Riptide Summer

by Lisa Freeman

  I rolled my eyes, but nobody noticed except Ellie.

  Jenni nodded enthusiastically. “Saturday night is the best on TV!” she exclaimed. “You’ve got The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Bob Newhart, and Carol Burnett. You don’t even have to get up to change the channel. It’s all on 2.”

  I dropped my shades down. They didn’t get it; they were talking about TV while Ellie was talking about real life. Intelligence was hard to find at the beach, and I was determined to keep Ellie around.

  Lord Ricky was looking super scrappy today as he lurked around the beach. He was furry and unshaven. His beard grew in patches that looked like brown shadows on his face. Obviously, he was stoned. When he walked by, he sneered at me. “Where’s my kiss?”

  “He’s a real existentialist,” Ellie said. It made me laugh. I liked her sarcasm. I knew she’d be a great addition to the lineup, though I worried that, because she was Jewish, Claire would put the kibosh on her. It was a non-issue to Lisa and Jenni but, tragically, Claire still had a deciding vote. She had an attitude with every person who wasn’t Bel-Air Bay Club material. It bugged me that she thought that way.

  Bob was about to raise the no swim flag when some kid I’d seen him warn for the umpteenth time got caught in the rip with his raft. He should have known better; he had to be at least ten. The kid’s head was so low in the water, you could barely hear him screaming for help. By the time Bob got past the waves, I could see the kid’s eyes weren’t in focus. I wanted to look away, but I had to make sure Bob got there in time.

  It was weird to me that someone could drown so close to shore. The fear on his face stained my mind as he tried to open his mouth to yell. He swallowed ocean instead of air. The kid jerked back and forth, struggling helplessly as he was yanked farther out to sea. His mom started screaming.

  In the seconds it took Bob to get his rescue gear around him, the boy got pretty far out—spasming. That’s what happens when your airways fill with water. And it can kill you fast. Lucky for him, Bob got there before it was too late. Bob jimmied the kid onto the raft and body surfed him in as rapidly as possible. The whole beach stood to watch as the boy’s mom came running to meet them. When they got to shore, Bob immediately pumped his chest until the kid started chucking up watery food. Maybe there was something to that saying: Don’t swim for a half an hour after you eat.

  Lord Ricky walked unceremoniously right past the drama. He was schmoozing Glenn, trying to get the photographer to take some pictures of him. The VPMs followed, and once the kid sat up, everything at State continued as though nothing had happened. Nobody seemed to care. But my hands were trembling.

  —

  Jerry was telling the VPMs, “I’m getting a new board. It’s going to be thicker and longer for big waves.” They listened attentively as they lined up. “I’m heading to Oahu in a few days.” They hooted. “Going to live with Solomon Kekahuna and his Honey Girl.” The VPMs went wild. I knew that Jerry Richmond was just another mouth Annie would have to cook for. It was unreal that he was going to get to live with her, and I was stuck on the mainland.

  I was short of breath and felt like I was floating around like Major Tom, high above the flickering lights of the Earth, looking down on my sorry ass life. As the guys paddled out, Glenn adjusted his tripod and clicked away. I watched them attentively, squinting toward glittering waves. I memorized where Jerry positioned himself as he peeled into the first curl from top to bottom without a second thought. He never missed a takeoff. Neither did the VPMs. For sure they would all be in the article. They found the sweet spot every time, just to the left of Mrs. Kinski’s house. I studied every move Jerry made: the smooth strokes that took him beyond the break. How he got to his feet so quickly. Speed was the ticket. I knew I had to be faster when I popped up.

  Jerry was like poetry in the water. Surfing was always an improvisation, but not random. He had form like no one else; the magic was that he didn’t try to control it. He surrendered to the wave so each move was completely new and spontaneous—like sand drawings by the ancients, which existed only for a moment before the wind blew them away.

  Bob let the locals have an hour in the water before he raised the blackball flag, which meant no more surfing. Then the biggest event of the day happened: Jenni handed Coco a towel when he came out of the water. That was significant, and everyone knew it. If you give a guy a towel, it means he’s yours. And if he takes it, it’s official.

  The guys lingered near us little longer than usual that day. Yeah, their stuff was right by us, but that wasn’t why they hung around. The reason was Ellie Katz. She was a guy magnet. Not that she was trying; it’s just who she is. I think most guys at State were actually scared of her, she was so gorgeous. I was relieved when Lisa and Jenni adjusted their towels, leaned back on their elbows, and relaxed. That was the sign of a green light. If you can kick back with a girl, you can be friends with her. All we would need now was Windy Davenport and a floater.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Return of the Prodigal Son

  Later in the afternoon the lineup was sitting on the railing overlooking State. “Whoa!” Lisa said.

  A brand-new, black Ferrari screeched to a stop and backed into a parking space as if its driver owned the world.

  Jenni stopped licking her Popsicle. When a car you’ve never seen before pulls into State’s parking lot, it’s news.

  We watched as none other than Shawn McBride slid out of the driver’s seat. I knew it was him by how he walked. Nigel didn’t strut like that. Shawn’s hair was still super short, but it was darker. It made him look a little more dramatic.

  Wait a minute, I thought to myself. He isn’t supposed to be back for another week. And why isn’t Nigel with him? That was weird.

  Lisa called out, “Hey, Shawn, how was Calcutta?” as if he had been on a leisurely cruise. Her newfound friendliness toward a McBride was the sign of a true ruler.

  He spun around and told her, with a forced laugh, “I’m not planning on going back.”

  Then he noticed me and practically tripped as he hurried away. I wanted to ask him where Nigel was, but for the longest time he focused his attention on the guys in the volleyball courts, on Bob, the VPMs—anywhere but on me.

  Finally, he waved me over. I turned to Lisa and Jenni. “Will you guys come with me?” I asked nervously. They were more than happy to oblige, and we walked in unison toward the Ferrari.

  “Do I have a railing mark?” Lisa asked out of the side of her mouth.

  I peeked at the back of her thighs and reassured her, and then of course Jenni wanted me to do the same for her.

  In keeping with her ruler status, Lisa was the one who spoke first. “Where’s Nigel?” she asked.

  Shawn didn’t answer. Instead, he reached down into his shiny new car and grabbed an envelope from the dashboard.

  “Sorry, Nani,” was all he said as he handed it to me and quickly got back in the car. I took it from him and plunged it deep into Jenni’s purse. I knew this was very bad and, from the looks on their faces, so did Lisa and Jenni.

  Nobody said another word as we watched Shawn’s Ferrari tear out of State, make a screeching left turn, and head back up the coast.

  When the sun started to set and everybody began packing up, I knew I couldn’t avoid what was in that envelope another minute. And since I didn’t want to be alone when I read it, I said to Jenni, “Give it to me.” Everyone gathered in a circle around, one towel touching another, shoulder to shoulder.

  When I looked at the single piece of paper with words on both sides, I couldn’t bring myself to read it. I handed it to Jenni, knowing her sweet voice would make whatever it said less painful. I covered my face with my hands as I listened.

  Dear Nani,

  I have been called to Christ.

  Serving God is the only thing greater than my love for you. Because your mom works at St. John’s, I know you’ll understand the hardships of the sick. I had no idea of the suffering of humanity before I came to Calcutt
a.

  I push myself from sunrise to sunset, as I am being trained for various tasks alongside the Sisters of the Merciful. They wear their habits all day in the heat but never complain. Sister Mary Margaret has taken me under her wing.

  “She better not be cute,” Lisa interrupted. Without looking up, I tapped Jenni to continue.

  She has been serving the poor in Calcutta for 23 years.

  “Well then, that’s okay …” Lisa said. “Go on.”

  I have joined her staff as a volunteer until I can begin Seminary School. Today I fixed her sewing machine and had culinary duties. I baked bread for the children. Some days I help out singing and reading, sometimes even assisting Father Mark with altar services.

  “Did I hear that Nigel McBride is baking bread?”

  Lisa shushed her.

  I had hoped that Mary Jo had left for the day, but there she was sitting down, uninvited, drinking something that smelled like whiskey. Since I had no choice, I asked Jenni to continue.

  It’s going to take eight years before I am called to the Bishop to receive my Holy Orders.

  Mary Jo interrupted again, “What the fuuu—”

  “Maintain,” Baby told Mary Jo in the most adorable way. “This is hard for Nani.” She had become the voice of reason. I signaled Jenni again to continue.

  Becoming a priest is something I’ve known I wanted to do for a long time. Please forgive me for not being honest with you. I hope that, in the future, you will celebrate this bright beginning with me and receive me with open arms once I overcome my earthly desires. But Nani, please know I will never stop loving you, ever!

  Jenni was choking up now as she read. It should have been me crying, but Jenni dabbed her cheeks with the edge of her towel, composing herself, and said, “This is so beautiful.”

  I think Julie Saratoga teared up, too, but I turned away and slipped my shades down over my eyes.

  Everyone here is brown like you, which is probably why I care for them so much.

  Please pray for me, and for those who suffer, as our faith in Jesus Christ Our Lord moves the mountains ahead.

  In the spirit of Christian mercy,

  Nigel

  P.S.: You can have my van once Jerry is done with it.

  And then, just to seal the deal, I read aloud the last line he had written:

  The light shines in the darkness

  and the darkness has not overcome it.

  John 1:5

  I dropped my head in my hand and didn’t look up until Mary Jo said, “Jesus. He already sounds like a priest.”

  When I think of a priest, I picture a big man reading a small Bible, reciting prayers to himself, moving his lips as he reads. He’s wearing a black jacket and white collar; on his lapel there’s a gold pin supporting some noble cause. His black plastic glasses are thick and square and sit low on the bridge of his pink nose. His white hair is receding, and he has a double chin, dark eyebrows, and a billowing strong voice.

  That is not Nigel McBride, with his long, willowy limbs and soft blue eyes that twinkle when he gets close to me. That is not a surfer who gets so deep into a wave he disappears.

  One thing I definitely know is that a kahunapule, a priest, isn’t a good kisser or a bonghead. It’s not someone like my boyfriend, Nigel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Through the Looking Glass

  Rox had taken to stopping by State on her way to the Chart House. She’d visit the parking lot, hang over the railing in her tube top dress to say hi to the guys at the volleyball court, and make sure I saw her by whistling through her teeth and waving at the lineup.

  When I rode my bike home, Joyce was in her silver Eldorado, just pulling away from the curb. She put on the brakes and waved me over.

  “Come with me, Nani. Let’s go get an ice cream.” I thought, Oh, great. First a letter and now an ice cream.

  “She’s drinking,” I said, tossing my bike into its secret hiding place.

  Joyce didn’t even raise her eyebrows. “I know.” She turned off the car and got out. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

  “Oh, yes, it is.” And out of my mouth spewed every secret about the urn and Jean, and the entire story of the night before. I told Joyce about Nigel’s letter and how Rox and I hated each other now. I wasn’t going to cry, but when Joyce reached into her alligator purse and gave me her crisp handkerchief, I took it and paced back and forth in the middle of the deserted street, slamming my fist in the air.

  “Why aren’t you my mom?” I asked. Joyce gingerly put her arm around me, moving me out of the street. When I was on the sidewalk, she opened the car door and gestured for me to get in.

  As she put the key in the ignition, she said, “Kids like you have to grow up faster. And you need to be good to yourself.”

  Joyce talked the whole time she drove. I liked the way she steered with one hand and smoked with the other. It calmed me down, somehow. When I had settled into Baskin-Robbins with my triple scoop of Rocky Road, Chocolate Mint, and Coffee and smashed down so I could lick it ’round the small sugar cone, Joyce said, “Isn’t grief hard?” She scraped the last little bits of ice cream from her cup.

  I nodded in agreement, then asked, “What do you mean, grief?”

  “You know, my son, the one I blamed the car crash on? His name was Joseph. We lost him in Vietnam.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a friend, Mary Jo, whose brother died in Vietnam.”

  “Oh, yes, the Stevenses. I know her mom. Another Gold Star family in the Palisades. There are too many of us.” She threw the cup into the trash can with the precision of a professional basketball player. She looked pissed. “You know, when we got the news, I didn’t drink. That’s how I know what I know. Grief changes. It did for me, and it will for you, too, Nani. Not every day is awful, and yet, I can’t predict the pain. Some days it just comes. But I’m here, and I’ll be here for you. If you want.”

  The words came pouring out of my mouth. “My dad was a pothead and let Uncle Mike run the business because he was too stoned. He supported Jean and me by getting people drunk. He never got up before ten in the morning, and he partied himself into an early grave.”

  You know how it is when you say something and immediately know it’s the truth? That’s what happened to me when I said all that stuff.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. But as I said, none of this is your fault. You are a wonderful girl, Nani.” And then we just looked at each other. That was the big difference with Joyce. We could be sad together.

  “I was going to leave this at the door for you, but—”

  “What’s this?”

  “Twenty dollars. I want you to get yourself some food. I hope I don’t sound too preachy,” she said, “but there are always going to be obstacles, and none of them can blow away your dreams unless you let them.”

  “I wish you were my mother,” I said again.

  When Joyce dropped me off, she didn’t hug me. She was toughening up, getting ready to say goodbye. “If you’re in trouble, you can call me anytime,” she said.

  I asked, “Can I call you if I’m not in trouble? Like if I get an A+ and have no one to tell?”

  “Anytime means anytime.”

  I watched Joyce drive away. I had a feeling that if she looked at me in her rearview mirror it would prove she was sincere. If she didn’t, I knew I’d never see her again, and it would be one more awful loss.

  My mind was racing. Up was down and down was up. I was Alice on the other side of the mirror with cookies crumbling and tea sets cracking, where caterpillars smoked hookahs and rabbits in coats chased time. I had to cross the chessboard. I would not be anyone’s pawn once I reached the other side. I would be the queen. I forced myself to come back to Earth, and as I did, Joyce looked at me in her rearview mirror.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Make it Pono

  I stood in the doorway to my room, shaking my head in shock. It had been ransacked. Everything was scattered everywhere: shirts I had just
folded, my tenth-grade notebooks, seashells I had collected with Rox. It looked like a tornado had hit it. But judging from the slippers and beer spilled on my rug, I knew there was only one person who could have done this. Jean had totally raided the top shelf of my closet, too. Thankfully, my copy of Playboy was still hidden in an issue of Seventeen.

  The first thing I noticed was gone were my dad’s buds. The whole, giant jar. But even worse, my turntable looked like it had been jumped on. There was no way the arm was getting reattached, and the plug was never going to connect to the wall socket again. Having no music was a fate worse than death.

  I charged into Jean’s room. As I expected, she was passed out drunk, ‘ona. I guess she had called in sick to work. I shook her until she woke up. “What happened to my room?”

  She took the pillow and placed it over her head, mumbling, “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I grabbed the pillow and threw it on the floor.

  Jean pounced up onto her feet. She came at me with a killer force and screamed in my face, “I’m sorry!”

  She was ferocious and primal—like when Annie was here. It completely freaked me out. I backed into her TV tray, which made her laugh in a wicked way.

  That’s when I saw Dad’s stash next to her bed. “You shouldn’t have that,” I said.

  “And you should?” she laughed again.

  Then she pushed me and said, “Stay out of my room. You’re not allowed in here.”

  It was the taunting sound of her voice that finally made me leave. Nobody’s mom should ever scare them or treat them like that. Like I said, up was down and down was up. I couldn’t switch off the bad thoughts in my head that billowed through my mind all at once. When I got this angry at Jean, my instincts told me to push back, hit harder, and hurt more, but that just made the storm worse. It fed the flames. Why did I have to behave when she didn’t?

  Then I barricaded my room. I looked out the window, saw the spectacular moon, and thought of Hina the Moon Goddess. She got tired of carrying her kids’ crap to the other side of the island every day, so she ran away to the moon to take care of herself. That’s how she became one of the great goddesses I pray to. Right then and there, I decided I had to be like Hina and stop trying to take care of my mom.