by Amy Waeschle
After a grilled fish dinner and several bottles of wine anchored outside of Ollie’s Point, the group lingered on the back deck. Marissa and Taylor were sipping beers at the edge of the swim deck, talking quietly. Libby and Jillian were in the throes of an intense discussion at the other end of the table. Benita looked like she was in a food coma. They had all eaten like queens, but Benita was so tiny, Cassidy had no idea where it had all gone. Cassidy was about to get up and tiptoe off to bed when Benita leaned in.
“I didn’t get much out of Bruce,” she said, “other than he had someone to fill our empty berth.”
“Um, yeah. I didn’t get the chance to square up with you,” Cassidy replied, relieved to get this awkward piece out of the way.
“Everything’s already paid for,” Benita replied with a wave of her hand. “You can pick up the tab in San Juan. We’ve only paid deposits on the rooms, and we’ll probably run up a good bar tab. If that doesn’t take care of it, we can work something out.”
Cassidy would rather just pay the group and be done with it, but she understood that this was impractical on the boat. Even back at the bar, what would have she done? She didn’t travel around with a wad of U.S. bills. “Sure,” she said.
The stars looked like pinholes in a black canvas and, with no city lights to pollute the sky, extended all the way to the horizon, winking from all corners of space. The curve of mountain rising up to meet them looked like a black cutout. Waves caressing the shore made the perfect soundtrack to the night.
“How long are you in Costa Rica?” Benita asked.
“I’ll head back after this trip,” she said, wishing she had left the table earlier. She knew where this was going.
“Do you work, or are you one of those trust funders?” Benita asked.
Cassidy laughed a little. “I work.” She thought of her seismic stations up on the mountain. “I’m a volcano seismologist,” she said. “I do research on Arenal.”
Benita raised an eyebrow. “Should we be worried?” she said with a smirk.
Cassidy tried to play along, but she got this question from ignorant people all the time. “Not worried.” She paused. “Prepared? Always.”
“Huh,” Benita replied, giving her a shrewd look.
“I study a certain kind of seismic signal to see if it can help forecast the timing of eruptions, and if it indicates anything about the size.”
“So is it gonna blow, or not?” Benita asked.
“No,” Cassidy said. “At least, not today. Probably not tomorrow, either.”
Benita laughed.
“What do you do?” Cassidy asked. Jillian and Libby’s conversation was getting heated down at the end of the table.
“I’m a lawyer,” Benita replied. She nodded at the ring that Cassidy was unconsciously spinning around her finger. “You married?”
Cassidy almost choked on her own spit. Before she could answer, Jillian’s voice cut in:
“I’m not blind,” she said to Libby, her voice sharp. “I know it’s her,” she added.
“How can you be sure?” Libby answered. “This is your marriage we’re talking about here. Think it through.”
“I have thought it through,” Jillian replied, her voice trembling. “That fucker,” she said, and broke down.
Benita slid over to Jillian and the three of them huddled together, Benita speaking in quiet tones while Libby held her. Jillian began to sob.
Cassidy carefully detached her sticky thighs from the bench seat and slipped through the side door, glad to drift away. Whatever drama going on was none of her business. Besides, it gave her an escape from talking about Pete.
She didn’t want to go to bed yet. The rooms were deep below decks and even with the air conditioning, the cramped space didn’t exactly exude relaxation. Bruce was in the wheelhouse, which also served as his bedroom with a tidy bed built into the corner.
He popped his head out of the doorway. “Settling in?”
“This is a pretty nice boat,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said with a small bow. He rubbed his hand over the top of the dashboard, as if stroking a beloved pet.
“Where are we going tomorrow?”
“A little secret spot off the tip of the peninsula, la Punta Pirata. This will be a good swell for it. From there we’ll do a night cruise, and you’ll wake up in Nicaragua.”
“So you’ll stay awake all night?” she asked, imagining him at the helm with only the stars to keep him company.
He shrugged. “I’ll rest up at Pirate’s and again at Rosie’s.”
“When will we get to San Juan?”
“Tuesday night,” he replied. “Then we’ll return to Cocoa Beach Wednesday night.”
Cassidy nodded. “Can I see Reeve’s cabin?” she asked, suddenly curious.
Bruce rose. “Sure,” he said, and led her down the steep ladder to the galley. The bunkrooms were located in the stern, past the kitchen and the tiny head. Jesus was drying dishes, his forehead beaded with sweat.
“Podemos ver tu cabaña?” Bruce asked.
Jesus looked a little puzzled but nodded, extending his hand as if to say, “be my guest.”
They opened a narrow door under the stairs that revealed a closet-sized room with a sloping roof. A bunk was built into the wall, with what looked like storage space beneath. A tiny overhead light shone above the narrow bunk, which was made up with crisp blue sheets, the top folded over and the pillow fluffed. Hanging across the ceiling was a mesh hammock containing a worn backpack and a small guitar-shaped case.
Cassidy looked to Bruce for permission, and stepped inside. Reeve had been here, slept here, then one day never returned.
“Did he take his things with him?” she asked suddenly, eyeing the hammock.
“He hadn’t brought much, but yeah, it was gone.”
“You checked?” Her eyes went to the cubby space beneath the bunk.
Bruce nodded.
“What about the video equipment, the camera?”
“That’s all mine. He left it, thank God. That stuff’s expensive.”
She pictured Reeve hunched over a screen, editing images until late into the night. “Did he work in here?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” Bruce replied, his face pensive. “It sort of depended on what the day was like. He cooked, too, so he fit in the editing when he could.”
Cassidy gave the room one more look. She didn’t feel anything, or get any kind of sense that he had been there. It was a disappointment, though the idea that she would have felt anything was ridiculous.
There was a whoop from above and then the sound of splashing.
Cassidy stepped back into the galley. Through the windows above the counters, she saw a pair of bare legs standing on the side of the boat. Then the legs leapt into space, followed by a splash. Another set of legs appeared and then went over the side.
“Midnight swim?” Jesus said in careful English, his weathered face cracking into a smile.
Cassidy climbed the ladder to the back deck, where Libby was climbing to the roof.
“Leave it to Libby to show us her balls,” Benita said, as Libby leapt clear of the rails and cannonballed into the water—a good twenty feet down.
The group was swimming to the back of the boat when Marissa spotted Cassidy, standing at the doorway from the dining area.
“C’mon!” Marissa shouted, the bright glow of her yellow bikini shimmering below the surface.
“Yeah, jump in!” Taylor had been swimming back but was now treading water, waiting for her. “It feels sooo good.”
Cassidy looked at Bruce, who was perched one ladder rung below the deck level. “You comin’?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Her bikini beneath her clothes was finally dry. But what the hay? she thought. She peeled off her T-shirt, which was damp from the humidity, then stepped out of her shorts and kicked them aside. She felt eyes on her and looked back, expecting to see Bruce, but he had disappeared down the ladder.
The water felt like a warm bath, but more refreshing, the salt stinging her nostrils. She made sure not to open her eyes underwater for fear of losing a set of contact lenses.
Meanwhile, Jillian and Benita had gone back for another round of jumping off the boat, this time Benita climbed onto Jillian’s shoulders and executed a perfect swan dive.
“Show off!” Taylor said, laughing.
Benita backstroked to the back of the boat. Cassidy and Taylor breaststroked after her.
“Ugh, I’m not looking forward to sleeping on this thing,” Taylor groaned as they climbed the ladder. “I get seasick just looking at it.”
“Then why’d you come?” Cassidy said. “I mean,” she backpedaled, “why not just stay at the fancy resort?” Hadn’t they gone on a boat trip before?
“Sometimes we do, but the boat experience is pretty hard to beat. I just bring plenty of Dramamine, and Ambien. I’m a nurse practitioner, so I bring a cocktail of meds with me. Also I have the patch,” Taylor added, pulling back her ear to show the small, round sticker attached to her skin. “I have extra, if you need any.”
“Thanks,” Cassidy said, shaking the water out of her ear. “I just might take you up on that. Depends on how bad it gets, I guess.”
“It’s going to be bad,” Taylor said. “Trust me.”
Nine
Thrown from her bunk, Cassidy woke halfway to the floor, landing on her side with a painful thud. Her hip throbbing, she tried to get up, but the boat slammed down into the next trough, sending her toppling into Benita’s bed.
“What the,” the lump muttered.
“Sorry,” Cassidy mumbled, struggling to free herself from the bunk. As the boat skyrocketed upwards, Cassidy’s forehead smacked into her bunk above. Instantly, she felt the need to vomit.
Guided by the dim light of the hallway, Cassidy was bounced between the polished, narrow walls of the corridor on the way to the head.
The boat must have reached the open seas. They had left Pirate Point in the late evening after the glorious morning of surfing Ollie’s Point at dawn, just the seven of them—Bruce joining in this time. After that they’d had an intense session at a super shallow reef, Bruce’s secret wave set in a rocky jumble of islands known for its spectacular diving. The swell had increased throughout the day, transforming the wave at Pirate’s from a fun playground to a thick and heaving wedge. Half of the group had returned to the boat, claiming it was too scary. The other half soon followed, but not without payment. Jillian was held under and her board’s leash plug ripped out. Marissa left a chunk of her leg on the rocks during a wipeout.
The roaring rollers tossed the boat as easily as if it were a toy in a bathtub. Cassidy thought of Bruce, his tanned face bent over charts, checking waypoints, unafraid of the tumultuous seas. At least she hoped he wasn’t afraid.
At Pirate’s, Cassidy had been cocky enough to think she could tuck into one of the barrels. A four-wave cleanup set had just rolled through, so most of the group had either just taken waves or had lost their position in their scramble to get outside. Cassidy had capitalized on the opportunity. A seamless, steam-rolling wall of dark water approached, and she had dropped in before anyone knew she was gone.
Once in, Cassidy let the wave guide her into the pocket where she focused her eyes forward, towards the opening of sky at the end of the line. As the sparkling blue water coiled over her and the sky went black, she felt the joy and reverence of being inside a beautiful wave seep into her every cell. It must have mesmerized her to the point of distraction because the wave closed out with her inside, and she had bounced off the reef several times during the spin cycle before finding her board and sprinting back outside.
After vomiting up the last of her dinner, Cassidy half-crawled, half limped back to her bunk. The other cabins were quiet, and Cassidy wondered if Taylor’s scopolamine patch was doing its job. Benita was a silent lump when Cassidy climbed her ladder and slipped back beneath her sheets. Steadily, the boat rolled and lurched, creaking and grinding. Cassidy rolled to the far edge of the bunk and tried to find sleep, moving carefully to avoid rubbing the damp sheets against her sunburned knees and bruised flesh.
But that moment when she had been inside the wave kept replaying in her mind. Even though fleeting, that boundless joy and calm had left its bittersweet mark on her. It was like someone had thrown open a window to her heart, and pure sunlight was shining into her with peace and warmth after a year of so much sadness. So when the wave blocked out the sun and the sudden burst of elation vanished, there was a moment so profoundly sad, almost infuriating—as if she was being cheated, or being forced to come down from a powerful, wicked high.
Sometime in the early morning, Cassidy woke. The boat’s tossing and turning had faded, and the engine was off. She could hear a distant shushhhh of waves combing a beach. Could they have arrived? She uncoiled from her sheets and slipped on her glasses, blinked until her eyes came into focus. Benita breathed softly in the bunk below. She checked her watch—it was still early, not quite six o’clock. She was dying to get out of the cramped bunk. Not wanting to wake the others, she carefully slipped down the ladder, scooped up her duffel, and tiptoed to the bathroom. She pulled on her bikini top, board shorts, and a long-sleeved rash guard.
After putting in her contacts, she packed away the T-shirt and shorts serving as her pajamas, and spied the sweatshirt at the bottom of her duffel. Pulling it to her face, she held it close to her cheek and closed her eyes. Although it didn’t have Pete’s earthy scent anymore, it brought him back.
I miss you so much.
Just for a moment, she let her heart swell with the memory of his tenderness. Her body ached to feel his strong arms around her, to feel his kiss on her lips. Her ring flashed in the dim glow of the bathroom lights, and she spun it around her finger, her thumb smoothing over its surface. Pete had designed it himself, right down to the peridot, a volcanic gem that no one else would put in an engagement ring. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Cassidy saw the tears welling in her eyes and stuffed the rest of her things in the bag. The stabbing pain in her heart was just as crippling as it had been before. Whoever said time heals all wounds is a fucking liar, she thought.
From up on deck, a band of pink silk marked the Eastern horizon, with the sun’s rays still hidden behind the black silhouette of the distant mountain. Bruce and Jesus were nowhere in sight. She squinted into the shadows towards the rocky beach. It was not yet light enough to see the wave, but she could hear its thunder. Her pulse thumped against her eardrums. The boat rocked gently in the swells; she held the railing for support and made her way to the stack of boards lashed vertically to the deck.
Bruce had told her about this wave, one that he claimed to have discovered. “It comes in like a freight train. Most days she’ll tube nice and easy. Gotta wait for low tide, though, or wave breaks too close to the rocks.”
Knowing that if she dove off the boat, it might wake someone, she unsnapped her board then tiptoed to the back deck. After attaching her leash, she lowered her board into the water and slipped quietly in after it. Already, the day was humid, so the water felt fresh and clean on her sunbaked skin. She began paddling towards the low roar of the distant wave.
The tops of the scraggly trees on shore were turning from shifty gray to green as she paddled, and the sunrise seemed to burn a brighter orange by the minute. As she pulled closer to the wave, she noticed another surfer in the water: Bruce, bobbing, his head just visible. It reminded her of the seals she always saw while surfing in the Pacific Northwest. She watched him turn towards the shore and stroke furiously to get into a blue-black lump of water that jacked up as it neared him. She lost sight of him, and the wave curled shut in a deafening roar. When he didn’t reappear after a few seconds, she scanned the area, realizing she was worried. She paddled faster.
A part of her knew this was irrational—Bruce could take care of himself—but she knew that the moment when a person left you could be any moment. This one,
or the next. There were no rules.
Then Bruce’s form appeared, swimming leisurely for the outside. She sighed with more relief than she knew was logical, and paddled into position.
“Buenos días,” Bruce said as he joined her.
“Dias,” she replied. In the faint light, she could see his white teeth and cracked lips. She shook off the last of her anxiety.
“You’re up early,” Bruce said, whipping his head vigorously to the side—a move meant to clear his eyes of seawater, Cassidy knew, because Quinn did it. It made her miss her brother, with his cackly laugh, his pranks, and the way he always knew what to say.
“I’m not very good at sleep,” she said.
“Sleep’s overrated anyway,” Bruce replied. “Especially on mornings like this,” he added.
The sun spilled over the land and basked them with its golden light. A cool breeze shifted the hairs on her arms and grazed the backs of the waves. The hiss and sizzle of each wave reaching up, meeting the breeze, growling as it crumbled, made Cassidy shiver.
“So, it’s none of my business, but how did you end up working on a volcano in Costa Rica? I mean, Hawaii has volcanoes, and aren’t the Cascades volcanoes?” he asked, squinting at her.
Cassidy was relieved that he was asking about her work and not her past. “I did a semester in Costa Rica in college. Back then, Arenal was erupting. I was already on a science track, but experiencing that made me fall in love with volcanoes. I didn’t think I would study Arenal, though. I would have been happy with any of the Central American projects, but it just worked out that way.”
“So will you live in Costa Rica?”
Cassidy shook her head. “Lots of people study it and don’t live in the country.”
Bruce seemed to accept this.
“I couldn’t live here,” she said.
“Why not?” he replied, sounding surprised.
Cassidy searched for the right words. “Everything is ‘Pura Vida’ all the time.”
“What’s the matter with that?”
He sounded genuinely interested, so she continued. “There’s no ambition. No urgency to contribute to the world.”
