chapter twenty-three
Carter
It’s barely past one, and the beach is full of families hauling coolers, teenagers whining in wetsuits, and old guys in lawn chairs with beers they brought from home. The surf competition banners are stretched between two poles near the shore, and a DJ plays reggae from a tent by the boardwalk.
Cal sells Coconut Crushes in plastic cups from a makeshift bar that’s really just a foldable table with bottles stacked on it. Josie sits closer to the judges’ table with a hand-painted sign that readsMAKE WAVES, YA LITTLE BEACH! TEAM WENDY!in bubble letters. She even drew hibiscus flowers in the corners.
“How’s my sign?” Josie asks, grinning.
“Clever.” I take a seat beside her. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
In a way, Josie reminds me of my own sister. She pays attention and wants to be helpful. I admire that about her.
Seconds later, Mia moves through the crowd, snapping pictures.
“Can’t stay long,” she says. “Very busy!”
She takes a photo of me and Josie without asking. I understand we’re in public, but still. When she lowers the camera, she holds my gaze for a beat too long before walking away.
“Have fun! Tell Wendy I said good luck!”
In the distance, Gran directs the Bees through the crowd with a megaphone. Under her arm, she carries a pink-and-white beach chair. Birdie has a pair of binoculars and a wide-brimmed sun hat. Lucille settles into her chair, rubbing sunscreen on herself. There are several other women with them today that I haven’t met yet. They each have an iced chest that I’m sure is full of hard liquor and orange juice.
At the water’s edge, Fallon stretches and twists her body next to Wendy who has adjusted her board strap twice.
“My sister is spiraling,” Josie says.
I don’t ask for permission. I just walk down to meet her. As soon as I’m close, her face breaks into a smile.
“Don’t you dare say anything motivational,” she warns. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, I’m aware. That’s why I came to tell you that your ass looks incredible in that wetsuit.”
She laughs and moves closer to me, relaxing.
Fallon snorts from a few feet away. “He’s not wrong.”
This is the version of Wendy that existed before Adam and the W and California.
“Good luck out there,” I whisper. “You’ve got this.”
“Thanks. It doesn’t matter. I’m doing it for fun,” she says, like she’s trying to reprogram herself.
“Exactly.”
By two, her division lines up. Eight women in their early thirties are waiting to compete. Fallon stands beside Wendy with their boards waxed. Wendy glances back at me and grins before turning to paddle out.
The first wave she catches has my hand tightening, nearly crushing the plastic cup. She glides to the left with her posture low on the board. She cuts across the wave with a speed that hasthe crowd cheering. Wendy almost predicts the water like she’s controlling it.
“She’s incredible,” Cal says. “Just how I remember.”
The sun burns my neck, and now I understand why so many people rent those damn umbrellas.
Fallon is a talented surfer too. She’s aggressive and fearless, and the crowd goes wild for her. But I can’t stop staring at Wendy as she finds the version of herself she thought she’d lost and she’s free.
The judges post scores after each round. A woman named Kelsey takes first. Fallon takes second. Wendy comes out of the water, holding a small trophy the size of a coffee mug, but grinning wide.
“Eleven years!” she yells, holding the trophy up. “Eleven years, and I still placed!”
