“Wow.”
“But I’m getting sidetracked,” she says suddenly. “I was telling you about Felicia and Wyatt’s big fight. I can’t believe Vanessa didn’t fill you in.”
“I’d already gone to bed when she got home, and then I left before she was up. I had to return the rental surfboard before nine. Then I just drove around, did some sightseeing, you know.”
“Right. Well, Felicia was trying to talk Wyatt into going sailing with her again today, but he said he wanted to go surfing instead. And that just really ticked her off. She goes, ‘You’d rather surf on your stupid board than go sailing with me?’ And then it just got worse. Before long, she was accusing him of having some kind of fling with you — like you and he were out there getting it on while you were surfing. Yeah, right! But he defended you, saying you were a nice girl with missionary parents — ” Now Jessie stops and studies me with her can of soda suspended in midair. “Your parents are really missionaries?”
I nod with, I’m sure, a guilty expression.
“Wow, I never would’ve guessed that. Anyway, Felicia just got madder and madder and finally Wyatt just stomped out. But then Felicia started acting like everything was just fine. She went around telling everyone that she was done with Wyatt, saying things like, ‘He was just a parasite anyway’ and ‘All he’s interested in is money.’ You know, stupid stuff like that.”
“So you think they’re really finished?”
Jessie shrugs. “I wouldn’t bet on it. I think Felicia really likes Wyatt a lot. I actually heard her crying in her room last night. I asked if she wanted to talk, but she just told me to leave her alone.”
“I feel kind of bad.”
“Don’t,” says Jessie quickly. “Trust me, Felicia’s not done with this thing yet. And besides, wait until you hear the rest.”
“There’s more?”
She nods with a somber expression. “A lot of the kids kept on drinking. Including your cousin and Bryce. In fact, I think Vanessa got a little sick to her stomach because she went in the house and was in the bathroom for quite a while. And guess what?”
“What?”
“While Vanessa was in there, puking or whatever, Felicia enticed Bryce to dance with her. And I’m not sure if Bryce really knew what he was doing, but by the time Vanessa came back out, Felicia and Bryce were dancing like they were glued to each other.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. So Vanessa and Bryce had a little fight. Actually, he kept apologizing, and she was crying. And then they went home.”
Poor Vanessa. That couldn’t have been much fun for her. And in a way it was my fault. Or was it?
“So you missed the fireworks,” says Jessie as she gathers up what’s left of our snack and shoves it into the fridge. “Ready to surf now?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Let me get ready, and I’ll meet you down there.”
So while I’m waiting for Jessie, despite her telling me not to bother with it, I find myself automatically cleaning up. I don’t even know why. But I actually feel better seeing that the deck doesn’t look like a dump site.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as she catches me tossing the last pile of rubbish into the bin. “But thanks.”
Then we go out and surf until we’re tired and cold. But I can tell that I’m improving, and I know the Becker board is part of it. “That was so great,” I tell Jessie as the two of us flop down in the hot, dry sand and soak up some afternoon sun.
“That was totally awesome.”
“You are so lucky to have a place like this,” I say, trying not to sound too envious.
“I guess so,” she says. “But it’s kind of a mixed blessing, you know?”
I sigh. “I think I kind of know.”
“Okay, I’ve told you a lot about my parents. Now I want to hear about yours.”
So I decide it’s no big deal and tell her the story. How my parents met at translation school. How they both wanted to go to a Third World country. How they got married and spent the latter part of their honeymoon in what is known as “jungle camp” and how my brothers and I were born later. “It’s almost like we were an intrusion,” I say to her as I stare up at the cloudless sky overhead. I realize I’ve never said this before and feel guilty saying it now.
“How’s that?”
“Well, I love my parents, and I know they love me, but they were always so focused on the language and the village and all the various ways that they wanted to improve life for the people — starting schools, getting medical help, and whatnot — that I sometimes reckon we kids just got in the way.”
Jessie sits up now. “Seriously?”
“Sort of. Oh, I’ll admit it was fun growing up in the village. And I loved it when we were all there together, but it seems like that ended so quickly. I was only seven when my oldest brother went off to attend school on the mission base, and two years later I was the only kid at home. Then I was sent off to school when I was twelve, and it was great being with my brothers again for a bit, but by the end of that year Matthew was off to uni — college, I mean.” I sigh and sit and look at Jessie. “Our family still got together for holidays and furlough and breaks. But sometimes I think we missed out on so much. Like I see Vanessa and her parents and how they all live together. Well, sort of. They do tend to go off on their own a lot — sort of doing their own thing in their great big house.”
“That’s pretty much how my family is too. I’m sure outsiders see us and think we’re all happy and close — because my dad tries to create that image. But in reality we’re all like ships passing in the night.” She sifts sand through her fingers and lets it pour over her feet. “I think you might just be doing that old ‘grass is greener’ thing, Hannah. I felt jealous when I first heard your parents were missionaries. I mean, I wondered, Why couldn’t that be my parents?”
Now, this is news. I laugh. “And I’m sure I’ve been thinking the same thing about Vanessa’s parents. And probably yours too, although I haven’t met them. But hearing stories of your dad’s sailing trips on Sundays, and then this beach house. Well, it just looks so great.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Right.”
“So if your parents are missionaries, Hannah . . . uh, do you mind if I ask, well . . .”
“You mean what happened to me?”
She nods.
“You’re wondering if having missionary parents means that I’m a Christian too?”
“It crossed my mind.”
I lean forward, putting my elbows on my knees and feeling the gritty grains of sand embedding into my skin. “I’m not really sure anymore.”
“Anymore? Meaning you used to be?”
“Right.” So then I give her my brief spiritual history, telling how I’m sort of taking a holiday from God and how I didn’t bring my Bible to the States and how my best mate Sophie is all worried that I’m going to hell in Orange County.
“And maybe it’s true,” I say. “For instance, I wondered about some of those tumbles I took in the surf yesterday — some felt pretty gruesome — and I wondered what if I’d been sucked down and unable to come up?”
“Like where would you be right now?”
“Yeah, that thought actually went through my head.”
“So where do you think you’d be?” she asks in a quiet voice.
I shrug. “Well, I still believe in God. And I did give my heart to Jesus, it seems like about a hundred years ago. So I reckon I’d be in heaven.”
“Well, I think you’d be in heaven too.”
I sigh, feeling slightly relieved.
Then she looks closely at me. “But you’re not so sure?”
“Not entirely. I mean, I know all about the daily things, like praying and reading your Bible and going to church and that stuff. I’ve been doing it all my life.”
“I think God has even more for us.”
“More? What if I don’t want more?”
Jessie seem
s to weigh this. Finally she says, “Maybe that’s just because you don’t know the kind of more I’m talking about. But I think there’s a reason for that too.”
“What?”
“I think it’s because you’ve been pushing God away, and if you continue to ignore him and don’t read his Word or spend any time with other Christians — well, I think it’ll just make it way easier for you to turn your back on him for good.”
I nod, and as much as I hate to admit it, I think she’s right. “Yeah, I kind of think the same thing. When I think about it, that is, which hasn’t been a lot in these past several weeks.”
“Sounds like you’ve been doing some thinking to me.”
“Not consciously, though. I reckon most of my thinking has been kind of subconscious or maybe at some other level.”
“Like a spiritual level?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Well, I think you’re going to be just fine, Hannah.”
And for some reason, I find that a bit reassuring. Not that I reckon Jessie’s any kind of expert in these matters. The fact is, I’ve probably had way more Christian teaching than she has. And yet she has this level of confidence that I don’t think I’ve ever had. More astonishing than that is the way she’s made her choice to serve God despite her family’s hostility. Wow, I can’t imagine what Sophie would think if I told her all the things I’ve been doing and seeing and thinking lately. I’m sure she’d be praying overtime for me.
Jessie and I get warmed up enough to surf a bit more, and I’m starting to think that surfing is a great way to block all these troubling thoughts from my mind. It’s like I can just empty myself out when I’m riding a wave, like I become a part of the ocean or a piece of driftwood or a seabird or something. No worries.
Finally we’re both too tired to keep going, and I suspect I should get home anyway. For one thing, I’m feeling guilty about Vanessa, as if I’m somehow responsible for how things went with her and Bryce last night. And besides that, I need to be ready for work in the morning.
“Thanks for everything,” I tell Jessie. “It’s been truly amazing.” “You’re welcome to come out and surf whenever you like,” she says. “In fact, you can just leave the board here if you want.”
“Do you surf every day?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’d like to surf more, but my dad made me promise not to surf alone.”
“I reckon I can help you in that regard. I even took a class on lifesaving when I was fourteen.”
She laughs. “That’s reassuring. But seriously, surfing has been so awesome for me these past two days. Sometimes it almost feels like a form of worship.”
“Surfing as a form of worship?” I study this strange girl and feel the need to scratch my head.
“Yeah. Like it’s me and God, just hanging together. Pretty cool. If it wasn’t for my dad getting all freaked, I’d be tempted to surf by myself. So seriously, anytime you want to come out, just give me a call.”
“I work until two during the week.”
“Hey, that’s pretty much my schedule too. Except I only work till one.”
“You work?”
“Not exactly. I volunteer. There’s this children’s home that our church runs. It’s for kids with HIV. During the summer I’m helping out there every day. It’s been pretty cool.”
“Wow, that’s really nice of you.”
“Hey, trust me, I get back way more than I give. The kids are awesome.”
I nod. “Well, it’s still really nice.”
So we exchange cell phone numbers and plan to meet here tomorrow afternoon.
“And I can take you to some other good spots too,” she says as I’m leaving. “I mean, our beach is okay, but when you get better you might be ready for some bigger challenges.”
And I reckon I am ready for some bigger challenges. But not just in surfing. Suddenly I have this hopeful feeling about Wyatt. I can’t believe he and Felicia broke up last night — and over me!
fifteen
“WHERE’VE YOU BEEN?” DEMANDS VANESSA WHEN I COME INTO THE house.
“Surfing,” I say as I set down my beach bag. “I left a note.”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago.”
“Well, I figured you’d probably get up around noon or later . . . and then I figured that you and Bryce would be doing something.” Maybe I should let her tell me as much as she wants to and play dumb about the rest. I go to the fridge for a soda.
“Bryce is taking his grandma to an afternoon concert,” she says in a huffy voice. “As if I care.”
“Where are your parents?”
“I don’t know. A movie or something.”
“Oh.”
“Who were you surfing with anyway? Wyatt?”
“Jessie VanHorn.”
“Felicia’s little sister.”
“Jessie’s sixteen. Just a year younger than we are.”
“Yeah, maybe, but she’s kind of immature.”
I shrug. “I think she’s just fine and a good surfing mate.”
“And she’s religious,” says Vanessa, as if that’s another point against her. “Maybe she’s more like the friends you’re used to.”
I lean my elbows on the countertop and just look at her. “Why are you so sniggly today?”
She kind of laughs. “Sniggly. I like that. And it’s exactly how I feel.”
I nod. “Jessie filled me in a bit . . . about how Felicia moved in on Bryce last night . . . after you got tanked.”
“Tanked?”
“You know, hammered, drunk, plastered, smashed.”
Now she actually does laugh. “Hammered? Tanked? You crack me up, Hannah. See, this is why I needed you to come home. I was so depressed and lonely, and just hearing your cute little Aussie accent and seeing your rosy cheeks . . . man, Hannah, it looks like you’re gonna have a nasty sunburn. Don’t you use any sunblock when you’re surfing?”
I shrug.
“That’s gonna kill your complexion. Not to mention give you skin cancer. You should take better care of yourself.”
“I’ll be alright.”
“Well, it’s almost four o’clock. What are we going to do to cheer me up?”
“What do you want to do?”
She gets an impish smile now. “Shopping?”
I start to protest, but she stops me.
“Hey, it’s partly your fault that I’m feeling — what was it? Sniggly!”
“Why’s that?”
“Wyatt and Felicia got in a fight because Felicia thinks he’s got the hots for you.”
“The hots?”
She presses her lips together and nods. “Yeah, Felicia was just sure you two were doing more than surfing out there yesterday.”
“Felicia is such a dill.”
Her eyebrows go up. “Maybe so. But I’m not so sure that Wyatt doesn’t like you, Hannah. And I’m so mad at Felicia for her little dirty-dancing act with Bryce that I actually hope that Wyatt does like you. It would serve her right.”
“But I thought you said that Felicia always gets what Felicia wants.”
“Maybe it’s time things changed.” She points her finger at me now. “And you owe me one, cousin, so go change into something respectable because we’re going shopping! And hurry, the good stores will close by six.”
So I’m not surprised that Vanessa takes us straight to her favorite shopping center. And while her usual style of shopping feels more like an endurance test for a marathon, today we have more of a sprint. Or maybe it’s vengeance shopping. I’m beginning to think I should start categorizing the various shopping styles I’ve observed during the past few weeks. This afternoon, Vanessa walks quickly, talks quickly, and seems obsessed with finding something that will take away the sting of last night’s humiliation.
“Oh, sure he apologized to me,” she says as we walk past a fountain to reach the other side of the mall. “And he said that it was all Felicia’s doing, which I don’t doubt. But it still hurt, Hannah. And I
am leaving my cell phone off all day — just in case he tries to call and apologize again. I want him to worry a little.”
“Right.”
We go into a Via Spiga shop (a name I recognize because of my raincoat, although this store has only shoes and accessories), and she starts looking at shoes, then finally says, “I’m not in a shoe mood” and quickly turns around and leaves. I am trailing her like a hound dog.
Now she goes into one of her favorite clothing boutiques (that one with the French name I can’t even pronounce). She moves more slowly now but with just as much obsession. Finally she finds a few things she wants to try on.
“You take something in too, Hannah,” she insists.
Remembering that I am partially to blame for her sniggly mood, I don’t protest when she picks out several things for me to try. Besides, it doesn’t cost anything to try clothes on. And today I’m wearing real designer clothes and don’t feel quite so much as if I’m under the microscope as before. In fact, the salesclerk is rather civilized toward me, if not actually polite.
“Let’s see,” calls Vanessa after a few minutes.
I’m rather surprised that I actually like a couple of things she’s picked out for me. I’ve got on a low-cut skirt that fits just right. At first I thought the print was too bold, but the fabric feels fantastic, and the way it sways so gracefully makes me feel like dancing. Plus, the cut makes me look both taller and slimmer. Quite stylish really. And the top, which is about the same color as a mango, is perfect too. I open the dressing-room door and go out to show her, holding my arms out and strutting like a runway model, feeling the skirt swishing across my legs.
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