“Just so there’s no confusion in the future, I always want to hold your hand, Whit,” I tell him, and he meets my gaze, those eyes sparkling.
“Okay.”
I tug him forward, following our group out of the jellyfish exhibit and to a place where we can pet stingrays. There’s a shallow pool in the middle of a large room with sea anemones, two giant stingrays, and many colorful fish. A group of children is leaning forward, their hands trailing in the water. How cool is this? Mal had every reason to be excited to come here.
“Come on,” I tell Whit. “You going to pet one?”
“No,” he says, shuddering at the fish swimming through the shallow pool.
“Why not?” I ask.
“They’re slimy. I’d prefer not to.”
“Come on. New experiences stretch you.” When Whit still doesn’t budge, I add, “For me, yeah?”
He watches me for a moment and then sighs. He bends down, reaches his hand into the water, slides his fingers across the back of a stingray, and then pulls his hand out, flexing it.
“Good enough?” he asks, looking annoyed, but I just beam at him.
“Yeah, babe, that’s good.”
He flushes and then moves to the sink to wash his hands.
I snort and spend the next ten minutes running my hands through the water, touching everything. Mal finally has to pull me away. I could stay here all day. Apparently, I’m a ten-year-old child when it comes to this stuff.
I wash my hands and see Whit standing on the periphery of the exhibit, his thumbs quickly tapping out a message on his phone.
“Your dad?” I ask, and Whit fumbles with this phone and shoves it in his pocket.
“Um…yes.”
He clears his throat and then points to the sink. “Did you wash your hands?”
“Yeah, I did. What did your dad want?” I ask, not letting him divert the conversation.
His brows furrow. “The same thing he always wants.”
“And that would be?” I ask.
“I have…commitments, and he’s making sure I’m following up on them.”
“What kind of commitments?”
Whit doesn’t meet my eyes. “There are things that I just can’t divulge at the moment.”
“Why? They top secret or some shit?”
Whit glances at the ground and then closes his eyes. “Caleb, there are things in motion that I just don’t want to talk about. I’m sorry.”
I want to know what thesethings in motionare, but I don’t press him on it. In time, I hope he’ll be able to open up to me about his life. Past, present, and future.
“Okay. I’ll let it go for now.”
He gives me a clipped nod, and I reach out, running my fingers down his arm and linking mine with his.
We spend the rest of the morning walking through exhibits, Whit’s hand in mine, and then leave to eat lunch at the beach. We purchase sandwiches from a beachside deli and carry them onto the sand. I sit between Whit’s legs, his hands wrapped around my waist as we watch Sem, Luke, and Mal race into the water, shedding clothes as they go.
“They’re going to get arrested,” Whit says to me.