“Sure, you can let the big ones go by,” Gabe said. “Get off on the shoulder, or duck-dive under them.”
Storm strained to see the surfers already on the waves. They looked smaller than the ones she’d seen at Himalayas, but she needed to get a perspective of a person’s height against a wave’s in order to judge whether the break was beyond her ability. And even that was no guarantee, because wave height varied within a set.
Storm did not want to get clobbered by a hefty wave that was closing out. She’d been tumbled in the washing machine before, lungs convulsing with oxygen deprivation. She’d also seen surfers lunge to the surface for air, only to have their surfboard, attached to them by the rubber leash, boomerang back to the water and slice the gasping person with a sharp skeg. And then there were the boards that got snapped in two as easily as ice cream sticks.
A couple of women were on the waves, and Storm judged the wave to be about their height. She suppressed a little shiver. “I guess I’ll go,” she said.
“You can do it. It’ll be good for you,” Goober said.
Storm shook her head, but he didn’t see it. Good for her? Sounded like the kind of things guys say to each other before they tried some stunt that would either kill them or give them bragging rights, with nothing in between.
Gabe seemed to pick up on her apprehension. “There’s a channel to our right, and the current will carry you out. The waves don’t break as hard in there. Follow us, but stay on the inside.”
In some circumstances, Storm would have been offended by Gabe’s suggestion. It was sort of like saying, stay out of our way once we get out there. But this time, Storm’s jitters told her it was a good idea. She had no need to go where the break was biggest, and if it weren’t for the two women she could see out there, she wouldn’t have considered following Gabe. Even Goober had shaken her confidence lately.
She plunged in after the guys, and gulped when the chilly water surged around her. There was a stronger current than she had ever felt, and she vowed to be extra attentive. Though the trio waited out a set of four or five big waves before they paddled through the break, going out wasn’t as bad as Storm had feared. When they got to the wave lineup, she looked back at the shore and aligned two objects, a chunk of lava that rose from the sand and a lifeguard stand, so that she’d have a point of reference. A couple of rock formations on her left would serve to make sure she wasn’t being carried out to sea by a rip tide, often undetectable in surging waters.
As Goober had instructed her last weekend, Storm paddled onto the shoulder of the first wave of the set and let it go by. He and Gabe left her there and headed fifty yards to the right, where a small group of men sat on their boards, facing the open ocean and waiting a turn on a wave. The two women Storm had seen were only about twenty yards out from where she sat, and Storm recognized Sunny, in tiny bikini bottoms and a long-sleeved turquoise rash guard, as one of them. Sunny hadn’t seen Storm yet, because she glanced continuously toward the knot of men nearby.
She’s searching for Nahoa, Storm thought, and squinted against the rising sun to try to identify the surfers. Though she couldn’t make out any of them except Gabe and Goober, she was certain Nahoa wasn’t among them. She shivered, then lay on her board to paddle out of the way of Sunny’s friend, who was stroking hard toward her. Storm swooped over the curl as the young woman rose to her feet. Storm saw the flash of white teeth in her delighted smile.
Storm didn’t see Sunny waiting for the next ride, and guessed the two women must have taken off together. Though it was hard to be sure with the water rising and falling around her, Storm assumed she was alone and in position for the next wave. Storm sat up, ready to kick her board around, and saw a flash of turquoise above a rising wall of water. She lay back down and moved to the side to watch Sunny’s takeoff.
The woman was good. Those long, rock-hard legs were in an easy right-angle crouch, urging the short board at an angle across the face of the wave. Storm couldn’t help but feel delight and admiration at the woman’s strength and finesse. It was a big wave, whose vortex and thundering speed sucked air and water droplets back at Storm with a force that made her duck her head and squint. She exhaled with relief that she hadn’t taken it, yet Sunny rode it as if she could handle twice its size.
Storm’s relief was short-lived, though, because a black-clad rider that was hard to see shot out from the side, screaming at Sunny that she was in his way.
“Hey,” Storm yelled.
That was before she realized that the surfer in black was Gabe. He had taken off on the wave a couple of seconds after Sunny, who had the right of way. It was a blatant snake.
Friends often rode the same waves, and safely negotiated their turns in opposite directions so that no one would be startled, or worse, injured. But in the split second after Storm saw Gabe, she knew he was deliberately bearing down on Sunny. It was a game of chicken, and anyone in Sunny’s position with half a brain would bail out, rather than face a high speed collision in turbulent, roiling water.
But Sunny hadn’t seen him yet, and the howl of wind and crash of the wave kept her from hearing his approach. Storm couldn’t tell if he was shouting at her, but she wasn’t going to wait around to see.
“Sunny,” she shrieked, “watch out!”
Some high note of panic in Storm’s voice carried over the rumble of tons of water, because Sunny glanced behind her. Just as Gabe reached her, she launched herself from her board.
Gabe looked back at Storm in surprise, which caused him to lose his balance and windmill his arms in an attempt to stay upright. Screaming a string of foul names, he tumbled backward and was swallowed by the breaking water.
Storm snorted in disgust. That act was just what Nahoa had warned her about, and she’d bet that he’d warned Sunny, too. However, from watching Sunny’s smooth expertise, Storm would have bet there wasn’t much the young woman hadn’t already seen on the waves.
Sunny surfaced a couple hundred yards from where Storm sat. A smaller wave, probably the last of the set Sunny had taken, rose behind Storm. Storm looked around for other surfers, lined up her board, dropped onto her stomach, and dug into the water with deep, strong strokes as the wave sucked her into its crest.
Though smaller than Sunny’s, the wave had excellent form and curled above Storm’s head. Storm crouched, bending her legs as pistons, using her quadriceps to bear her weight and urge the board along its face. She was glad she’d had some experience over the last week on powerful North Shore waves, because she’d never had surf curve above her before. It was a left-hand break, which was perfect for her stance, and she let the board slow so that the water arched above her.
Jesus, she was actually in a tube. She couldn’t believe it, and a moment of claustrophobic panic came over her. No, don’t think about it. You can hold this position, you’re strong, she told herself. And she did. She spurted out the side of the curl, stood upright with an excited whoop, jabbed two fists into the air, and tumbled exuberantly into the water.
When she popped to the surface, her excitement was squelched by the scene before her. Gabe and Sunny were thirty yards from her, and Sunny was ripping mad.
“I’ll have you thrown off the ASP, you gutless fu—.” A surge of water garbled some words after that, but Storm got the message.
So did Gabe. “Stupid bitch.” He gave a cruel laugh. “No one gives a shit what you think. Not even Nahoa hung around for you.”
“You jerk, you can’t even catch a wave unless it’s got a woman on it.” Sunny’s voice quavered, though Storm couldn’t tell if it was with tears or rage. Maybe both.
Gabe narrowed the distance between himself and Sunny, which bothered Storm even more than Gabe’s cruel words. Sunny was a strong woman, but if he got physical, she’d have real problems. Storm began to swim toward the two.
Gabe was within ten feet of Sunny, and Storm was still twenty feet away, with a good view of both of them. Sunny sat on her surfboard
, arms crossed over her chest, and glared at Gabe. “Keep away from me, asshole. Always.”
Storm wouldn’t ever want Sunny mad at her, but she wondered why Gabe stopped without saying a word. He appeared to crouch into the water. Storm could see Sunny shift her weight, almost poise herself.
“Gutless bastard,” she hissed at him.
And from under Gabe shot a sharply pointed, fiberglass missile. It was his surfboard, which he’d held underwater so that it would fly out of the water with the force of its own buoyancy. He’d aimed it right for Sunny’s face.
“No!” Storm yelled.
Sunny had known what was coming, though, and she turtled. Gabe’s board clattered on top of her upside down one, which made Storm wince. Sunny was safe underwater, but the clatter verified the violence of the act; both boards were going to need Mo'o’s ministrations after this.
Sunny popped to the surface, her eyes wide with fury and loathing. “You really are a pathetic wimp.”
By this time, Storm was beside her, and she grabbed Gabe’s board to keep it from doing any more damage in the surging water. Sunny’s eyes flicked to Storm’s and Storm saw relief soften the blonde’s face before she turned back to her attacker.
“You’ll pay for this, you gutless suckerfish.”
Both women stared at Gabe, who glared with unabashed hatred at the two of them. He now treaded deep, blue water, a quarter-mile from shore. No way would they return his board, which he’d just used as a weapon. Storm nudged Sunny’s arm, and without saying a word, Sunny crawled atop her board and both women headed for shore, towing the extra board.
After a few minutes of paddling, Sunny steadied her breathing and looked over at Storm. “Thanks. He could have killed me.”
“Yeah, that was scary. You’re right—he’s a coward.” Storm shook her head. “But you’ve got balls for telling him out there.”
“He needs to be told.”
“You told Gabe, but you didn’t want to tell Goober when he was being a jerk.”
“Goober’s different.”
“Oh.” Storm was about to ask why, but her thoughts returned to the maliciousness of Gabe’s act. If his well-aimed board had hit Sunny as he’d intended, she would have been knocked cold, and probably drowned. Storm remembered Nahoa’s warning about keeping an eye on Gabe. Could Ken Matsumoto or—God forbid—Nahoa have had an altercation with him?
She and Sunny had been making their way toward shore and were now close enough to see a group of eight or ten gathered where jagged black lava rocks formed a small cove. It was an odd place for people to assemble, and some of them were scrabbling for footholds as they grappled with something in the water.
The women paddled toward the group, but Storm had a bad feeling about this particular assembly. She glanced at Sunny from the corner of her eye and saw Sunny did, too. The woman’s normally golden skin was ashen. Both women slowed their approach, glanced briefly at each other, and then away. Neither wanted to confront the dread in the other’s expression.
Chapter Fifteen
Storm turned to look in the direction they’d come, but Gabe was nowhere to be seen. He’d headed away from this landing point. Meanwhile, waves carried the women closer to shore.
A jet ski roared up, with the driver waving frantically. “Stop. You don’t want to come in here. You’ll have to swim around these rocks to the next beach.”
Sunny didn’t even acknowledge that she’d seen him. Though she and Storm were still too far away to make out details, her eyes hadn’t left the group on the beach. The man, who wore lifeguard shorts, tried to block the women’s view with the machine and his body, but he had cut the engine and the heaving water buffeted him in its surges. One wave pushed him a few feet alee of Storm and Sunny. They caught sight of six men, struggling to haul a sagging body in colorful board shorts from the sea foam.
The breath caught in Storm’s throat. Oh, God, she’d seen those shorts before. Sunny recognized them, too, for she made a noise between a moan and a whimper and slid from her board.
Storm reached out to her. “Hold on. You’ve got to hold on.”
The lifeguard had maneuvered his way to them and reached out to Sunny. “Let’s get her on the jet ski.”
“She’s afraid it’s…it’s someone she knows.” Storm’s voice caught, and she swallowed the bitter knot in her throat.
The man nodded wordlessly. Storm gripped Sunny’s hand. She had to keep the young woman away from the shoreline activity. What was left of a human being after three days in the ocean would give the people that loved him nightmares. Storm choked back a sob.
By now, the lifeguard was unfastening the sled that had been lashed to the side of the machine. “C’mon, both of you, I’ll take you to shore.”
The wind and current had been pushing all three of them around the point toward land. By now, they were within a hundred yards of a long sandy beach.
“We’ll be okay,” Storm said to the lifeguard, though she meant that they’d reach the beach without help. Okay was a relative condition.
“Sunny, we’re nearly there,” she said.
Sunny squeezed her hand in reply. Storm could see the young woman’s jaw muscles flex with the effort to gain control.
She looked up at the lifeguard. “Thanks.”
With slow, heavy strokes, the women paddled toward the wide beach. The lifeguard followed them for a short distance, the powerful engine of the jet ski a rumbling escort. As soon as the women were within ten feet of being able to touch bottom, he turned, waved to them, and motored slowly away.
Storm and Sunny drifted as inconspicuously as they could. A small group had clustered at the end where the recovery took place, and Storm led Sunny as far away as they could safely come ashore. She didn’t want to see anyone, and she figured Sunny would feel the same way. Disbelief, grief, and anger surged through her. She wanted to crawl away where no one could see her rail and weep for the handsome young man who had been so full of life, enthusiasm, and potential just a few days ago.
They were halfway into the trees that lined the beach when a long-legged brunette sprinted up to them. She gasped from the dash and emotion, then burst into tears. “Oh, God,” she cried, and threw her arms around Sunny, who sagged against her. Storm recognized Sunny’s friend from the surf contest.
“It’s Nahoa,” Sunny stated in a quivering voice. It wasn’t a question.
The young woman nodded, and Sunny collapsed in the sand, which set the girl into a new burst of wails. Storm knelt beside Sunny, who dragged herself into a sitting position, with her head buried on folded arms.
“Dede,” she said in a muffled voice, “please, I…I need quiet.”
Dede gulped, then slowed to ragged breaths, interspersed with sobs. Storm felt her own eyes streaming. Dede’s overt grief was unsettling, and Storm yearned to be alone to cope with Nahoa’s death, but she knew that each of them was dealing with an awful blow in their own way.
Years ago, she’d come home from sixth grade and found her mother, composed and cold, on her bed. An empty pill bottle sat on the bedside table next to a spilled glass of whiskey. Storm had tried to wake her mother from her afternoon nap. Some of the confusion, anger, and disbelief she’d felt on that afternoon returned to her now.
But this time, Storm thought about the lei o manō that Nahoa had received, and the implied threat chilled her. It was one thing for depression to crush one’s will to live, an entirely different matter to have your life extinguished by another person.
Dede’s quavering voice brought Storm back to the present. “Sunny, I moved your van. It’s right across the street.” She turned to Storm. “Come on, we’ll give you a ride.”
“Okay.” Sunny still mumbled into her bent knees and crossed arms. “Give me a couple minutes.”
“Sure,” Dede said, and put her arm around her friend.
The three women sat quietly, and Storm didn’t know how much time elapsed. Shock and heartac
he numbed her thoughts, including the sense of passing time.
Dede was the first to draw a long breath. “People are starting to notice us. A couple of surfers are heading this way. You want to talk to them?”
Sunny looked up from her arms. Her face was pasty and her eyes swollen. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Jesus, there’s Ben—and he looks like he’s been gut-shot. And shit, there’s a news van.” Dede grabbed Sunny’s arm and Storm’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Dede’s mission to get Sunny away from the media and curious onlookers had curtailed her grief. She hustled them efficiently through the trees and across the narrow highway. A white, rusting old Honda van with a neon pink bumper sticker that read Girls Just Want to Have Funds sat in a beach lot, surrounded by trucks and rusting sedans with surf racks.
A group of six or seven guys in board shorts scrambled from a pickup without giving the girls a glance. Their troubled faces were directed toward the activity across the street. The coconut wireless had begun to hum.
Dede retrieved the keys from a spot in the bumper, then managed to unlock the doors and bundle them inside before anyone recognized Sunny. Once she was in the driver’s seat, she leaned over the driver’s seat and offered her hand to Storm. “You’re Nahoa’s cousin, aren’t you? I’m Dede Ward, and I’m so sorry for you—for your family.”
“Thanks.” It was all Storm could say.
Dede drove efficiently through traffic and a set of oncoming emergency vehicles. Storm gave her a few words of directions to the Laniakea cottage, but otherwise, no one spoke.
Dede pulled into the dirt drive that led to the small house. “You gonna to be okay?”
“Yes, thanks for the ride.”
“You sure you want to be alone right now?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Dede nodded sadly and put the car in reverse. “Come over if you want.”
“I’ll call later.” Storm raised her hand in a weak wave, and stumbled into the house. Truthfully, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. For a while, she stood at the big picture window in the living room and stared out to sea. The sun was high in the sky, white spume laced the sand, and the turquoise shelf of the reef deepened to sapphire. The world looked like such a calm, predictable place.
The Green Room Page 9
