair, at the smooth length of his torso glowing beneath the water, at the darker line of my tanned forearms wrapped around him as he leaned against me, and at the bracelet of colorful stones wrapped around his wrist. It loosened something in my chest to see it there.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Toby opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Alright, no I wouldn’t.” He sounded surprised and maybe a little reluctant to admit it. “Or not just that. But I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t do: I wouldn’t spend a single second worrying about the opinion of anyone who wanted to make life decisions for me. That way lies madness.” He patted my forearm. “And both HagathaandToby say that, for whatever our opinions are worth.”
The vulnerability in his voice made me want to hug the crap out of him, but I could just imagine how he’d react to that—like Marjorie when she was frightened, razor claws and all.
“Toby, Hagathaisyou. Honestly, anyone who’d spent a couple hours with you would spot the similarities. You have the same voice. You have the same heart. Maybe if you stopped running away from your alter ego, you’d understand what other people like so much about you. Maybeyouneed to ownthat.”
He cleared his throat. “In any case, this has been quite passably enjoyable, Goodman, but surely our swimming lesson is over now?”
“Floating’s not the same as swimming, Toby,” I warned.
“An excellent point, but I’m concerned for the state of my skin.” He held up his pruny fingers.
I almost sighed. The time limit on Toby’s patience for serious discussion seemed to have expired. But in the end, maybe that was for the best. Maybe there was something to be said for just enjoying something, especially when you knew it wouldn’t last long.
We’d drifted back to the shallow end, so Toby put his feet on the bottom and stood. “I feel like it’s only fair that I should choose our next activity.”
“You already serenaded me with Broadway’s greatest hits yesterday, and once a week is probably my limit,” I warned, though I was pretty sure I could tolerate it as many times as necessary. He was adorable when he reached for the high notes.
He mock-pouted. “I wasn’t going to sing… probably.”
“And I told you I’m not helping to make decorations for the party. My hands are too big for paper crafts.”
“Yeah, we figured that out pretty fast on Monday.” He wrinkled his nose and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Your origami stars were… unique. But there are many, many things your big handsarevery good at, Beale.”
“Is that so?” I lifted one eyebrow. “Anything in particular?”
“Oh, rescuing me from murder cats. Um. Fixing murder boats. Swimming lessons—” He backed me up against the wall.
“In the murder pool?” I guessed. I spread my legs so he could fit against me better.
“Exactly.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here, Toby, and it’s concerning.”
