Pursuits Unknown
Page 33
“Hear! Hear!” Someone started chanting, “slacker, slacker,” and everyone joined in, including, Amy noticed, her mother. She tried not to consider any meaning to that.
Amy walked over to Yolanda and hugged her. “I love you, you embarrassing drunken wench.” She looked over at Lydia, Yolanda’s wife. “Is she always this impossible?”
Lydia smiled and inclined her head noncommittally.
Amy said, turning back to Yolanda, her hands on her shoulders, “So, you are always like this.” Over her shoulder and still hanging on to Yolanda, she said back to Lydia, “Let us know if we should arrest her.”
Yolanda said, “Next time you want to go swimming in freezing water, use a wet suit.”
CHAPTER 69:
Amy and John Go Surfing
DURING AMY’S medical leave, Amy and John were spending the afternoon surfing in the moderate surf. It was mid-week, and even though it was a gorgeous day, it wasn’t crowded.
They were both beyond the breakers, letting their boards rise and fall with the swell.
Amy stretched, taking in the breeze.
John looked at her a moment. “I know you’re sick of this question … ”
Looking back at him she said, “Go on, ask.”
“Do you want to keep working for LAI?”
Looking off at the horizon she said, “I really don’t know yet, John. I have some time to think about it, and I’m kinda-sorta under orders not to worry about it too much yet.”
“You like people aiming guns at you? Or doing to-the-death wrestling matches on rickety bridges? Or the hypothermic bag diving?”
She splashed water at him. “That’s not fair, though I am impressed with your vocabulary.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
Just so I know you don’t approve, she thought. “I know you don’t like it, John.”
“I don’t like the almost-dying part.”
She leaned forward, gently grabbing his hair and pulling his face close to hers. “You know what? Neither do I.” She kissed the air towards him and released him, pushing him backwards.
“Hey, get back here.”
She leaned away from him, paddling her board backwards. “Beg.”
He swam forward. “Begging.”
“Mmmm, not good enough.”
John rolled on his back on his board, his hands clasped. “More begging.”
“Nope.”
He rolled back over and levered himself up into a kneeling position, one knee up, the other knee on his board.
Amy let her board drift over to him and kissed him gently.
He put both knees on his board. “Mmmmm,” he said, and when he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, Amy shoved him hard into the water.
He came out of the water, sputtering and shaking his head. “HEY, what was that about?!”
“You may stop bugging me for a decision about ‘What do I want?’ right now.”
Still spitting water, he got back on his board and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“You know what I really want?”
“Yes?” he said, keeping a cautious distance.
“Hoisin eggplant.”
Smiling, he said, “I think we can arrange that.” He repositioned his board in the water but still kept his distance, which seemed a little unusual to Amy. “Race you back,” he said, and started paddling hard to catch the wave that was building under them.
“Hey, you stole my wave, you stupid kook,” Amy shouted.
Laughing, he waved as the board went with the breaking wave and he popped up into a crunch. She could still hear him laughing.
She shouted into the wind, “You’re hand-feeding me that hoisin, dammit.”
She watched him go. She had missed the wave entirely, and would wait for her next opportunity.
She saw a shadow, and looked off to the right.
A sea lion poked its head out of the water and studied her a moment. Its eyes were lidded, but it looked at her; its small ears seemed to be carefully folded in and its whiskers drooped expressively. “Oh, hello, there,” Amy said.
It rolled in the water and barked, head nodding, like a dog that wanted her to throw a tennis ball, though she figured that a fish was closer to the request.
“Sorry, no fish in my pocket.”
It barked more.
“I am not telling you to go away this time, stay as long as you like.”
It swam in a circle around her, lifted up its body with flippers waving, and dived down. She could see it swimming off into the distance as she swam for her wave back to the beach.
Acknowledgments
THIS BOOK began as a NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) dare back in 2012 from my friend Jan Curtis Williams. As with many participants, I found there was no way I could keep up with the frenetic pace you need to write even a short novel in a month; however, I did find that I could write a little each day, and from that comes a surprising amount of progress and a love for the craft. Thank you for the push, Jan.
A truly heartfelt thank you to my copyeditor, Diane Puntenney. You made this possible.
Patricia Minger created a trail for me to follow by being brave and publishing her book Magic Flute through She Writes Press, which is one way through the morass of the publishing world.
Along with Patricia and Diane, my sister, Anne Clary Warner, and also Hew Wolff and Bill Cox, provided early insights with first read-throughs.
As I worked, I gathered around me a group of advisors and sages who were excellent at helping me keep perspective and at fielding many random questions. Betsy Sutherland, Bobbie Mayer, Ellen Levy Finch, Elizabeth Trail, Marcia Kennedy, Mary Mactavish, and Mary Tillinghast Leneis, thank you.
Thank you to my advance readers (some of who have already been mentioned), Cheryl Bavister, Debra Losey, Rick Peterson, Susan Arthur, Trish King, and Snitch’s Mom.
Brooke Warner and Samantha Strom of SparkPress/She Writes Press have demonstrated enormous patience in dealing with my frequent newbie questions.
My publicist, Crystal Patriarche of SparkPoint Studio, is providing me wisdom and reassurance in an area which I know little about.
Thank you to all the dogs who let me watch and study them without objection.
And lastly, but which should be firstly, thank you so much to my wife, Terri Hauck, who gives me love, support, and much essential levity.
About the Author
ELLEN CLARY is a dog-owning computer professional who has both literary and technical college degrees. She has a love of dog behavior and training and a dog sports habit. While she enjoyed being a humor writer, she now wants to write dog-related novels that she, and others, would like to read. A California native, she now lives in a Victorian house in the San Francisco Bay Area with her wife and dogs.
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