Diving In

by Galway, Gretchen

When she reached the main floor, she paused to inhale the thick, sweet scent of gardenias growing in pots along the wide tiled foyer and took out her phone to call Betty. “I made it,” she told her, wiping the sweat off her upper lip.

  “Did Phobic Phoebe need the Valium I gave her for the plane?” Betty asked.

  “Of course not. I’m not that bad.”

  Betty exhaled a soft snort of disbelief. “You hyperventilate on escalators.”

  “Maybe if escalators went to Hawaii, I wouldn’t have a problem.”

  “I guess.”

  “Plus,” Nicki admitted, “there was this amazing juice in tiny little glass bottles a woman on the plane gave me. It burned my throat at first before I got used to it.”

  “Aha,” Betty said, laughing. “But how did you get to the hotel if you were wasted? Was there a shuttle?”

  Nicki helped herself to a cup of citrus-infused water on a table near the elevators and felt the tension inside her ease almost as much as if she were throwing beanbags in the air.

  This. This is why she’d come. She could become whomever she wanted in this beautiful, dreamy place.

  “I sobered up and rented a car,” Nicki said. “No problem.”

  “Really?”

  Nicki decided not to tell her about getting lost and crying in a gas station’s bathroom. Week after week, she’d spilled her guts for Betty’s blog, every little fear and failure—but what if it merely reinforced the weaknesses of her character? To remake herself she had to change everything, not just her clothes but also her conversation. No longer would she tell stories, laughing at herself for being neurotic, obsessive, and ridiculous. Self-deprecation was for losers.

  “I’m a perfectly good driver,” she told Betty coolly.

  “You’re okay, but you know how you are, all freaked out and sweaty about it, especially if you’re somewhere new.”

  “I’m not that way anymore.”

  “Uh-huh,” Betty said.

  Nicki sipped the fruity water and walked down the path past the spongy green lawn to the beach. Everything in the resort pointed to the sea, nudging your gaze and your body to the sand, the waves, the wind.

  But before she went to feel the sea with her bare feet, she had to tell Betty about Ansel. Not in an emotional way as if she were, after all these years, vulnerable, but matter-of-fact, lightly, amused. The way she imagined Miles’s redhead would say it.

  Oh, Miles, Miles, Miles…

  No, not like that. More like, “You won’t believe what I found at the condo,” Nicki began, forcing a laugh.

  Betty perked up. “Drugs?”

  The water caught in Nicki’s throat. Coughing, she said, “No. Her brother is here on business for a week or so. I have to share the place with him.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Wasn’t this the guy you got to third base with in high school?”

  “College.”

  “I thought it was your first time fooling around,” Betty said.

  “It was.”

  “Jeez, I was gay and even I had a guy put his hand down my pants in high school,” Betty said.

  “And look where that got you. Now you’re a bitter, promiscuous lesbian.”

  Betty snorted. “I’m not bitter.”

  “Neither am I. I’ve moved on. I barely recognized him.”

  “You keep lying to me,” Betty said. “You must totally be freaking out.”

  Nicki opened her mouth to protest, but being fake went against thirty years of living honestly. “I’m fine,” she said weakly.

  “Write about it for the blog, and I’ll expense the airfare. He’ll be like Thor II.”

  “When hell freezes over,” Nicki replied. “I’m never writing about the men in my life again. I still have nightmares about Miles Girard.”

  “Do you wake up all hot and sweaty?”

  “If you keep insulting your most popular unpaid contributor, she might decide to stop contributing.”

  After a melodramatic sigh, Betty said, “All right, you won’t write about him, even though it would be great material and the perfect opportunity for you to work through your issues.”

  “You’re so full of shit. You just want the page hits.”

  Betty laughed. “He’s there a week, you said?”

  Beyond the resort, the sand sank sharply into the rough surf. Nicki sat on a bench near an open public shower for people to wash off the salt water. “Maybe longer. Of course I have to stay. I’m not giving this up, no way. But, oh, if you’d seen him…”

  “You showed me a picture once.”

  “I did not.”

  “Isn’t he the guy in your bathroom cabinet?” Betty asked.

  “What the hell were you doing looking in my bathroom cabinet?”

  “Looking for condoms.”

  Nicki nearly dropped the phone. “What?”

  “Kidding. I needed a tampon. Is he still cute?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Nicki’s thoughts turned to salt-and-pepper hair, a naughty grin, that compact, athletic build.

  “Any chance you might—”

  “Still be an idiot?” Nicki cut her off.

  “Practice your new persona on him?”

  “No.” Then, “No way.”

  “Hold on,” Betty said, her voice rising. “What did he do when he saw you? Was he totally embarrassed?”

  Nicki couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

  “No, he wouldn’t be, I suppose,” Betty went on. “Probably smiled and asked for seconds. Did you wear that dress?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “I sweated like a pig in it,” Nicki replied.

  “I’m sure he was too busy looking at your breasts to notice a few sweat stains.”

  “God, listen to you. It wasn’t like that at all.”

  “I bet it was. You looked hot in that getup.”

  “He was very polite, no drama. We agreed to share the condo and went our separate ways.” Nicki got up and returned to the walkway to find a recycling bin for her cup. “Besides, I don’t have any boobs.”

  “They look like perfect little mouthfuls to me.”

  “You’re just saying that to gross me out, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  Betty laughed. “Don’t let him know you still have a thing for him.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Every time you look at him, remember how you felt when he never asked his sister who you were, or if he could see you again.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you anything. Ever.” Nicki tilted her head back to lose herself in the sky. A bank of clouds hovered over the inland hills, casting dark green shadows and reminding her a little of the fog that rolled into the Bay Area.

  But only a little. The soft warm moisture in the air, the volcanic peaks of the land, the sweet-smelling flowers everywhere, even on the people, reminded her of where she was. “I’m going to say good-bye now. I’m about to hit the beach.”

  “You didn’t follow him there, did you?”

  “Yeah,” Nicki said. “And I don’t want him to get out of sight, so I’ve gotta run.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Can’t talk. I’ve got to get my fins on so I can chase him underwater.”

  “Now I know you’re kidding,” Betty said. “I hope you go into the water at least once while you’re there, though. You can’t go to Hawaii and not go swimming.”

  Nicki reached the western boundary of the resort, where manicured sod and tidy gardens ended at pale sand. The beach was surprisingly narrow and steep at that spot, the crashing waves only thirty yards in front of her, where a dozen people of all ages and physiques were jumping, surfing, paddling, floating. The sight of a grown man with huge muscles being thrown up against the shore, arms flailing, tumbling and powerless as if he weighed no more than a tennis ball, made her freeze where she stood.

  Betty’s voice broke her daze. “Nicki? Promise me you’ll go into the water once
while you’re there.”

  Nicki looked back at the resort complex. The water in the wading pool closest to her barely reached the belly buttons of the toddlers splashing in it. “I promise.”

  “You’ll love it. Once you get over your fear, you’ll love it.”

  Nicki took off her shoes to feel the hot sand under her bare feet. “It’s not only fear. It’s common sense. I never learned how to swim.”

  “So learn.”

  “Stop nagging and get your own life, Mom,” Nicki said. Oh, the sand felt good. Why wasn’t the sand back home ever hot and soft like this? The last time she’d been to a beach near San Francisco, she’d had to wear hiking boots and wool underwear.

  When Betty finally let her off the phone, Nicki turned and marched back to the resort, eyes fixed on the baby pool. Her pulse raced.

  There was absolutely no reason the sight of ten inches of water should make her mouth go dry, her breath shallow, or her knees tremble. No reason. She wasn’t a three-year-old staring up at the sun from underneath six feet of shimmering pool water; she was an athletic, healthy, adult woman.

  Why should that one little incident twenty-seven years ago still haunt her? She hadn’t been afraid at the time—in fact, she’d been thrilled to be swimming, proving she wasn’t a baby anymore—when a nearby grandmother, fully dressed, had jumped in and rescued her from the tile bottom of the City of El Cerrito’s pool that afternoon in late August.

  But then, apparently, she’d refused to go near the water again. Screamed throughout every swim lesson her mother had ever signed her up for. Eventually, understandably, everyone had given up on her.

  And so had she, until now. Just the thought of getting in the water made her fall apart. She stopped and wiped the sweat off her forehead.

  All of her stupid anxieties had flared up since that afternoon with Miles and his fiancée in Betty’s kitchen, and were getting worse. It was as if getting passed by in love—again—had resurrected every latent fear in her psyche. She’d written a lot of Phobic Phoebe from memory, as a joke, reliving her adolescence. But now…now she jumped at the sight of her own shadow.

  Gritting her teeth, she marched to the pool. It was a pinprick of turquoise, the rest of the world disappearing into the shadows of her peripheral vision.

  Woodenly, without taking her eyes off the pool, she leaned down to unbuckle her right shoe, her left, and then kicked them off.

  Chapter 5

  ANSEL HIT THE UPLOAD BUTTON on his laptop one last time before closing the screen with a weary sigh.

  He’d taken more pictures of the office building in Kihei than a lonely, unemployed photographer would of his firstborn child. Only six hours as a real estate investor, and he’d already overdone it. Hundreds of pictures of drywall and gray carpeting.

  He smiled, unplugging his phone from his laptop and walking out to the condo balcony, savoring the daydream of Brand making himself study each boring, soul-crushing image because he was too perfect not to. They’d need a roomful of computers to store those high-resolution suckers. Luckily, they were about to be the proud landlords of their own climate-controlled office building.

  The sun felt good on his face. He’d been in his room for hours with the shades drawn, going over the pictures and researching the property. He sank into the chaise, took out his phone, and called Brand.

  “How was it?” Brand asked without saying hello.

  “Great. What do you think about solar?”

  Brand groaned. “Focus, Ansel. Focus. Just the building.”

  “I mean solar panels for the property. On the roof. There’s this thing here, this fiery ball of gas in the sky, and it’s really bright and hot,” he said. “You’ve lived in San Francisco so long you probably don’t remember what I’m talking about.”

  “Money pit,” Brand said.

  “Not in the long run.”

  “You wanted me to tell you when you were being stupid,” Brand said. “Here you go.”

  “Hey, it’s not stupid to save money on energy. The woman I found to bid on the windows is thinking about moving into solar. We had lunch, and she told me all about the industry here—”

  “Ah. You had lunch with somebody. She talked to you about her life’s dream, and you were putty in her hands,” Brand said. “This is how you ended up with that organic dog food business.”

  And a dog training one. But Brand didn’t have to know about that. “I’ll show you the numbers. Even within five years, solar makes sense.”

  “It’s more money up-front. Harder, longer to make a profit. I believe you said you wanted to pile up a mountain of moolah as soon as possible. Those were your words.”

  “Not right away…”

  “Stick to the plan. Just once, why don’t you experience the thrill of having a business give you money?” Brand asked. “You might like it.”

  “Check out the photos. I’ll send you the spreadsheet.”

  “Just trying to help you meet the goals we set up on our plan,” Brand said.

  “Appreciate it. It’s all cool,” Ansel said. “Just keep an open mind. We’ll talk soon. Bye.” He stabbed the phone with his index finger. Just below him, the resort’s beachfront restaurant and its broad, flat roof were baking in the sun. The palm fronds over the bar wouldn’t be good for solar panels, but the rest of the building would be perfect.

  He’d talk to the resort management company about it. Some of the newer resorts were much more ecologically aware than this one; it made good advertising and, hell, why not pay attention to the bigger global picture?

  He shoved his feet into his flip-flops, grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys, and left the condo to find somebody in the facility’s management. He’d get a few names and make an appointment if necessary. When he stepped off the elevator and strode through the foyer, out of habit he glanced across the courtyard to scan the ocean for signs of whales, though the humpbacks wouldn’t return in numbers until the late fall.

  Had Nicki had ever been out on a whale watch? he wondered. He never got tired of seeing those tails pop up out of the water. If she’d never been to Hawaii before, probably not. It was a shame she’d come in the summer; she’d miss the show.

  Don’t think about her, he reminded himself. Solar panels and commercial property. Interest rates. Zoning.

  But then he saw her sitting on the edge of the wading pool at the end of the courtyard, and he came to a sudden halt, all serious thought leaving his head like air out of a whale’s blowhole.

  She was staring down into the water, leaning forward with her hands under the surface. Her dress was hitched up above her knees, exposing her upper thighs.

  Ansel stared. Had she dropped something? Her expression was intense, almost urgent. He took a step forward to ask her if she needed help.

  But then she looked up and saw him, and her face broke into a blinding smile.

  He froze again, surprised by the way his heart swelled to see her so happy. “Did you find it?” he managed to ask, finally breaking his paralysis to approach her.

  “Find it?” she asked, still smiling.

  He stopped about three feet away next to her and stared into the shallow water. “I thought you’d lost something.”

  “Only my marbles.”

  “Ah,” he said, not understanding but willing to play along. “Did you find them in there?” He slid out of his sandals and sat down on the ledge next to her. A fake grotto and a low wall that opened up into a small waterfall several yards away surrounded the pool.

  She looked at her feet. “A few of them.” She kicked the water with her legs, distracting him again.

  “Need help finding the rest?” The words came out before he could stop himself. An attractive woman always triggered his charm reflex.

  “I just need a vacation,” she said, sighing. “But thanks.”

  They sat in silence for a few long seconds, during which he wondered if he should get up and leave her alone with her marbles and long legs, but there wasn’t any po
int in being unfriendly.

  So he stayed. He stretched out his hairy, short man legs in the warm water next to hers. “It would be pathetic of me to say I know what you mean, given how little work I’ve ever had to do, but I’d like to think I do know what you mean anyway.” He leaned back on his hands and glanced at her. Her profile was strong, with a high forehead and a long nose; it suited the rest of her. “What do you need a vacation from?”

  She stood up in the pool, holding her skirt aside with one hand; the water lapped at her shins. She stared at her feet with that oddly intense expression again.

  He waited. “Nicki?”

  “It’s a nice pool,” she said, sighing louder this time.

  “One of many. The one near the second tower goes around in a loop.”

  “I like this one.”

  “It’s very nice.” He wouldn’t pry. If she didn’t have a job, who was he to judge or sympathize? “I was about to try to find somebody around here who might be interested in solar panels. Reducing the carbon footprint of the resort, you know?”

  Nodding vaguely, she pulled her skirt up to her hips, exposing the tantalizing red bottom of a swimsuit, and strode away from the edge. She splashed through the pool and stopped in the middle about twenty feet away from him. She spun around.

  “Check it out,” she said, breaking out that blinding smile again. “I’m swimming!”

  * * *

  He must think I’m nuts, she thought, flexing her toes on the rough tile bottom, but I don’t care. She was in the water! Only a few of her internal organs had shut down from fear; the rest were plugging along just fine, desensitized by the afternoon’s slow-mo exposure to wet, baby-blue, chlorinated pool water. It had taken her two hours to go from the deck to her spot in the middle of the pool, and now look at her. She was still breathing on her own. No ambulances had been called.

  Progress!

  Her triumph faded when she saw the look on Ansel’s face. He didn’t look like he thought she was crazy; he looked like he thought she was hot. One side of his mouth curled up in a grin, his posture leaned forward, his eyes shone bright and eager.

  Fresh terror struck her.

  No. Not Ansel Jury-Jarski, not now. What was the matter with him? Didn’t he see she was the incumbent mayor of Crazytown?