Most of my life, I’ve chased waves. Especially at the break of dawn when the world was still and fresh and full of possibilities. After my mother died when I was a teenager, the beach became a place for me to escape a difficult home life. Before I moved north, I surfed Malibu’s Surfrider Beach. All year round. I’d wake before the break of day, bleary-eyed, and drive empty streets to the beach. But the moment I parked and grabbed my board, it was as if I entered a different state of consciousness. Thoughts that plagued me during most hours of the day vanished, and it was me and my board and the surf.
On a morning a few weeks before Halloween, I ventured out to the beach with my board to take the last surf of the year. Since I’d moved to Willet Cove, the months between November and March were off-limits. This would be my last one for a while. I intended to enjoy every moment of it.
I stood near the waterline, board tucked under my arm, wetsuit zipped to my throat, watching the horizon. The sun had only just cleared the edge of the world, low and bright, casting a narrow path of light across the water. Crisp, clean air carried the sharp scent of salt, kelp and wet sand. This section of the beach was quiet except for a few distant gulls and the steady hush ofthe surf. A fisherman farther down the shore cast his line with slow, practiced movements. A couple walked their dog near the tideline, bundled in jackets, steam rising faintly from their coffee cups.
I shifted my weight, toes digging into the cool sand. The water seemed calm, but my instincts told me otherwise. The sea could surprise me, even after all these years.
My phone buzzed in the pocket of my hoodie, abandoned near my board leash. I already knew who it was before I picked it up. I’d set Esme’s ring tone to “Here Comes the Sun.” A little secret I kept to myself. If she knew how I saw her, would she run? I’d asked myself that question for three years now. Since the first moment I looked into her eyes on this very beach. Was there anything emptier than unrequited love?
I'd met her three years ago on a Saturday morning in July. The weather had been perfect that day, not a cloud in the sky and temperatures in the eighties. She'd shown up for her first surf lesson apologizing for her lack of experience. The lessons were a birthday gift from a friend. When I’d asked why, Esme had replied that she’d always wanted to learn to surf, but life’s responsibilities had made it impossible.
I remembered the day like it was yesterday. Esme had walked down to the waterline carrying a three-year-old on her hip, trailed by a boy of about eleven who was studying the surf break with a worried expression. Her golden hair had been pulled back into a braid. She wore a rash guard that was slightly too big. Later, I learned she’d picked it up from the thrift store.
Robbie—her boy—had set up a towel, produced a book from his backpack, and was reading before Esme and I even picked up our boards. Madison—her little girl—sat beside him, digging in the sand with a plastic shovel, perfectly content. I remembered thinking how well-behaved they were. There was also a sense ofa team of three, as if they all understood that whatever they did or went through it was together.
She had gotten up on the board the very first time. Her legs were muscular from bicycling, she told me. She took Pilates from one of her friends several mornings a week. She’d only been able to balance for a few seconds on the board, but every time she went down she came up sputtering and laughing, salt water streaming down her face, already reaching for the board again. By the end of our one-hour lesson, she had stayed on the board for a whole minute and actually caught a gentle wave. Her children cheered.
I’d watched her push her wet hair back from her face grinning from ear to ear, and I thought, I hope she comes back next Saturday.
She did. Three years later, she was a heck of a surfer. I’d gotten her a board that first Christmas I knew her. From then on, we’d spent many mornings surfing together.
I looked at my phone.
Esme
Any chance you could stay with the kids tomorrow night? I have a date.
I stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
A date.
I’d known it was coming. She’d talked about putting her profile back up on the app. When Robbie had first put her up on the app, we’d had a good chuckle over it. She’d taken it down, but, lately, she’d been talking about trying it for real. “Lila found Vance. Maybe there’s someone for me too.”
Me, I’d thought. How about me?
But I never said it out loud. I knew her well. She was not interested in me. I couldn’t blame her. A woman with two kidsneeded a man who lived in a house, not a hundred square foot hut on the beach. As much as I wished it was me she wanted, I knew it would never happen. I was just a friend. Someone fun to hang out with, but not date. Or marry.
When I’d moved up to Willet Cove, I’d gone to great lengths to make sure no one knew who I was. I changed my name, so that no one would ever guess who I really was. My business suits were put away and replaced with board shorts. No one would guess that the surf instructor who lived in a hut on the beach could be the son of a wealthy, powerful Hollywood producer now serving life in prison for assaulting dozens of women.
Sean Hale was my father.
When it had all come crashing down—the accusations and subsequent arrest—I’d been numb with shock. But when the reality of who my father truly was became known to me, I’d felt I had no other choice. I had to leave. Start fresh. Put it all behind me and make a new life for myself separate from my father. Separate from the Hollywood scene.
I’d left my job working as a talent agent, sold my condo and most of my belongings, and packed up my car with only the bare necessities. I headed north, not sure where I would land. Divine intervention, perhaps, had brought me to Willet Cove. Oddly enough, the owner of a surf shop and small house was retiring. At eighty years old, he’d decided it was finally time to hang up his board. I paid him cash for both. Just like that, I had a new life at the beach.
It had taken years to get the metallic taste of scandal, humiliation, and guilt out of my mouth. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing the truth about who my father was. Why? Because that would be all I was from the moment they knew the truth. I would be the son of a disgraced Hollywood mogul. A man rich because of my father’s cruelty.
No one could know the truth about my past. Otherwise, I’d be forced to continue living there.
Not even Esme. Maybe especially Esme. She was so perfect. Kind. Beautiful. Smart. Fun. She smelled like a perfect day at the beach. Her smile, even after three years of friendship, made my stomach flutter. Being with her reminded me of the boy I once was. The one before time snatched away my ideals. And my dreams.
Seeing her text broke another piece of my heart. It was inevitable that she would marry, and I’d have to let go of her and the kids. Until then, I’d be there for them. For as long as they needed me. And when that day came, I’d bow out gracefully, even if it broke my heart.
Grady
Of course. I’ve got them. What time? And who is this date? Are you sure he’s safe?
Esme
