by Nancy Warren
Kate sat on the sand staring out to sea. She’d been doing a lot of that since she got here and she found it as healing as therapy, without the need to spill her secrets to a stranger, something she’d never do. Except she had spilled her secrets to a complete stranger at dinner Friday night and the man had turned out to be a PI hired by her fiancé and his family. How had she shown such poor judgment? Nick, if that was even his name, had drawn her into telling him about the things that were bothering her, and look how that had turned out.
The sun dropped lower. She wasn’t the only one on the beach waiting for the sunset. A string of pelicans drifted by, seeming to skim the waves. A half-dozen surfers were out hitting the evening waves and people walked the beach or stood on the path above. Some walked their dogs, some jogged, some biked, but she felt they were all watching the sunset. She loved the sound of the waves pounding the shore, knowing that she wasn’t required to be anywhere or do anything.
Of course, all this beach walking and sunset gazing wasn’t getting her reputation ruined.
Tomorrow she’d start seriously working on that.
It was funny, she’d imagined she’d never sleep with another man. That Ted would be her forever lover.
Sex with Ted had always been pleasant. Although, pleaser that she was, she was always very concerned to make sure he was completely satisfied. He hadn’t always been as scrupulous about her pleasure. While she never actually faked an orgasm, she often let him believe she’d had more pleasure than she’d actually experienced.
Now she was greedy. She wanted it all. All the marrow she’d politely left in the bone for others to enjoy, she was going to suck out.
She was here to surf, to play, to get herself into as much trouble as she could cram into a month.
And she was here to figure out what she was going to do with her life.
Kate spent a couple of hours stocking her new apartment. There was food to buy, everything from coffee to meals for one. She found the local Trader Joe’s and stocked up on onesie meals. She bought a few bottles of wine and packed her supplies home and put the groceries away. She cleaned up the shabby apartment.
She warmed up one of her meals for one, which she picked at, and sipped a glass of wine.
She went to bed early.
From her apartment she could hear the tick of the wall clock, and the roar of traffic on Carlsbad Boulevard and then, as it grew later and traffic lessened, she heard the heartbeat of the ocean, calling to her. Telling her that everything was going to be okay.
The second day she woke to brilliant sunshine. She brewed coffee. Ate a little cereal and put her big sunglasses on, grabbed a ball cap and headed for the beach. Off-season meant the beach was sparsely populated. A line of surfers floated like plump seals waiting for the waves. She dug her toes into the sand and watched them. A curious seagull waddled up and turned its head sideways, studying her. When it was clear no picnic would be forthcoming the gull gave up in disgust.
By day three, Kate realized that brooding was not healthy for her. She took a walk through town. Idly she wandered through clothing stores and gift shops. She passed a salon that had a poster in the window about a project to give hair to cancer patients.
A momentary vision flashed before her eyes. Ted with his hands in her hair. “Don’t ever cut it,” he’d said.
She walked into the salon. An hour later she walked out with a blunt cut at the level of her chin and the happy thought that someone with cancer would get her hair. Her whole body felt lighter without the weight of all that hair. Plus, she had bangs. She hadn’t had bangs since she was a kid. Maybe if she could figure out where she’d first gone wrong, she could catch up with herself and get her life back on track.
The surf was picking up. An itch she’d barely been aware of grew strong enough that she strolled into a surf shop. “I want to rent a board and a wet suit,” she told the sleepy looking man behind the cash desk.
He cast a glance out of the long windows that overlooked the ocean. “You want a lesson?”
“No.”
“Surf’s coming up. You know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”
He pushed a form at her. “Rental’s $75 a day. Wet suit’s an extra $25.”
She pulled out cash.
“I’ll need some ID.”
She gave him her driver’s license and then grabbed the wet suit he pulled out for her, headed to the small changing room at the back of the store, and squeezed into it. The familiar tightness, the way the suit resisted her, all that was so familiar. When she zipped up the back she felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in days.
She hadn’t surfed in a few years, but she hadn’t forgotten how.
She grabbed the board, tucked it under her arm and headed for the beach. The breeze tossed her newly short hair, the waves called to her, come and ride me, see if I don’t toss you. The pelicans skimmed the waves. She tethered the board to her ankle and headed in. Her bare feet hit the water and she noticed a rush of coolness, then she was striding into the surf, the board bouncing along beside her like a rambunctious puppy.
She pushed out, lay out on the board and began to paddle. When the first wave crashed over her head she laughed aloud. Soon, she’d passed the tideline and was out in the relative calm, waiting. Surfing was timing and balance. She waited, watching for her chance, and then instinct kicked in. She jumped to a crouch, felt the surge beneath her, and stood. It was like riding a wild horse she sometimes thought, bareback, standing up on bare feet. The first wild horse tossed her to the dirt. Shaking her head and climbing back onto her board, she headed out again.
Who had time to obsess about a broken engagement, a faithless fiancé, an untrustworthy mother and a job loss when all her attention and focus needed to be on the board, the wave, the moment.
Another wave came hulking toward her, daring her to try and ride it.
She took the dare.
Jumped to her feet. The wave tried to upend her but she danced up and back, like a fencer, feeling all the instinct to ride, all the years of surfing rise up out of her feet into every muscle as she balanced, danced, and rode.
She flew.
For hours she surfed wave after wave until her arms were so tired they were a couple of overcooked noodles and all her muscles felt the unaccustomed pull and strain of the workout.
Her short hair was plastered to her head as she emerged from the waves and hauled the—now much heavier—surfboard back to Surf’s Up. She set the surfboard against the rack outside and walked inside. The same man was behind the counter and she asked him for the bag of clothes he’d stashed for her behind the counter.
He passed the bag to her and said, “Come talk to me when you’re dressed.”
She couldn’t imagine what he thought she’d done. But she rolled and squeezed the wet suit off and dressed swiftly in her jeans and T-shirt and flip-flops, and, blinking against the salt-sting in her eyes, returned to the front counter.
“Was watching you out there,” the guy said. “You’re good.”
Okay, so he wasn't going to claim she’d somehow damaged his board or wet suit. That was a relief. “Thanks.”
“You ever teach anybody to surf?”
“My younger cousins. Years ago. Why?”
“I need a female instructor. It’s a casual position, I call you when someone requests a female.”
“Who requests a female?” she wondered aloud.
“Mostly girls who don’t want to make a fool of themselves in front of some hot guy, sometimes guys who want to make fools of themselves in front of some hot girl.” He shrugged. “I had a woman instructor but her boyfriend was stationed at Camp Pendleton. Got transferred to Fort Bragg and she went with him.”
“I’m not really looking for a job.”
“Up to you. Pay’s fifty an hour.”
She thought rapidly. If she didn’t have to use her credit card or draw on her bank account too much that was probably a good thing. “Cash?”
“S
ure.”
“And the use of a board and wet suit whenever I want it?”
He sucked his teeth. “You haven’t even taught an hour yet.”
“Well, If I’m surfing and get talking to people I can spread the word that I’m around and available to teach.”
He glanced at the racks of boards. They both knew it was the slow season and he was not going to run out of surfboards. He rubbed his chin. “Tell you what, I’ll outfit you for a week. We’ll see how it goes.”
She grinned. “Perfect.”
Of course, a woman who was going to be an on-call surfing instructor needed to have some kind of device for getting calls. Like a phone. So, reluctantly, she headed for the local Wal-Mart and bought the cheapest phone she could find. It cost less than twenty dollars. For another twenty she had a couple of hundred minutes, many more than she figured she’d need since there was no one she currently wanted to talk to.
She liked the phone. She liked its simplicity and its very lack of connectivity. She was tethered to no plan, registered with no company. No way Ted could find her.
Assuming he was still looking.
The weird thing was that when she creeped his Facebook there was no mention of the wedding being canceled. She did a quick search of the big papers where their wedding announcement had appeared and again there was nothing. Surely they didn’t still think she’d show up for the wedding? Did they?
Chapter Seven
