It was about four miles to the Metro Point Pacific Station, so I started walking. I felt excited because I was finally doing something on my own. Screw my mom. I didn’t need her and the way she babied me. I didn’t need Nelson, or my mom, or my teachers, or anybody else to tell me what was right. I was old enough to make my own decisions.
I walked down 37th Avenue toward Portola Drive, angling my umbrella in front of me to keep the rain and wind away. Wind shrieked in my ears, and the waves sounded huge when they slammed the shore. I’d lived in Santa Cruz all my life, and my mom thought I was too much of a baby to even go in the ocean. I would show her. How would she like it if I decided right then, in the dark, to just walk down the staircase to the beach and take a night swim? I kept walking though, because I was going to Mavericks.
It was about ten thirty when I got to the first bus station, and I had to wait about fifteen minutes for the next bus.
“Hey, kid,” said a lady who was about fifty pounds overweight and leaning against a shopping cart that was loaded down with crushed aluminum cans, wadded up plastic bags, and a ton of smelly clothes. “You got any spare change in that backpack?”
I glared at her and told her to mind her own business. She put her hands up and said, “Didn’t mean to piss you off.”
The bus pulled up, and I was off on my adventure. The bus driver gave me a look of surprise, I guess ’cause I was out so late, but I acted like I owned the place, walking to the back of the bus where I settled in with a man who smelled like he needed a bath and a nice lady who had a yoga mat rolled into a purple case, on the floor in front of her.
“Hi, sweetie.” She smiled.
I gave her a little smile of my own and thought things were going to be okay.
The storm raged all night. Every time I got off one bus to walk to the next bus stop, I thought my umbrella was going to blow away.
“Where you headed?” asked one of the drivers. She was a huge lady with a pretty smile. There was a school picture of a boy my age whose hair stuck out all over the place taped to the dashboard next to her.
“Half Moon Bay to visit my uncle,” I said, the lie slipping off my tongue.
“So late? Whyn’t you wait till tomorrow morning?”
“‘Cause he’s sick and … Just ’cause.”
She gave me the once over and kept an eye on me the whole time like she was memorizing me or something. When we made the next stop, she handed me her phone number on a worn piece of paper torn out of a lined notebook. “You call me if you need help, okay?”
I nodded, got off the bus, and stepped right into a mud puddle, soaking my Converse high-tops.
I dozed off during the bus rides, but I finally felt like I was doing something. I was so tired of sitting around and watching my mom smoke her bong and drink that poppy seed tea and treat me like I was stupid.
When I finally made it to the last stop, Coronado Street in El Granada, it was about four in the morning, and it was still raining. I stepped off the bus and, for the first time, felt like maybe this wasn’t such a great idea because my clothes were wet, it was freezing, and it was pitch black. I held the umbrella over my head while I listened to the pounding ocean.
I’d printed out a map that said it was about three miles to Mavericks, so I started walking. There wasn’t anyone around that early. I passed cozy houses that looked like they’d be warm inside. A light flicked on in one house, probably some nice mom or dad getting ready for work, and I imagined the families who lived there. I was sure everybody had a mother and maybe even a father who cared about them and trusted them and didn’t keep secrets.
I clutched my umbrella tighter, put my head down, and followed my map. Finally, I trudged through the town right next to the surf spot of Mavericks. I was surprised that the town was so small. The sky began to lighten and I saw a few restaurants, a hotel, and a buttload of fishing boats. I saw them in people’s backyards, in their open garages, and floating in the bay. The only sound I could hear above the surf was the foghorn, which blew like every five seconds.
My backpack weighed a ton. With the metal box in there, the straps dug into my shoulders, so I stopped to shift it some. My neck hurt, and my shoes made squishing sounds.
I finally made it to one long road where there was nothing, no houses, no shops. It reminded me of that final road in the movie The Wizard of Oz. Would I ever get to the beach? Checking my map again, it looked like I was headed the right way.
And then finally, just as the sky grew lighter, I saw a parking lot with a porta potty and a couple of cars: an old Ford Pinto with some dude sleeping in the back seat and a crazy VW van with bumper stickers all over it that said junk like Surfing Ruined My Life, Pray for Waves, and Save Trestles. I raced down the path that led to the beach, my backpack bumping against my spine. The rain, which had finally slowed, spat in my eyes as that foghorn trumpeted in my ears like a welcome song.
When I reached the beach, I stood there and gawked at the ocean. I was finally there! I raised both arms in a V and let out a whoop.
Glancing over my shoulder, up on the cliff to my right, I spotted that huge microwave tower I’d seen in movies and YouTube videos of all the radical surfers on big waves at Mavericks, so I knew I was in the right spot. In the ocean, I caught a glimpse of jagged rocks jutting up out of the water. A chill went up my spine, and I felt like I was in a movie myself. The ocean was angry, the water a gunmetal gray. But there weren’t any big waves so far as I could tell, and in fact, the waves were coming in sideways. That was bizarre.
The air was salty, and a cold wind sliced through my jeans. But I’d made it all this way on my own without anyone to help me, and I felt like celebrating.
My tennis shoes were soaking wet with sand sticking to them as I moseyed across the beach. I sat down, took a banana out of my backpack, and enjoyed my breakfast. Once I ate, I hopped up to find a rock. I was finally going to break into that stupid metal box and find out what it was that made my mom cry.
I’m not going to say that it was easy to break into that box because it wasn’t. I found a rock nearby that felt heavy enough to do the job. I pried with the screwdriver and pounded on it with the rock. Nothing. I jimmied, twisted, hammered, and beat the living daylights out of that thing until it was so dented I thought it’d break in two. Nothing. I paced in front of the metal box, scratching my head then went back to whacking and beating until I thought I’d pulverize the box into metal shards. Nothing. If only I had a hand grenade.
I was not about to give up.
I collapsed on the sand and rubbed my temples. There had to be a way.
Jumping up, I decided to find a bigger rock, but when I got a few feet away, a bunch of seagulls swooped in, attacking my backpack. Rushing back, I shooed them away.
There was this weird whooshing sound in my ears, like I could hear my heartbeat. My head felt dizzy, and I was so mad that I picked up the rock, held it over my head, and slammed it down on the metal box. It sprang open.
I must’ve stared at that box for a full minute. I’d opened it! I pumped my fist twice. Yes!
I collapsed on the sand and pawed through the box.
There were some photographs, a notebook—the one I’d seen my mom writing in—and a sealed envelope. I picked up the pictures. There was one of my mom holding me when I was a baby, a huge smile on her face. She stood on one of the paths by our house overlooking the ocean. There was another photo of my mom, Jax, and Tyler when they were younger. I squinted my eyes. It was really weird because Tyler looked a lot like me. Mom wore a pair of blue jeans and some kind of skimpy tank top, her hair long and crazy. Jax stood to her right wearing a pair of board shorts and no shirt, his smile making him look like he’d won the lottery. His messy hair was almost white from the sun, and even though he was a teenager, he already had a pro-surfer body, all hulked up and junk. Tyler was on my mom’s left. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, and had long chocolaty hair and a big grin.
There was another photo of my mom s
itting on a sofa with a dark-haired lady and a man who looked a lot like Jax. I turned that photo over. Someone had written: Rosalyn, Lydia and Troy, Point Loma, 2001.
I rifled through the box and grabbed the envelope, tearing it open. The letter was in my mom’s handwriting, and it was addressed to me. I didn’t want to act like a baby and cry, but I could feel tears welling up as I read.
Dear Eugene,
If you’re reading this letter it means that we’ve already had our talk and that I’m gone now. Sweetie, this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do, and I would do anything to change the outcome, but I really did try to do everything the doctors told me to cure my cancer, and nothing seemed to work.
I want you to know how much I love you, how much I wish that things could have turned out differently, and how extremely proud I am that I got to be your mom. When you were born and I looked into your eyes, I fell in love, and I never stopped loving you one second of the whole time we were together.
And if you’re reading this, it means that you’re safe with Jax. I am so sorry that I waited so long to tell you about him, but I was ashamed of what had happened, and I thought I was doing the right thing by running away. If I learned anything in this life, baby, it’s that we can’t run away. We all have to face whatever life gives us and try to make the best of it.
When I moved back to Point Loma when I was thirty, I was so happy to have what felt like a little family with my great friend Lydia, her husband Troy, and their boys, Tyler and Jax. What I wasn’t counting on was that Jax and I would become such wonderful friends, the kind of friends that encompass everything you would ever want in a soul mate—someone you can laugh with, someone who’s got your back, someone who puts your welfare first, who protects you and watches out for you, someone you can look up to who makes you want to be a better person. And when you’re old enough to have a girlfriend, you’ll find out that if you’re lucky enough to meet someone you can love, that person will be not only your best friend, but someone who you want to kiss and kiss and never stop kissing. And that’s what Jax was to me. But he was young. Too young for me. Even though in a lot of ways he was way more mature than I ever was at that age. It was wrong that we had sex, but it wasn’t wrong that I got pregnant with you because of it.
I pray that you and Jax can forgive me for running away all those years ago because I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew that I couldn’t saddle him with the responsibilities of being a dad when he was only nineteen. And you and I did pretty good on our own for a while, didn’t we? But I do have regrets. I lied to you and thought I was protecting you. I believed that somehow I could erase what I thought were my mistakes and that you and I would just live a happy life, and I would be all you would ever need.
I was wrong. You needed a dad. And you deserved to be told the truth.
Jax is a good man. No, Jax is a great man. As the years have gone by, I realized that I could never hope to meet someone so selfless, caring, and loving. That’s why I trust him completely to be your guardian and help guide you through life. The two of you are going to make a great team, and I only wish I were there to hold both of your hands as you experience life together. But not to worry! Jax will be there for you, and I can’t think of anyone else in the entire universe that I would trust more with your precious life.
I hope you will forgive me.
I love you, sweetheart.
Forever and ever,
Mom
I folded the letter and tucked it back in the envelope. I was crying pretty bad by then, and of all the things that could’ve been in that box, that was the last thing I expected. My mom had been lying to me my whole life. But I had a dad. I actually had a dad. Was it true? I didn’t know if I was ready to believe it. I wished a big wave would come in right then and just wipe me right off the beach so I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. But I didn’t want to lose my mom. Why did she write that letter? Was she really that bad off? And then I started flipping through the pages of the notebook, which was filled with her loopy handwriting and entries that started over a year ago.
September 2014
Feeling positive about this latest round of chemo treatments. Sucks losing my hair but it’s a small price to pay.
Eugene learned a new song on his guitar today, one of my favorites from the Love Bone catalog. Damn, he looks so much like Tyler. I just want to hug him and love him and never let him go.
The diary entries went on with more things having to do with cancer treatment and drugs and the stuff that helped her feel better and what didn’t. It seemed like the only things that helped were her bong and her poppy seed tea.
December 2014
It’s the holidays, and that always makes me think of what Jax is doing. From all the stuff I’ve read online, it doesn’t look like he’s serious about anyone. No kids. How does he spend his holidays? I hope Eugene likes the present I got him this year.
I flipped through the notebook. There were lots of entries, some having to do with people at work and some stuff about me and Leo. I flipped ahead and read a recent entry.
October 2015
Just like you see in the movies, my appointment with the doctors today was a complete and total nightmare. They gave me six months to live. I felt like I was going to pass out, and one of the nurses rushed over and supported me, to keep me from falling over. When I was a little better, she gave me some Valium. After I came home and had cried in the shower, I tried to pull myself together before Eugene got home from school and sat at the computer researching the Trinity Program. It’s supposed to have a high success rate with incurable forms of cancer.
Then there was another entry a few days later.
October 2015
I have no choice. I’m going to have to contact Jax. I’m praying that he’ll be receptive because if I don’t make it, he’s the only person in the world who I trust to raise Eugene.
My whole life was a lie.
I was bawling by then, and the only thing I could think was that there was no way I could lose my mom.
I sat there at Mavericks, and the sun came up, the sky looked like pink cotton candy, and the pelicans were diving into the ocean hunting for their breakfast. A man with a shaggy golden retriever threw a stick into the water, which the dog scampered after. He ran back to his owner with his tail wagging and everything seemed kinda normal. Why couldn’t my life be normal? Why couldn’t I trade places with the pelicans or that dog? They never had to worry about things like losing their mom. That made me cry harder. My shoulders shook from sobbing so hard, and the man with the dog looked over at me like he was worried.
And that’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Jax
When I fell in love with Rosalyn all those years ago, it felt like I’d been struck by an energizing electric current, one of those things in life that happens without any planning, a stroke of great luck.
Was it really true? I could hardly believe I was actually in bed with Rosalyn. Our lovemaking was everything I remembered, urgent, sweet, passionate, and hotter than hell.
I rolled over on to my side, propping myself up on one elbow. It was still dark, with just enough light filtering in the room from the street lamp that I could see Rosalyn’s sleeping body next to mine. I drew in a deep breath of that delicious sandalwood scent and not wanting to wake her, gazed as she snored softly, her luscious lips slightly parted.
I stroked her hair, wanting to make love to her all day, to forget about the rest of the world, when her eyes blinked open.
“Morning,” she said with a drowsy smile while stretching her arms luxuriously. “What time is it?”
“Almost five,” I said.
“Days start early around here,” she said.
I leaned in to give her a kiss. I wanted to tell her how much the night had meant to me. I had so many things I wanted to tell her, but she propped herself up and said, “You’ve got to get up before Eugene finds out you’re in here.” She pulled the covers of
f and gazed at my naked body.
I held her close for a kiss, my tongue in her soft mouth, her warm, pillowy lips on mine. She kissed me back then pushed me away, laughing. “Maybe we can make out on the beach after Eugene goes to school. I’ll let you feel me up again.” We stared at each other, both of us smiling.
Rosalyn belted her robe, and I pulled on jeans, going into the kitchen for a glass of water. Rosalyn padded to Eugene’s door and knocked. “Eugene?” When he didn’t answer, she opened the door. “Eugene! Where’s Eugene?” She rushed into his room. “Where is he? His backpack is gone … and … and …” She noticed something on the floor and picked it up. It was a bookmark that had been torn in half. “Oh no! He’s mad at me.” In a panic, she hurried around the small house, checking the bathroom, then bolted onto the front porch. “Where is he?” Frantic tears formed in her eyes. “He’s always … he’s always in bed at this hour.”
“Maybe he just went out to find Leo,” I said, but then Leo ran out of the kitchen, dispelling that theory.
“He’s never gone!” Rosalyn said, her face flushing.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Where is he?”
“Roz, he’s not gone.”
“He is!” She ran through the small kitchen and opened the back door. “He’s always here.”
I didn’t know Eugene’s patterns, but Rosalyn did. I followed her into the kitchen.
“Rosalyn,” I said, facing her and holding her shoulders. “Look at me and calm down.”
She shrugged out of my grasp. “Something’s wrong. I knew this was a mistake! My baby! I have to find my baby.” She raced through the small living room and fumbled for her phone. She punched in a number, and when no one answered, she slammed the phone down on the sofa. “God dammit! I knew it was a mistake bringing you here.” I put my arms around her, and she collapsed against me, her tears wet on my chest. She looked at me, those brown eyes desperate. “My baby.”
Waves of Desire: Pleasure Point Series Book Three Page 11