But it was not, Nina saw just then, her job to carry the full box. Her job was to sort through the box. To decide what to keep, and to put the rest down. She had to choose what, of the things she inherited from the people who came before her, she wanted to bring forward. And what, of the past, she wanted to leave behind.
And so, she put down the restaurant. Just as her mother would have wanted her to. And when she let it go, she let it go for June, too.
“Yeah,” Nina said. “You’re right. We don’t need to keep the restaurant.”
And as quickly as she understood all of this, she also understood that eventually, she would have to open the box her father had given her, too, the one she had all but thrown away.
One day, when the world made a bit more sense to her, she would have to go through that box and try to see if there was anything inside worth saving. Maybe there wasn’t much. But maybe there was more than she thought.
Hud smiled at Nina. “Go, Nina, seriously. Go.”
Was there even a good excuse to say no? Nina was having a hard time thinking of a single reason to stay except the people standing in front of her.
“I can be the Nina now,” Jay said. “Let me. Know that no matter where you are, no matter what happens, you and these guys will always be safe because of me.”
“And me,” Hud said.
“And me,” Kit said. “And Casey,” she added as she put her arm around Casey’s shoulders.
And so, Nina, breathless and stunned at the joy daring to bloom within her, pulled her siblings to her, and decided to go. Just for a little while.
7:00 A.M.
Mick Riva couldn’t find his Jaguar. There were still a few cars left in the side yard but none of them were his, and none of them had keys. And he didn’t want to bother his kids.
So, as he stood at the entrance to his daughter’s driveway, where the gravel met the road, he smoked his last cigarette, and then decided to walk to PCH, where he would hitch a ride.
Mick Riva, hitching a ride. What a riot. He’d make someone’s day.
He took the final drag of the cigarette, blew out the smoke, and threw the butt in the air. It cascaded over the gravel drive and landed, softly, in the bushes.
The dry, arid desert bushes of Malibu. On a morning plagued by Santa Ana winds. In a land of scrub brush. In a town under constant threat of combustion. In an area of the country where a tiny spark could destroy acres. In a region that yearns to burn.
And so, with the very best of intentions, Mick Riva walked away, having no idea he had just set fire to 28150 Cliffside Drive.
Before the smoke had become visible, Hud and Jay hugged Nina and told her they loved her and would see her soon. And then Jay drove Hud to the hospital.
As they sat in the waiting room, Jay told Hud the very thing he had been afraid to tell anyone.
“I have cardiomyopathy,” he said and then explained what it meant: that he would have to stop surfing.
“But you’re going to be OK?” Hud asked. His eyes were starting to water and Jay couldn’t quite stand to see his brother cry at that moment.
“Yeah,” Jay said, nodding. “I’ll be OK. I’m just gonna find something else to do with my life, I guess.”
Hud shook his head. “I mean, no worries there. You’re good at almost everything you do.”
Jay smiled and breathed in deeply. “But, I …” he said, having a hard time finding the words. “I’ve just been … worried. About letting you down.”
“Me?”
“We’re a team.”
Hud smiled and then came clean himself. “I actually think pretty soon I won’t be able to travel as much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I … I don’t know the best way to tell you this. And I swear, I just learned it tonight but …”
Jay knew. He knew it a half second before Hud said it.
“Ashley’s pregnant.”
Jay closed his eyes and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
Hud shook his head. “I’m dead serious.”
Jay nodded. “Wow. Well, you know what they say. If you’re gonna sleep with your brother’s ex-girlfriend, make sure you knock her up while you’re at it.”
Hud laughed and then grabbed his rib cage and caught his breath. “I don’t think they say that.”
“No, they don’t.” Jay stared at his shoes for a moment and then back to his brother.
“Are we still cool?” Hud asked.
Jay nodded. “Look, I still think you’re a dick. And I’m probably going to think that for a while. But yeah, we’re OK. We’ll be fine.”
They were quiet for a moment, the world still recalibrating between them.
“So I guess we’re both sticking around Malibu for a while then.”
Hud nodded. “Yeah, although …” he said. “I was actually thinking of photographing Kit. Seeing if I can sell the photos to Surf.”
“Kit? Really?”
“She’s good, Jay,” he said. “She’s … outrageously good.”
Jay nodded slowly, realizing he already knew that. “Yeah, OK,” he said, thinking of how brash Kit could be in the water, how daring. He was imagining just how great the photos could be—she’d be something new and exciting, like Nina had been but she’d be bold, going for big waves and sharper moves, like him. Maybe she was the best of all of them. Maybe, Jay thought for a second, she’s the whole point.
“She’s good and we’ll help her be the best,” Jay said. “Maybe one day Kit takes the Triple Crown. Maybe that’s our new goal.”
Hud put out his hand and Jay shook it, and they ushered in the next chapter of the Riva dynasty.
Two hours later, after Hud’s nose had been reset, Jay drove him to Ashley’s house.
There, at her front door, Hud Riva got down on one knee and proposed. Jay watched from the car as Ashley said yes.
• • •
Before the smoke had become visible, Casey gave Nina the keys to her truck and hugged her and thanked her for being exactly the kind of person Casey had needed at that very moment.
“I’m glad I met you,” she said, “if only for a few hours.”
Nina smiled. “It’s certainly been an intense time, hasn’t it? This is a real baptism by fire.”
Kit hugged Nina and told her she loved her and would see her soon. “You have to do this,” she said. And Nina understood, maybe for the first time, that letting people love you and care for you is part of how you love and care for them.
“Case and I are going out to breakfast,” Kit said. “Please don’t be here when we get back.”
Nina smiled, tears forming in her eyes. Kit started to cry but wiped the tears away. As Kit and Casey headed for the door, Kit’s hand hit the knob and she couldn’t go just yet. She turned and ran back to her older sister.
“I’ll always love you,” she said. “No matter who you are or what sort of life you want.” One day, she knew, she would tell her sister all that she was just learning about who she was. They both had plenty of time for understanding all the ways they’d both changed tonight. “I love you just for being, whoever that is.”
“Oh, kiddo,” Nina said, the tears now falling from her face. “Back at ya.”
Kit pulled her sister into her arms, squeezed her so tight that it felt like they might fuse together, and then pulled away and left her there, to leave on her own.
• • •
Before the smoke had become visible, Nina Riva took one last look around the house—at the shattered glass and the ruined paintings, the chandelier on the floor and the broken lamps. She felt unbridled glee at it not being her problem. She relished the thought of not being the one who had to clean it up, not having to live on a cliff, not having to look at Brandon ever again.
She grabbed a few things and threw them in a bag. She held Casey’s keys in her hand, and walked down the road to the red pickup truck.
It hurt to leave, but Nina knew that most good things come with a p
inch or an ache.
All she had ever needed was her family. Her siblings. And maybe, now that they didn’t need her, she could find some peace and quiet. Some sunshine. Some privacy.
After all, her family had grown up. And wasn’t this the day you always looked toward? When the kids were grown and your life was yours to take.
The flames traveled over the gravel and dirt to find the grass and leaves and wood they needed.
They started to inhale the house, climbing up its sides, passing over windows in favor of the roof. They took hold of the paintings, the clothes, the broken glass inside. They seized the white walls and the ivory couches, the ecru carpets. The wine cellar, the barbecue, the lawn, the tennis court.
28150 Cliffside Drive burned in vivid orange and gray, the smell of carbon wafting out over the sea.
By the time the fire had fully claimed the estate and started rolling down the coastline, Greg had gotten Tarine out of jail, Kit and Casey had tracked down Ricky and Vanessa and bailed them out, Seth’s mom had picked him up, Caroline had sprung Bobby, Vaughn’s and Bridger’s agents had freed them and started responding to reporters asking for comment, Ted’s business manager had shown up to help him and Vickie, Tuesday’s publicist had come to get her and Rafael, and Wendy’s brother had taken her home and already hired her a lawyer.
By the time the firefighters arrived, Brandon was out on bond and already in the hotel room of Carrie Soto. They turned on the TV to see his home in flames on the morning news.
As Point Dume was evacuated—neighbors leaving their homes holding their children and photo albums, their dogs packed in the way backs of their luxury station wagons—the blaze roared into the sky. It began reaching its fingers out for treetops and the second stories of other properties, clutching whole homes in its grasp.
The people of Malibu knew how to evacuate. They’d done this before. They would do it again.
By the time the fire was contained—the mansion turned to a charred, wet frame, the neighbors’ homes singed and covered in ash, the sky stained gray, firefighters wiping their brows—the lady of the house was nowhere to be found.
Nina Riva was midflight.
She would read about the fire later in an American paper and clutch her chest, relieved no one had been hurt. She would think of the damage and the distress it must have caused.
But she would understand that it was one fire, in a long line of fires in Malibu since the dawn of time.
It had brought destruction.
It would also bring renewal, rising from the ashes.
The story of fire.
Acknowledgments
I am a different writer today than I was two years ago when I started this book. And that is because of the insight and direction of my compassionate and brilliant editor, Jennifer Hershey. Jennifer, your guidance feels like a gift I have been given and I’m incredibly grateful for it.
To Kara Welsh and Kim Hovey, thank you for making me feel so at home at what is such a stunningly excellent publishing house. To Susan Corcoran, Leigh Marchant, Jennifer Garza, Allyson Lord, Quinne Rodgers, Taylor Noel, Maya Franson, Erin Kane, and the rest of the incredible people at Ballantine, you blow me away with your thoughtful ideas, your attention to detail, and the fact that you care. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for that. To Carisa Hays, it has been a crazy beginning, hasn’t it? I’m incredibly fortunate to have you in charge of where I go. To Paolo Pepe, you are killing it with these covers. I could not be any more in love. Thank you.
Theresa Park, my queen and also my agent, I am so appreciative of your belief in me. You so beautifully translate that belief into an excitement that is infectious, high expectations that fuel me to push harder, and the world’s best handwritten Christmas cards. You keep my feet on the ground and yet you help me to keep aiming higher. I could not ask for more.
Emily Sweet, Andrea Mai, Abby Koons, Alex Greene, Ema Barnes, Celeste Fine, and the rest of the Park + Fine team, I still marvel at how well you all knock it out of the park on a daily basis. But I also feel like you all are a really great reality show that I get to watch from three thousand miles away and then do reunion shows when I’m in NYC. I guess what I’m saying is that I just like you all very much.
To Sylvie Rabineau and Stuart Rosenthal, are you happy that the Mick Riva saga has come to its full conclusion? (Or has it? I make no promises.) Thank you for fighting so hard for my stories and my characters. I can feel it every time we talk and it means the world.
Brad Mendelsohn! Your fingerprints are all over this one. Thank you for letting me grill you that day at Nate ’n Al’s, my key Malibu surfing consultant. My goal for the future is to keep you busy but not so busy that you don’t still have time to get in the waves. I, however, will not be going with you. The Pacific Ocean is freezing, you don’t talk about that enough. Anyway, thank you, friend. For all that you’ve done and will continue to do for this story.
To the Peanuts, thank you for believing in me and for helping me process my life. I’m not sure I’d be adjusting very well without you all. You are some of the rare people who have known all the versions of me. And this current version of me really needs that. I hope I can do the same for you.
To Rose, Warren, and Sally, these books don’t exist without you all stepping in and taking such good care of Lilah so I can write. Thank you for listening to me talk about this story, for always being there for me, and for being such incredible grandparents (and a great-grandparent!) to Lilah. Extra special thanks go to Rina and Maria for taking such good care of Lilah that she misses you when you’re not around. I have the privilege of being able to work because of the support system I have in all of you. There are not enough thank-yous for that.
To my brother Jake, there’s so much to thank you for that it seems silly to try. But I will say this: Thank you for being the person by my side through everything, and from the beginning. Thank you for sorting through the boxes with me.
To Alex, every day when I sit down at the computer, I strive to be the writer you think I am. Thank you for sharing each and every moment of my career with your whole heart. You show up for me when things are tough and you revel in the success with me, too, never taking a single moment for granted. I need that. And thank you for having so much respect for what I do and what I need in order to do it. Case in point, you are watching Lilah right now, the two of you having a picnic in the front yard, so that I can finish this book—a moment two years in the making. I know when I come outside and tell you I’m finished, you will cheer. And it’s only then that I will know it’s truly done.
And lastly, to Lilah. I think you sort of understand that I’m a writer now. You know how to read my name on book covers. And recently somebody said the word “Daisy” and you said, “Jones and the Six?” So it’s easier for me to see how, one day, you might read this book and understand what I’m trying to tell you. But just for fun, let me make it perfectly clear: I may mess up sometimes. And I will not be perfect. But I will stand by your side, with my hand out for you to hold, for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours.
About the Type
This book was set in Fairfield, the first typeface from the hand of the distinguished American artist and engraver Rudolph Ruzicka (l883–1978). Ruzicka was born in Bohemia (in the present-day Czech Republic) and came to America in 1894. He set up his own shop, devoted to wood engraving and printing, in New York in 1913 after a varied career working as a wood engraver, in photoengraving and banknote printing plants, and as an art director and freelance artist. He designed and illustrated many books, and was the creator of a considerable list of individual prints—wood engravings, line engravings on copper, and aquatints.
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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Cornerstone is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published in the United States by Ballantine Books in 2021
First published in the United Kingdom by Hutchinson in 2021
Copyright © Rabbit Reid, Inc. 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Images © Shutterstock
Text design by Susan Turner
ISBN: 978-1-473-55971-4
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Malibu Rising Page 32
