Saving Wishes

by GJ Walker-Smith

  ***

  Adam lay beside me, breathing in a way that only comes with deep sleep. I listened for a long time, trying to take my mind off the racing thoughts of everything he’d shared with me that night. As usual, he’d learned more about me than I had about him, but not because he’d kept anything from me. Every question I put to him was answered. When he began to shift restlessly I wondered if his mind was swimming too.

  The light filtering through the thin walls woke me the next morning. I felt achy and tired, far too wrecked to have woken of my own accord. Adam was finally still. Maybe he knew he was a restless sleeper and anticipated stealing the covers from me. There were enough blankets in the tent for us to survive an Antarctic storm – even after most of them ended up on his side.

  I was hopeful of getting out of the tent without waking him until I saw my jeans wedged between him and the mattress. I tugged at them and Adam woke with a start, launching himself at me as if I’d tried to steal his wallet.

  “Whoa!” I cried as he landed on me, his face inches from mine.

  He looked confused for a second, as if he wasn’t sure where he was. His eyes closed and he groaned, holding me tightly as he rolled us over.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “Too early for you?”

  He rolled us back over, more carefully this time so I felt none of the weight of his body.

  “Hardly,” he murmured, kissing my neck.

  If I were a magician I would have made the rest of the world disappear at that moment. Life was more perfect than I ever expected it could be.

  “Adam,” I whispered, moving his face with my hands so he was looking at me.

  “Charli.”

  “You sleep, and I’ll go to the beach for a while.”

  He smiled lazily. “Charlotte Blake, you have a deal.”

  He leaned in and kissed me in a way that made me consider renegotiating our deal – until I heard the waves crashing below.

  23. Sunday Surfers

  Sunday was the one day of the week that my brother never surfed.

  His problem with Sunday surfers is that they are just that – surfers on a Sunday – which meant it would take a lifetime for them to actually acquire any skill. Alex didn’t suffer fools easily, so forfeiting his beach for that one day a week while overconfident amateurs took over grated on him more than I did.

  The only other person with such a low opinion of anyone who dedicated less than twenty hours a week to the sea was Mitchell Tate, so I was surprised to see him there.

  “Hey.” He jumped at the sound of my voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I wasn’t expecting any crazy girls sneaking up on me from behind.”

  I stood beside him, looking out to sea. Clearing the air the day before had worked wonders. The anxiety I’d felt had completely disappeared.

  “Sundays never used to be your day, Mitch. I’m surprised you’re here.”

  He stood, arms folded, glowering at the handful of Sunday surfers hanging on the break, like they’d stolen something from him.

  “I had to get out of the house. Did you know my sisters are planning a birthday party?”

  “I did know that. I never made the guest list though,” I said, trying to sound disappointed.

  Mitchell glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Half your luck.”

  “Can’t you get your parents to rein them in?”

  “You’d think so, considering they’re footing the bill.”

  I laughed, harder this time and he turned to scold me with a sharp look. I stared back, a stare that lingered too long, leaving room for an awkward few seconds of silence to creep in. I didn’t want awkwardness. Fighting to keep things casual, I looked back to the ocean.

  “Where’s Ethan today?”

  He leaned across and whispered as if it was a secret. “With picky Nicky, at the café.”

  Nicole had earned the unenviable title of picky Nicky for being exactly that – too picky. Ethan clearly adored her but Nicole stood firm. He was not the one for her – she just acted like he was, which confused everyone. Obviously time apart had changed nothing. Ethan was still in no-man’s-land, waiting for her to either surrender or find the real Prince Charming.

  “Where’s Captain America this morning?” he asked in turn.

  He seemed unfazed by the look of poison I shot at him. Maybe that was a good thing. Self-absorbed, mean-spirited Mitchell was bound to be easier to deal with than the sweet, kind-hearted Mitchell I should be keeping my distance from.

  “That’s very unattractive behaviour, Mitchell.” I tried to sound harsh but it came out sounding like a trite lecture from a schoolteacher.

  “I thought you’d appreciate my less attractive side.”

  “Idiot.”

  He unfolded his arms for the first time since I’d arrived, moving his hand to my hair. I quickly slapped it away.

  “Wait,” he protested. “You have something in your hair.”

  I wished the sand would open up and swallow me whole when he picked a piece of Styrofoam out of my hair. The wind caught it and it quickly blew away, taking none of the mortification I was feeling with it.

  “So Alex is wrapping you in foam before you come out to play now?” he teased.

  “Something like that.”

  He didn’t ponder my answer too long, moving to the subject of the surf. “So, are we going out there?” He pointed out to sea as if I needed direction.

  “Why? Do you need a buddy?”

  “Maybe.” He was looking past me now and I turned to see what had caught his attention. “Maybe he could be my buddy,” he said. Adam was walking along the beach towards us.

  Gripping his arm, I hissed, “You be nice.”

  Mitchell’s smile gave me no comfort at all. Rather than waiting for Adam to reach us, I dropped my board and ran to him.

  Adam stopped walking just as I started running, probably anticipating the ambush as I launched myself at him.

  “What happened to sleeping?” I asked, throwing my arms around his neck.

  “The tent wasn’t quite as comfortable without you in it,” he replied.

  “I would have stayed.”

  He lowered me to the ground and grinned. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

  I took his hand, leading him towards Mitchell. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” I said, walking a little faster than usual.

  Even without introduction, they knew exactly who the other was. I wasn’t worried about anything Adam might say. He was excruciatingly polite, all of the time. Mitchell, not so much.

  I called out Mitchell’s name and he turned to face us. I could feel my face contorting as I silently begged him to be good.

  “What’s wrong, Charli? Do you have something in your eye?” baited Mitchell.

  I should have known better. Letting these two meet defied common sense.

  “This is Adam,” I replied sourly.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Adam extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Mitchell shook his hand but his eyes stayed firmly fixed on me. “I doubt that. Charli tends to gloss over details.”

  Adam barely hesitated. “Only the unimportant ones.”

  I was beginning to feel ill. He probably thought Mitchell was a dick. I knew Mitchell was being a dick. My glare must have had some effect because Mitchell’s eyes drifted back to the ocean. Then he turned back to Adam. “Are you going out there?” he asked. “I have another board and wetsuit in my car if you’re interested in having a crack. I’m sure Charli could teach you the basics...probably enough to keep you alive at least.”

  “Thanks, but no,” he said, squeezing my fingers again.

  “Yeah,” said Mitchell, screwing up his face as if he’d tasted something horrid. “I’m going to give it a miss too.”

  “Why aren’t you staying?” I asked, too curious to keep quiet.

  “Sunday surfers, Charli.”

  The kindest
thing I could do for Adam was get him off the beach. The second kindest thing was not to inflict Mitchell on him ever again. Leaving seemed like a good idea.

  “You could have stayed,” suggested Adam as we ambled towards the cottage.

  “I don’t like Sunday surfers either,” I told him.