Back on the couch, damp-haired, chips open, something forgettable playing on TV, I relax and exhale.
My phone lights up. He’s sent one more message.
Sleep well. I’d say I won’t be thinking about you, but we both know I’d be lying.
I stare at it for a long moment, giddiness rising through me.
Then I type back, very carefully so my thumb doesn’t slip:good night.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Dream of the luau,he sends.We did that for you specifically.
I put the phone facedown and sit there with the waves outside, the TV on low, and the warm, ridiculous feeling of a day that was terrible in several important ways but somehow also the best one I’ve had in months.
13
ADELAIDE
The beach at this hour is criminal.
I’m standing in front of the French doors with my coffee, and the sun is just cresting low over the water. Gold and pale pink, the waves sparkling in the light, the sand still dark and damp from the tide pulling back. Not a cloud in the sky. I take a photo and send it to Chris.
Hawaii says good morning. Whispering Grove currently winning anything?
I like sending them, these small proof-of-life dispatches, because it feels like keeping a thread pulled tight between us even when I’m too far away to say the thing I actually want to say. When I ran away from Whispering Grove from all the bullying, Chris and I grew apart, and I regret that, so I’m making an effort to keep those communications lines more open.
I sip the coffee, lean against the railing, and let the breeze flutter through my hair.
With the house behind me and the beach in front, three men who showed up like they were placed specifically at the exact moment I needed them most swirl through my thoughts. And last night, on the way back from the luau, North’s face in thetorchlight when we were close enough that I could have just tilted my head and kissed him… it was magical.
I press my lips together and feel the low, warm pulse of that memory settle somewhere in my chest.
Would it have been so bad? I giggle at myself alone on the deck, because that is apparently who I am now.
Then I notice someone in the water. I squint. There’s a figure out past the break, riding a wave. It’s definitely ahim,and he takes it all the way to the shallows, then paddles back out. I watch the way he glides over the surface. Light brown hair plastered back from the water. Tanned arms working in clean, even strokes.
Ace.
I stand there telling myself I’m just finishing my coffee, unable to peel my gaze off him.
Then I head inside to get changed. The red bikini is doing exactly what I knew it would do when I packed it, which is to make me stand in front of the bathroom mirror and say out loud, “Girl, you’re so transparent.”
Instead of arguing with myself, I grab the spare board leaning against the wall where I spotted it yesterday and leave before I convince myself to chicken out.
The sand is cool and slightly damp between my toes, and the air is salty and floral from the trees along the fence line. I rush to the water and wade in.
It’s cold enough to make me catch my breath and then immediately feels perfect, the way ocean water always does once your body adjusts and decides to stop being dramatic about it. I belly onto the board and start paddling out, working against the incoming sets, ducking under one wave with the board, then another, the cool rush of water over my back, the salt in my mouth when I come up.
I’m out past the break, sitting up on my knees, pushing my hair off my face, when I see a huge dark shape moving under the surface. Close. Too close. Very, very?—
I lose my balance and the board in a second, and next thing I know, I’m falling into the water, panic strangling my chest. Frantically, I kick to the surface, reaching for my board. I get a mouthful of ocean as the wave that’s been building decides now is the time to crash over me. I’m dunked under, my feet kicking and my mind imagining a shark biting them. I come up sputtering and already scrambling for the board’s leash when I hear him laughing.
“It’s just a turtle,” Ace says.
I stick my head under the water, eyes open. Four feet below me, making its slow majestic way across the volcanic-pebbled seafloor, is a green sea turtle approximately the size of a coffee table. It glances up at me with one ancient eye and keeps swimming away.
I come back up, gasping for air. “Okay, he startled me,” I say to Ace, who is still grinning.
