by Paul Mosier
“We wait. It’s just our meeting place.” I look away from her and her sunblock-white nose and bug-eye shades. I look across the street at the Big Kahuna’s bungalow, where a surfboard leans beside the door.
In a moment Summer appears down the block. Even from a hundred yards, and behind shades, it still looks like she’s squinting, as if she’s wondering whether I’m really standing next to my mom. But she’s smiling, and I become aware of my heart beating, and the sweat on my palms. Maybe I’m nervous about how Mom will treat Summer after the emergency room. What if she really does blame her for what happened?
“Hey, Betty!” Summer says as she arrives. “Hey, Betty’s mom! It’s good to see you again!”
“Please,” Mom says, reaching out her hand. “Call me Abbie.”
Summer ignores Mom’s hand, instead handing me the two surfboards and giving Mom a hug. Then she takes a step back. “Call me Summer!”
I watch their expressions. Apparently I’m the only one worried about their regard for each other after the emergency-room fiasco.
Mom raises her beach bag as if to reveal her intentions. “I was hoping I could tag along today.”
Summer grins at me, then at Mom. “Awesome! Do you surf? Never mind. Are you okay with getting in the water, then? Betty’s made huge strides.” Her eyes get big and she punches me in the shoulder, then looks back to Mom. “We can teach you to boogie board!”
Mom gets this excited look like she’s a little girl, and wiggles back and forth where she stands. It’s totally embarrassing.
But in a matter of minutes we’ve switched out the surfboards for boogie boards and are walking down the hill on Ocean Park Boulevard. Summer seems to have forgotten about me. Everything she says is meant for my mom.
“We can rent you a boogie board next to the snack shack. Do you have money? What am I saying, of course you have money. And when we’re done we can show you the eats we’ve been feasting on at the snack shack. Which is really much more than a shack. Do you like onion rings?”
“Why, yes—”
“And then lots of times we stop for a scoop at Pinkie Promise after we leave the beach. Do you remember seeing me there on your first day in town?”
“Yes, I—”
“I was behind you and Betty in line. You guys looked so cute together! And then I saw you both going into the cottage right down the block from my house and I’ve been hanging around Betty ever since!”
We’re now standing at the stoplight at Main Street. I’m staring at Summer, because it’s strange to hear her tell it this way, from her point of view. Even knowing she put the postcard in our door, I never would have had the nerve to imagine that Summer had put any effort into our being together, that it had ever been anything but accidental.
We unload down at the water’s edge, spread out our towels. Mom slathers herself with sunscreen in preparation for our sponge board session. I’m wearing my shorty, so there’s very little of me that needs sunscreen, and I’m quite a bit darker than when we arrived here on the first of July.
Once we’re out there, Mom is a natural. Apparently any skills I have I inherited from her. She catches a wave on her first try, and rides like eight out of the first ten perfectly. She and Summer are having the time of their lives. I’m getting more and more furious with Mom. Maybe because I feel like she’s stealing my friend, and also because the day she said she’d spend with me she’s spending with Summer instead. But she doesn’t even notice.
“Are you having fun?” Mom asks. She’s in the middle of our lineup, with me on her right and Summer on the other side of her.
“This is just wonderful.” I give her a fake smile.
Mom smiles back, then looks over her shoulder at a wave that isn’t right. I’d ride it away from her, from them, if it could be ridden. But it can’t be ridden, and I don’t want to look bad trying.
“I’m supposed to FaceTime with Dad and Genevieve later,” I say. It comes from nowhere. It isn’t even true.
Mom doesn’t respond, but she isn’t grinning anymore. She looks again over her shoulder at the next rise.
“What do you suppose he sees in her?” I ask. “I mean, she’s beautiful and everything, but she’s kind of an idiot.”
Mom doesn’t look happy. “Is there a reason you’re bringing up your dad and that woman right now?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just she’s apparently really good at this kind of thing.”
“Bomb!” Summer shouts. I’m pretty sure I know what she means by bomb. But I’m looking at Mom looking at me.
“Are you intentionally trying to hurt me?” she asks.
Before I can answer, a giant wave breaks on top of us. It smashes me down and drags me along the bottom. Under the water the roar is angry. A thousand bubbles cry as they rise. Finally the wave lets go of me and the foam board strapped to my wrist as it moves on, and I break to the surface. I gasp for air.
Then Mom pops up beside her board, hair in her face, coughing. She begins paddling blindly toward the shore. Her board is loose, and she leaves it behind as she swims toward the beach.
“Mom!”
She doesn’t answer, but keeps swimming, and coughing. I climb on my boogie board and kick toward her.
Of course Summer caught the wave and rode it in. And of course Summer meets Mom on her way back out before I do. She looks all concerned, and they walk side by side in the shallow water toward the sand. Meanwhile Mom’s board bumps me, but I ignore it. It can drift to sea and she can forfeit the rental deposit for all I care.
But I go in anyway, more because I’m done than because of caring about anyone.
When I reach them, they’re sitting on the towels. Summer is watching Mom shiver. She puts my towel over Mom’s shoulders.
“She’ll be okay,” Summer says. She looks at my expression, then rises to her feet. “I’m gonna get her board.”
I turn to watch Summer jog off toward the runaway board, which is bouncing on the rakers in the shallows. I turn back to Mom.
“You got crushed.”
Mom nods.
“Worked.”
She nods again.
“Had.” I stare down at her. “That’s how it felt when Dad left.”
She looks up at me, shields her eyes from the sun.
“Over the falls,” I say. “Into the spin cycle.”
She shakes her head. “Him leaving felt worse.”
“Really?” I glance over my shoulder to Summer, who has Mom’s board under her arm. She watches us from the water’s edge, then turns away and looks at the sea. “You never said a single thing about Dad leaving.”
“Didn’t I?” She shakes her head. “Maybe I was trying too hard to look like I was strong.”
She doesn’t seem at all doctorly at this moment. She doesn’t look like she could save lives. Instead she looks like a shipwrecked woman.
“Sorry I was being mean.” It occurs to me I wanted to see her cry for what happened more than a year ago.
“Sorry for everything I’ve done wrong,” she says.
I don’t want her to feel that way. I really don’t.
“Maybe,” I begin, “you just didn’t have a chance to come up for a breath yet.”
She smiles a tiny smile at this.
I sit beside her. “How about on the count of three we both take a big breath?” I don’t know where this brilliant idea came from. But it really is brilliant. “Like we’ve been dragged along the bottom, but the killer wave has passed, and we’re finally coming up for air.”
She nods. “Sounds like it’s just what I need.”
“But you gotta gulp at it like you mean it. Like you’ve been wanting it for forever.”
“I will.” Now she looks like she’ll cry. “I have.”
“Me too.” I put my hand on her knee. “Okay. One, two, three!”
We both gasp loudly, like we’ve broken through the surface after rising from the darkest depths. We’re so loud we scare away a seagull, whose win
gs beat a breeze as he takes off. A baby on a blanket to our right starts crying. I put my head down and laugh into my palm.
Mom laughs too, then puts her arm around me. Seeing her laugh is way better than making her cry.
At the water’s edge, Summer is backlit by the descending sun. From the darkness of her silhouette her smile flashes.
Everything feels perfect in this moment.
“I missed the piano recital on purpose because I didn’t think I could bear playing without Dad being in the front row.” I just kinda blurt it out.
I feel Mom’s eyes on me, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I blamed it on Fern because I didn’t want to admit to feeling that way. I didn’t want Dad to be able to make me so sad. I didn’t want him to be able to ruin my life. Especially since he’s supposed to love me.”
“I understand.” She stares into the distance. “And he does love you.”
“Can I tell Fern I’m sorry?”
“Of course.” Mom nods. “You can say anything you’d like.”
“And I want to say I’m sorry to you, too. For lying.”
“Apology accepted. And circumstances understood.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She’s silent for a moment. So am I. Summer kicks at the waves, glances over her shoulder at me and Mom. She gives us our moment.
“We should talk about our pain more,” Mom says. “Whenever it enters our hearts.”
“But not right now,” I say.
“Not right now,” Mom agrees.
I catch a glimpse of Mom’s feet, which are beginning to look rosy. “You should put some sunscreen on those,” I say, and reach into the beach bag.
23
I’M DREAMING OF the ocean. It’s the color of the sea glass in the box beneath Summer’s bed, the same color she dreams it. I fell asleep with the pull of the waves rocking me to sleep, and all night I’m there. But it’s a bright, endless beach with nobody on it—only me—and the waves push and tug, push and tug.
The tugging wakes me. I open my eyes and see a hand extended through the dark open window, the white curtains, tugging my arm.
“Betty!” comes the urgent whisper.
I sit up, pull the curtains across the window to reveal Summer’s excited face.
“I’m so glad you didn’t scream!” she says.
I rub my eyes. “I’m kinda surprised I didn’t.”
“I need your help. Get your shorty on, quick! I won’t look.”
I’m so tired. I tug the curtain back across the window and stand. I hear the curtain screech on the rod again, and turn to see Summer’s anxious face.
“Did you shut it for privacy or because you don’t wanna help me?”
“Privacy. Gimme a minute.”
She smiles and pulls it shut again. I drop away my jammies and head into the bathroom, where my short wet suit hangs in the shower. It’s still slightly damp, and not comfy to be putting on at four in the morning.
“Hurry!” she whispers as I return to the bedroom. “Do you wanna climb through the window?”
I hadn’t pictured myself leaving the house that way, but now that she asks, there’s something about it that sounds adventurously appealing. Summer backs away from the window as I put my head through and look down. The ground looks clear and soft. I hand her my towel, open the window as far as it can go, and put through one leg, then another, then make the short drop to the ground.
“Come on!” she says, leading me alongside the cottage.
“Where are we going?”
We reach the sidewalk and turn toward her house.
“You’ll see.”
The neighborhood is quiet at this hour. No cars pass on Fourth Street in the short time it takes to walk to her house. She tiptoes up the pavers to her door. I follow. On the porch she puts her finger to her lips. “We can’t wake up my mom,” she whispers, then opens the door.
We sneak-foot up the stairs and across the landing to Hank’s door. This is when I get scared.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
“We’re rescuing Hank!” She opens his door and creeps in. I don’t want to be left behind, so I go after her. A wheelchair is beside his bed.
“We’re gonna lift him into the wheelchair. I’ll get him under his arms and you get his legs. On the count of three, okay? One, two, three.”
He’s light, and his body is lifeless like a sack of potatoes—but a sack of potatoes that’s half empty—as we move him to the wheelchair and arrange him in a sitting position. Summer straps him in, first across his chest and then at his ankles.
“He weighs barely anything,” she says, hands on hips. “He’s fifteen. He’s supposed to be the one able to carry me.” Summer lays a note on Hank’s pillow, then gets behind the wheelchair. “Come on, to the elevator. Close Hank’s door behind you. Quietly.”
Summer cringes when the elevator dings. We take it to the bottom, and I open the front door in front of her. There’s a ramp built of unpainted wood to lead us off the porch.
“Grab my board,” Summer says, motioning over her shoulder.
I notice it for the first time, leaning against the porch rail. I carry it under my arm and follow her down the pavers to the sidewalk.
“Where are we going?”
“Dawn patrol, obviously.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I’m afraid but thrilled. Down Hill Street we go, with me in front of the wheelchair just in case. Every few steps I look back to make sure I haven’t gotten too far ahead.
“Is this legal?”
“Of course! He’s my brother. My mom would kill me. But this is gonna be great.”
“Are you gonna make him surf?”
I sense that the wheelchair is no longer rolling along behind. I turn and see Summer with her head down, her golden hair almost touching the sidewalk, trying to control her laughter. Finally her face reappears.
“No, Hank isn’t gonna surf. But he would if I’d let him.” She begins rolling the wheelchair downhill again. “He’s gonna watch.”
Though I’m pretty sure Hank can’t see, I feel somewhat better with this picture in mind. She’d joked about duct-taping me to her skateboard to get me through Third Street when it was too scary for me, so the picture of Hank strapped to a surfboard was presenting itself in my mind.
Main Street is empty as we cross. So are Neilson and Barnard. Then we reach the sand. Immediately it’s clear that the wheelchair, with its skinny wheels, wasn’t made for this. It won’t roll at all.
“Dang it!” Summer gazes across the sand at the dark ocean, where ghostly bits of fog drift from the surface as they near the beach. There are a couple of figures visible in the water.
A growly voice sounds behind us. “Need a hand?”
We turn and see an old guy in a wet suit. He’s not old like nursing-home old, but his hair and beard are long and gray. Jabbing the nose of his surfboard into the sand, he looks strong in spite of his age.
“I’m trying to get my brother close to the water so he can watch me surf.” She looks from the old guy to Hank. “He taught me how.”
The old guy smiles. “And I taught Hank. At least I taught him everything I know. Then he became a regular hotdogger.” He steps forward. “If you carry my board, I can carry your brother.”
Summer smiles. “Thank you.”
We watch as the old guy bends down, reaches under Hank’s arms, and lifts him over his shoulder. “Come on, Hank. Let’s catch some waves.” He looks like a big, strong father carrying his child to bed.
Summer grabs the old guy’s surfboard and we follow behind. Hank’s wispy hair bounces as the man trudges in the sand.
A hundred steps and we’re at the water’s edge. Summer scratches her head. “Maybe he could sit up against you, Betty? Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
I sit down in the sand, and the old guy lowers Hank and sets him against my raised knees. He’s as feeble as a featherless baby bird. His ghostly feet rest i
n the sand.
Summer arranges his pajamaed legs in front of him. “Please make sure the brace keeps his head supported.”
I nod. “I will.”
She kneels down and fastens the top button of Hank’s pajama shirt, then stands.
The old guy claps his hands together. “It’s gonna be epic this morning.” He leashes his board to his ankle. “Waves like corduroy.”
Summer turns to him and smiles. “That’s why we’re here for dawn patrol.” She looks down at Hank. “Also because this is kind of a kidnapping and we needed to do it while my mom’s asleep. Thank you so much for being an accomplice.”
“Anytime.” He picks up his board and jogs into the surf.
Summer watches him leave, then looks to me and smiles. “That,” she says, “was the Big Kahuna.”
My eyes follow the old guy attacking the waves. A major shiver runs down my spine.
I feel like I’ve just seen a mythical creature. It occurs to me that I doubted his existence until just now, seeing him.
This stupid surfing thing keeps getting more and more amazing.
Then Summer gets on her knees in the sand before Hank. She leans close, her forehead pressed against his, and speaks so quietly I can barely hear.
“It’s a big surf this morning, Brother. I know you can hear it.” She looks over her shoulder at the waves. “I know you can feel it.” She squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll catch one for you.”
Then she leashes her board to her ankle, picks it up, and runs at the ocean. She dives into it, paddling away from me and Hank. Then she reappears in the distance, among the rising white mists on the black ocean, knees on her pink board, facing the beach. The Big Kahuna is to her left. Summer looks at him, then glances over her shoulder at a rising swell. I watch as she drops to her belly and paddles forward, then pops into a crouch on a wave that comes to life beneath her and continues to grow as she shoots down the front of it, then curls to her right.
I may not know much of anything about surfing, but I know she got it just right. She’s so far out, and the waves are so noisy, but I swear I can hear her happiness as she rides it.
“It’s your sister, Hank,” I hear myself saying, a lump in my throat. “She’s destroying it.”