But it did feel like what she was telling me could be true—or maybe none of it was. I couldn’t tell.
“And Jade’s aunt really was the Napalm Girl?”
“That’s what his dad told me,” Meagan said. “They were boat people. Who knows—but I had to pass it on to Jade.”
“What’s Virginia like?”
“It’s not for lovers,” she said. “My stepdad was a dentist, specializing in back rubs. Mom’s specialty was anything without me.”
She began to knead the skin on her thighs, and I could see a network of thin gray lines, as if something had been written there once in some kind of hieroglyphs.
“And that’s why you did that?”
Meagan covered up the faint scars. “Superficially,” she said. “But I think I was really just trying to write my name.”
Then Meagan pulled my head down with her free hand and kissed me. She slowly pressed her tongue between my teeth. She tasted like tea—the kind that wasn’t coffee.
“That was nice,” I said.
“Thank you.”
“But isn’t there supposed to be some kind of mourning period?”
“You should talk.”
“I was vulnerable because of the sudden death of a fellow surfer,” I said. “You were Winsor’s girlfriend.”
“I was a buddy with benefits—and he had satellite TV,” Meagan said. “Anything else you hear is chisme.”
It didn’t surprise me that Meagan knew the local word for ugly gossip, and I reminded myself of the Mexican warning—beware the gringo who speaks good Spanish.
“But what happened to Jade is on me. Forever,” she said.
Meagan kissed me again, signaling that the Winsor part of the conversation was closed.
This time, I kissed her back. She was delicious. Maybe this is why the English are so mad for tea. She eased me out of my surf shorts, and I rolled onto my back.
Meagan began to kiss my chest, trailing down and delicately putting her tongue into my belly button. One of her fingers started to trace those little circles again, but this time it wasn’t on my forearm. She did this for a little while, and I stared up at the fan. I tried to count the revolutions, but in Mexico that’s a big job.
“Are you okay?” Meagan asked.
“I’m great,” I said, lying a little.
It was obvious to both of us that one of us wasn’t getting an erection.
“No pressure,” she said. “We can just snuggle.”
“Thanks. That makes it easier.”
I don’t care how many touchy-feely articles women have read about this, there’s no way that not getting your dick up doesn’t totally bum a guy out.
“I have some Viagra in my purse,” Meagan offered, in a voice that made her sound like a nurse.
I shook my head. The last time I’d loaded Señor Moment up on Mexican Viagra, I’d just about blown a hole in his sombrero. Dosages of bootlegged drugs are hard to figure. I was lucky I hadn’t had a stroke.
“I thought you were a feminist,” I said.
“That’s why I have the Viagra,” Meagan said. “I’m an equal opportunist.”
“There’s that resourcefulness again.”
“It’s all I got,” she said, and leaned in to kiss me.
I held her off but then pulled her in a little closer. “What do you want, Meagan?”
She sat up and looked down at me.
“I want a real family. Have you ever had one?”
“Of course,” I said. “I know about eggnog and Christmas and cleaning my room. I had a sister who kicked me.”
“Well, that’s what I want. For the boys.”
It wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
“It would be good for the boys,” I said.
“And you could be their surf coach.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m just an old longboard kook.”
“They think you’re a hero,” she said, and began to trace those little circles on my chest.
I closed my eyes. A real family, I said to myself. Hard to imagine—but not impossible.
24
I woke up to the sound of the shrimp guy driving around Sabanita in his old pickup: “¡El camión de los camarones está aquí!” In fact, it sounded like he was driving through my bedroom. That’s the kind of thing I love about Mexico—a fisherman bolts a loudspeaker onto his truck, and suddenly he’s his own advertising agency.
I looked at the clock and yawned. It was nearly nine thirty. I hadn’t slept this long since I was on Dilantin.
“Meagan?” I called out. And I have to admit, I smiled.
Meagan didn’t answer, and it sounded like no one was home. Not that an empty house has a sound—but it sure has a feeling.
“Meagan?” I called out again, but then I just shrugged and got up. I had been hoping for a mulligan.
I put on some shorts and a T-shirt and headed out the door. It was sunny as hell, and the whole town had a kind of freshly baked mud pie smell.
I looped down to the left to see if maybe the boys were out, but the surf was small. The flightless pelican was still there, though. Somehow, it had kept clear of the stray dogs and predatory fish and survived the night. Its broken wing had been plucked free of feathers and was dragging, raw and bleeding, at a hideous angle out to one side. I felt sorry for the old bird—but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
I headed over to Wave of the Day. The front door had been propped open, and a steady stream of soapy water was cascading down the front steps. Meagan was balancing between two chairs and firing a power washer in short bursts like an Uzi. She was soaking. If this were a wet T-shirt contest, she’d win it easily. Meagan saw me enter and took a shot at my feet, raking a stinging stream of high-pressure water over my toes.
“Hey,” I said. “That hurt.”
“I just washed the floor,” Meagan said, delicately stepping down from the chairs. “Watch your dirty feet.”
I kicked off my flip-flops and nearly landed on my ass. The soapy concrete floor was like an ice rink. Meagan shut off the power washer and slid over to me, elegant as she did a little spin.
“You’re a figure skater,” I said.
“More like a hockey mom,” she said.
She handed me the water gun and motioned for me to wrap up its hose.
“Where did you get this?” It was a pretty impressive gas-powered job, the kind that can take the paint off a wall or the skin off your toes.
“I borrowed it from the policía,” she said.
“Did you have to flash them your boobs? Not that I care,” I said, caring a little.
“Just my smile, darling,” she said, smiling.
She did have a great smile.
“They need these to wash the blood off the highway after all the big wrecks.”
“Or the shoot-outs,” I said.
“Those, too.”
Meagan had gutted the place. All the chairs were upside down on the tables. The posters were gone, and the walls had been blasted with soap and water. Both baño doors were open, and I could see that the toilets and sinks had been scrubbed down and sanitized.
“Where are the boys?” I asked.
“I let them hitchhike up to Vallarta. They wanted to sneak into the bullfights.”
“Don’t coddle them, Meagan.”
And she gave me a hockey-mom glare. “I trust my kids to make the best choices.”
“Between what? Dangerous and dumb?”
“It’s not a perfect world. The sooner they know that, the better they’ll be able to navigate it.”
“I think they already know it’s not perfect.” It was going to be hard to continue this conversation without making Meagan feel guilty.
“You were the one who said people can get over stuff,” Meagan said.
“We can,” I said. “I’ve gotten over some doozies.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m so far over them I forgot.”
I walked over to the walk-in co
oler. I could hear the refrigeration unit running. And now that I thought of it, the lights were on and Meagan was blasting the stereo.
“How did you get the electricity back on?” I asked.
Meagan smiled. “You’re not the only one around here with money,” she said.
“Well, I was—up until yesterday, anyway.”
“I sold my business. So I was able to pay the electric bill.”
She was pretty proud of herself. We have a new lucky breadwinner.
“Your business?” I asked, a little confused.
“My jewelry business.”
“That’s, like, an umbrella with a plastic chair.” It was a pretty mean thing to say.
“I had some precious stones, too. Some onyx. Some jade and obsidian. That was my medium. I was known for it. It’s why I renamed my boys.”
I didn’t want to tell Meagan how high on the cringe-factor scale that was.
“For how much?” I asked.
“A lot,” she said. “Two thousand pesos.”
“Wow, that’s almost a hundred and ten dollars.”
“It was enough to get the electricity back on. So I think it qualifies me as a full partner.”
“In what?”
“This place. The Wave of the Day.”
“That’s a pretty good deal.”
“Oh, yeah? How much did you put up?”
Nothing.
“Don’t I get points for getting rid of the body?”
“I think that’s up to the jury,” she said, smiling again.
We both seemed to be getting over the Winsor doozy pretty well.
“I’ve already forged my name onto the liquor license. And if you’re good, I can forge your name on it, too.”
Forgery is a cottage industry down in Mexico. It is why attorneys are less important than notarios—who do most of the forgeries. So Meagan was in good company.
“When?” I asked.
“When I know that I can trust you.”
“Trust me?” I shook my head.
Then I opened the cooler’s heavy door and looked down at Winsor’s old spot on the concrete floor. I could smell bleach. The floor had been repainted.
“It’s like he was never here,” I said.
“As far as I’m concerned.”
Meagan grabbed a chair in each hand and flipped them right side up and underneath a table. She grabbed two more and then looked at me.
“Are we partners?”
I nodded slowly. Meagan was pretty irresistible.
“Okay, then,” she said. “Gimme a hand with these chairs.”
25
It had been raining for a couple of days straight. The river through town was a raging mud funnel, and Bahía de Sabanita was chocolate brown. When the waves broke off the point, they had an ominous lavalike quality. It was a good day to skip surfing the home break—unless you wanted to beef up your viral load.
I’d been promising the boys I would take them to surf this spot on the other side of the peninsula called Surprises, so after Jade aced an algebra quiz online and I’d force-fed Obsidian another chapter of The Outsiders, we headed over to Punta de Mirador.
“Whenever you see a line of pelicans flying in low across the water,” I said, driving too fast and dodging potholes, “get ready.”
“For what?” Jade asked.
“To duck bird shit,” Obsidian said.
He was stretched out across the back seat. Jade was riding shotgun. They both laughed.
“It means a wave set is coming in,” I said.
“Is this, like, another quiz?” Jade asked.
“It’s insider surfer information,” I said. “Pelicans are lazy—like you guys with your homeschooling—so they look for the easiest way to get around. By riding on the air that’s pushed up as the ocean rises when a set of waves is coming in, they get a free lift.”
“Are you sure that’s true?” Jade asked.
“It’s total fact,” I said. “Just watch next time you see some pelicans gliding just above the water—guaranteed, a few seconds later there’ll be sweet waves.”
And for a second, I thought back to that pelican I’d seen with his wing chewed off—that poor bastard wasn’t going to be gliding anywhere. I hoped it had died.
“That kinda sounds like crap, Nick,” Obsidian said.
But before I could debate him about it, an odd horselaugh filled the Suburban.
Jade feigned obliviousness and looked straight ahead. Then the horse laughed again. It was another one of those custom iPhone rings. I stared at Jade for as long as I could without driving off the road.
The horse laughed once more.
“Jade, is that Winsor’s iPhone?” I asked. I was trying to sound like a tough dad.
Jade nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“I thought I put it in my drawer.”
“I borrowed it back. And I changed the ring so it wasn’t his.”
I held out an open palm, and he handed me the iPhone just as the horse laughed for the fourth time.
I answered it. “FBI Pedophile Division. How may I help you?”
Obsidian burst out laughing in the back seat.
“They hung up,” I said.
I handed the iPhone back to Jade.
“You can keep that,” I said, and then I nearly added you earned it but caught myself. “I mean, what the hell—right?”
“It doesn’t matter. The battery’s almost dead.”
“I’ll get you a charger.”
I cracked open the window to let out what was left of Winsor’s ghost.
“How were the bullfights?” I asked.
“We didn’t go,” Obsidian said. “We just told Mom we were going so she wouldn’t worry.”
“That’s not cool,” I said. “People always need to know where you’re going in Mexico.”
“Why?” Jade asked.
“So if you end up not coming home, at least we know where to start looking for you.”
I tried to say it in a way that didn’t sound too paranoid, but I think I was still suffering a little PTSD from my encounter with El Jefe.
“We went to the cockfights,” Jade said. “Over in San Carlos. And that would have pissed Mom off.”
“Yeah,” Obsidian said. “Especially when she found out it was only with roosters.”
Jade whirled and smacked Obsidian on the side of the head.
“Don’t say stuff like that,” Jade said. “I told you.”
Obsidian backed off. I could see he was a little intimidated by his stepbrother.
“It was just a joke,” Obsidian said. “She’s my mom, too, you know.”
“Not really, she isn’t.”
“Yes, she is. My stepmom.”
“You’re just borrowing her,” Jade said. “That’s all. It’s not even legal.”
Obsidian was very close to crying, and it wasn’t because Jade had smacked him.
“Dudes, look,” I said. “Real brothers and stepdads, moms and pops—it gets too complicated. It’s really much more about how you treat each other, and if you care or not.”
“I’m not caring if he’s going to say perverted crap about my mom,” Jade said.
They both looked out different windows and in opposite directions.
But then Obsidian surprised me. “I’m sorry, Jade,” he said. It sounded like he meant it.
“Okay,” Jade said.
I think the boys knew they needed to protect what little bit of family they had.
“I’ve never been to a cockfight,” I said.
“They’re pretty gross,” Jade said. “But the roosters wear these razor blades on their feet, so it’s over in, like, ten seconds.”
“Did you bet?”
“Of course,” Obsidian said. “It’s not the freaking ballet.”
He was a smart-assed little punk. I’d give him that.
“It’s still pretty inhumane,” I said.
“Why?” Obsidian said. “The winning rooster gets all petted and
kissed. He probably gets laid. The losers get eaten. So what?”
“I thought the eggs got laid,” I said. “After the roosters lay the hens, right? But what comes first?”
Jade laughed, and I knew it was coming.
“The chicken or the egg?” he shrieked.
“Good one,” I said, with thumbs-up to Jade.
But Obsidian was way too cool for this. “What, you think chickens commit suicide just so you can eat them?” he said. “It’s the food chain. Everybody’s on the menu.”
“If you were on the menu, I’d be a vegetarian,” Jade said.
“If you were a vegetarian, I’d kick your asparagus,” Obsidian said, and they both started to laugh like hell.
I was really loving hanging out with these guys. It was like a coffee break with car salesmen—everybody trying to outsmart each other, but everyone a little precious and thin-skinned, too.
Nobody wants to grow up to be a car salesman. It is always a second or third career choice. No kid asks to be an orphan, either. I never thought I’d be someone who used to be a dad. But all of a sudden, this didn’t feel so used to be. It felt like that real family Meagan talked about—and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel so bad.
26
The ocean was a lot closer to its standard aqua blue on the south side of Punta de Mirador, and the wave was pretty good. Surprises is a mostly sweet right point break with a little bit of a left that can roll off its backside. The wave starts out fat and slow, which lets you take off a lot deeper than you think you can, and then drops you into a look-Mom-no-hands glide, as if you were riding an old favorite beach cruiser.
The ride can be as long as the Huntington Beach Pier, but the wave can wall up and get nasty, too. On epic days, Surprises can even cough up head-and-a-half full curtain barrels—although I have never stood behind the privilege.
It was just the three of us for the first hour. Surprises is surrounded by a few all-inclusive, Mexican-style Vegas-knockoff resorts that cater to rich Mexicans and the cheap gringo turistas who are attracted to the 24/7 all-you-can-eat-and-drink buffets. These places are basically obesity farms. Very few surfers stay there, which was why I was surprised to see this dude paddling out from one of the private beaches.
As he paddled closer, though, it made more sense. He was floating on one of those ninety-nine-dollar Wavestorm soft tops sold at Walmart, the kind that anyone who’s been surfing for longer than ten minutes calls a foamy. He was wearing a DayGlo rash guard with a hood that had a tinted visor attached. The guy looked more like a welder who repairs guardrails at night than a surfer.
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