“That’s what we call the break. They’re waiting a few strokes ahead of where the wave’s going to break.” He pointed. “Now watch. . . . In a few minutes a wave will build.”
She watched as the line of surfers got their boards into position. The water swelled behind them, blue and bulging.
“There they go!”
She felt his hand tighten on her shoulder as he pointed out the action. “They paddle hard to catch the wave. Then it peaks. There! See it?” She nodded. “That’s what you wait for. That’s when you hop up and catch it. ’Cause if you do, you get to ride the wave.”
Linnea felt his excitement in the tension of his muscles, heard the thrill in his voice. She almost felt that she too was one of the surfers gliding across the water. It was poetry in motion. She leaned against him.
“Wow” was all she could say.
He squeezed her shoulder and looked down at her. “Think you want to try?”
She leaned back in his arm, and their gazes met. “Oh, yes.”
“Then there’s only one more question to ask.” He released her and put his hands on his hips. “Are you regular or goofy?”
Linnea laughed and shook her head, wondering if he was joking. “Huh?”
“I’m serious. Get on your surfboard like you’re paddling.”
“You want me to lie on the board? Here on the sand?”
“Yep. Get on the board,” he said, ushering with his hand.
“You’re the teacher.” Linnea lay belly-down on top of the board and looked up at him, waiting for him to tell her what was next.
“Okay,” John said, coming close. “When I say, ‘Pop up,’ jump up on the board, one foot in front of the other. Almost like a warrior yoga pose. Don’t think about it. Just do it. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Pop up!”
Linnea sprang to her feet, holding her arms out for balance in a yoga pose, and looked to John. “Like that?”
“Just like that.” He looked down at her feet. “Okay. You’re regular.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He pointed to her right foot. “See your foot? Right foot forward is goofy. Left foot forward is regular.”
“So is regular good?”
“There’s no good or bad. The flow of surfing is for everything to be natural. You don’t want to conform to any preconceived formation. Just do what comes naturally. So, my friend, you’re naturally a regular.”
“And you are?”
He grinned. “Goofy all the way.”
She offered a crooked smile. “Figures.”
“Now that we know that, we’re going to take this leash”—he knelt on the sand and picked up the leash connected to the board—“and wrap this Velcro band around your right ankle.”
She felt his hands attach the strap around her ankle.
“You have skinny ankles,” he said.
“I heard that a good surfer has big feet for balance.”
“If that were true”—he lifted his foot into the air—“I’d be pretty good.”
“You know what else they say about a man with big feet?”
He met her gaze and said with a straight face, “Big feet, good surfer.” They laughed. “But unfortunately, that’s not true. If anything, I’m guessing a little thing like you would be able to find her center of gravity on that big board better than a big clod like me.”
“Is that supposed to be encouraging?”
“It is. But there’s only one way to find out. Come on, Gidget.”
“Okay, Big Kahuna.”
He paused and looked at her askance. “Big Kahuna? I’m not that much older than you.”
Linnea just shrugged, pleased he understood the reference.
The water reflected the shimmering blue of the sky. Because the waves were so good today, a line of surfers already sat bobbing at the break, their laughter echoing in the wind like birdcalls. Linnea hoisted her board and stepped into the ocean. She gasped at the chill of the first splash and, laughing with excitement, held tight to Big Blue as they crossed the shallows. The water reached John’s hips, and his body glistened with water.
Later, they stretched out on the boards in the deep water. John paddled his board closer to her.
“You remember the last time you tried to paddle through the waves?”
Linnea groaned and said with exaggeration, “Don’t remind me!”
“I’m going to get you over them, don’t worry. There are two different ways to get past the white water with a big board like this,” he said. “If it’s a small wave, you do what we call the push-up. That’s best for the waves here. You start by getting a lot of momentum. Head straight for it. If you’re angled or sideways, the white water will knock you off your board.” His brows lifted but he held back his smile. “I think you remember that. As you approach the breaking wave, push up so the wave rolls over your board and underneath your chest.”
He pushed himself up on the board. She didn’t miss his arm muscles flexing.
“If the wave is more powerful and you find yourself facing a wall of white wash, you grab the sides of the board like this, and do the turtle roll.”
She laughed. “I like the sound of that.”
“I thought you would. For that, when the wave hits, you flip upside down, hanging on to your board while the wave rolls over you. Then you pop back up. You shouldn’t have to worry about doing that here. For today, let’s just concentrate on the push-up method.”
“I think I can do that.”
“Oh, yeah,” he added, tugging at the leash on his ankle. “Here’s why you need the leash. First, it might just save your life. You get tired, you get pounded by the waves. And sometimes rip currents take you for a ride. With your surfboard, you’ll stay afloat. And one of these leg ropes will prevent your surfboard from hitting your fellow surfers. That’s a biggie. And finally”—he smiled—“if you have a leash, you won’t spend most of your surf time chasing after your surfboard. You can’t be sure some nice guy will be around to grab it.”
She smiled, remembering. “Got it.”
“I think that’s it.” He looked out to scan the water. “Here comes one.”
She caught sight of a blue wall heading toward them and her muscles tightened.
“Push up!” he shouted.
Linnea gripped the sides of her board, feeling her stomach clench. As the blue wave hit, she sucked in her breath and pushed herself up on her arms. A rush of cool water flowed under her. She exhaled with a shout of joy, thrilled to her core. The ocean awakened her, leaving her feeling invigorated, confident, like she belonged here. She grinned and searched for John. He was close, smiling at her, giving her the thumbs-up. Then he pointed and she saw another wave coming. She followed his example and started paddling again, harder. She pushed through this one too, riding over it and laughing when the water rushed by.
“You’re doing great!” John called out.
At last they made it to the break where a line of other surfers waited. She tried to sit up on the board like the rest of the surfers, but her balance was off and the board wobbled in the water. She gripped it tightly. Balance, she thought. Keep centered.
“Linnea!” John called out, and pointed to the two surfers to his left. “Meet Richie and Trey. They’re my buddies who live over on Sullivan’s. And over there”—he waved to two men at her right, who had longer, graying hair and sat on their boards with the attitude of kings—“that’s Mickey and Danny. They taught the rest of us how to surf. We call them the Godfathers.”
Linnea returned their waves, careful not to upset her balance. “Who’s the girl?” she asked. Next to Mickey sat a smashing girl with long blond hair who had an enviable confidence and ease on the board.
John leaned over to look. “That’s Carson Muir. Wait—it’s Legare now. That’s her husband, Blake. Lucky guy.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Carson!”
The woman turned her head and, seeing John, returned a warm smile an
d a relaxed wave. It was clear she felt as at home on a surfboard as the guys. Linnea wanted to feel that confidence on the water someday.
“You all know each other?”
“A lot of us do, yeah,” he answered. “We’ve been surfing this same stretch of beach most of our lives. Bumping into each other, literally. Plus, there’s always an element of danger in the sea. The unexpected. We have each other’s backs.”
She looked around at the vast sea that seemed to stretch to the sky and realized her vulnerability out here. And her lack of knowledge.
“I can see why. It’s a little scary way out here.”
John quietly slipped off his board and swam to grab the edges of her surfboard, holding it steady in his strong hands. His face was solemn and she felt the intensity of his gaze.
“Don’t be scared, Linnea,” he said seriously. Droplets of water hung from his lashes and sparkled in the sun, making his eyes appear as green as the sea. “I have your back.”
She saw in his eyes that he was watching out for her. She felt safe with him. Their eyes lingered for a second, and she felt the heat warm her body.
“Remember why you came out here,” he continued. “Why we all come out here. You know that euphoria you felt riding over the wave?”
She nodded.
“We call that surfer’s stoke. It might look like we’re all just sitting out here waiting for a wave, but it’s a kind of meditation. We’re taking it all in. There’s this sense way out here that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves. There’s this overwhelming sense of peace. Time seems to disappear and nothing matters but the sea and the sky and that we are alive.”
Linnea stared at him, appreciating his words and that he’d lowered his guard to bring her into his world. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t feel the need to say anything.
A profound silence followed as he continued to hold on to her board and they rocked in the water. She heard the splashing of water, the cry of an osprey overhead. Her senses came alive, attuned to the moment.
John looked over her shoulder, and his expression suddenly focused. “Okay, Gidget. This might be a good wave. Listen to my cues and paddle as hard as you can till you catch the wave.”
Uncertainty reared its head. “How will I know?”
“Believe me, you’ll know. Just don’t rush it. One of the biggest mistakes is to stand too soon. Be patient. Wait those extra couple seconds, and then pop up.” He patted her board. “Big Blue is a steady steed. You just take all the time you need to stand up. He’ll take you in. Here’s your wave!”
Linnea gripped her board tightly as he turned Big Blue around to face the beach. Everyone else in line was getting into position. She spread her arms out, ready to paddle.
“When I say so, start paddling.”
She looked forward, holding her breath. Listening.
“Go!” he shouted. “Paddle, paddle, paddle!”
Linnea felt a giant push that she thought was the wave until she realized it was John pushing her. All five of her senses heightened, and her mind focused. She felt the board catch the wave, gliding, gaining speed. She raised herself to her knees, counted to two, then popped up to her feet. She was up! Euphoric! For a fleeting second, she was flying. Her whole existence was soaring on this single wave!
Almost as quickly as she got up, she fell off, tumbling into the white water as if she were stuck in a washing machine on permanent press. She felt a tug on her right ankle and surfaced, breaking free of the wave. Gasping for breath, she climbed back on the board.
She swiped her streaming hair out of her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, blinking in the light. She heard John hooting and shouting her name behind her. Her heart expanded, and as she waved back she grinned so wide her cheeks hurt.
Euphoria, she thought, feeling like she had entered a new world of indescribable beauty. This is my ocean. She turned her surfboard, knowing which direction she wanted to go. She began paddling hard, feeling no fatigue, only a driving desire to get back out on the breakers.
“Come on, Big Blue. We’ve got this.”
Chapter Twelve
Turtles do cry, but not because they’re sad. They have glands that help empty excess salt from their eyes, which look like tears.
“YOU’VE GOT COMPANY,” said Emmi.
Cara leaned over the counter and looked out the kitchen window to see a black Land Rover pull up the drive. She felt a flutter of anticipation at seeing David, not that she’d ever admit that to Emmi Baker Peterson.
“It’s David and Rory.”
Emmi lowered her coffee mug with interest. It was Emmi’s free day, and they’d been catching up over coffee and a seven-layer caramel cake from Caroline’s Cakes. Cara never took a bite of her favorite cake without remembering Caroline Ragsdale Reutter. She missed her former Ashley Hall friend. As she tasted the cake’s sweetness she thought how sad it was that the best—like Caroline and Brett—went young.
“This has become a regular thing, hasn’t it?” asked Emmi. “It’s been, what . . . a few weeks now?”
“Yes,” replied Cara, opening the cabinet and pulling out a fresh mug.
“And you’re still calling it playdates?”
Cara looked at her askance. “What do you mean, calling it playdates? That’s what they are.”
“Come on,” Emmi chided, nudging her. “We both know he’s coming to see you. Rory is but a hostage to his romantic schemes.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Cara scolded her. “If you think that, then you’re saying I’m holding Hope hostage too.”
Emmi wiggled her brows.
“You’re hopeless. David and I are simply taking the children out together.” She set the Juliska mug on the table beside a matching white plate. “You know, I had no idea there was this whole other side to the Charleston area.”
“The one meant for little kids and their parents,” Emmi said sarcastically, biting into her cake. Some of the cake flaked off onto her shirt, and she nonchalantly brushed the crumbs from her chest.
Cara laughed. “Exactly. This whole being a mom thing is new to me, and it’s so much nicer doing these outings with a friend. David is a font of knowledge about wherever we go. You know,” she said in a distant tone, “it’s been a while since a man’s intellect challenged my own. And we enjoy each other’s company. David’s a very nice man.”
“Uh-huh,” Emmi drawled. She looked out the window and watched as David pulled Rory out of his car seat. “He’s dreamy. That’s what he is.” She straightened. “And he’s got a nice butt.” She popped the last of her cake into her mouth.
Cara snorted and leaned over the counter again. She watched David with Rory in his arms swing the car door shut and walk toward the house. He was wearing black jeans that showed off his long legs and a plain white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. He’d told her he had a closet full of Brooks Brothers button-downs from his working days that were the most comfortable shirts he owned. So he wore them rolled up at the sleeves and didn’t care if they got stained.
“Yes, he is,” Cara admitted with a sigh. “And I don’t quite know what to do about how he makes me feel.”
“Honey, you don’t have to do anything.”
Cara looked at her best friend and wanted to share with her how these feelings for David made her feel like she was somehow betraying Brett. But the doorbell rang, cutting off further conversation.
Hope looked up sharply from her high chair, eyes wide and alert. Cara pushed off from the counter. “Watch her a sec, will you?” Cara asked Emmi, and hurried to the front door.
“Right on time,” she said, swinging wide the door.
“I take no credit,” David said, walking in with Rory in his arms. “The ferry leaves the dock at nine o’clock sharp.”
As he walked by her, she caught the scent of his cologne. It was very subtle and, she knew, expensive.
“I’ve got cake and coffee in the kitchen,” she told him. “And Emmi’s here.”
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She followed David into the kitchen and watched as he walked straight to Emmi and planted a kiss on her upturned cheek. Cara smiled as they exchanged pleasantries, glad he got along with her friends. Then he bent toward Hope.
“Good morning, Miss Hope,” he said, and gently kissed the top of her head.
Hope leaned far back against the chair and lowered her chin, looking up at him coyly. Her dark lashes fluttered.
“She’s such a flirt,” Cara said with a light laugh. “And how are you, young man?” she asked Rory. Rory looked back at her with his round blue eyes. “Would you like a piece of caramel cake?” She turned to David. “Oops, is that all right, Pops?” she asked, using the name Rory called him.
He grimaced. “Maybe just a bite. He’s got a real sweet tooth and Heather’s pretty firm on her no-sugar policy.”
He set Rory down in the booster seat Cara had set up and buckled him in while Cara went to pour his coffee. It was a comfortable routine they’d fallen into over the past several weeks. Coffee and a morning snack for the kids, diaper changes, load up the car, and off they went on a new adventure.
Cara and David had become quite comfortable with each other as they minded the children. Since Brett, she’d been cautious with men, not wanting them to get too close and holding back on anything important or personal. With David, however, the children had established a common bond. They had each other’s backs and had reached a comfort level she’d never experienced with a man before. Not even with Brett. Children changed everything.
And she’d needed that change.
Cara handed David his steaming mug of coffee.
“Smells great. Thanks,” he said, his eyes glittering at her over the rim of the cup. After a swallow he added, “Mmm . . . tastes great too.”
Emmi drew closer with the cake and offered some to David. He accepted it with thanks. She set the box on the table. While the children nibbled fruit snacks, the adults stood in a circle with their coffee.
“So, where are you heading to today?” Emmi asked.
“Yes,” Cara echoed, turning to David. “You said you had a surprise for today. Where are we going?”
Beach House Reunion Page 15
