Chapter 27
So, that happened. And I don’t know how to feel about it.
On the one hand, I am basically floating on cloud nine.
On the other hand, I’m slightly mortified by the way Daniel pulled back, and I feel like an idiot for getting carried away.
Saying goodbye to Gramps and the beach and Pebble Cottage will be hard enough…
did I have to go and add an extra layer of emotional complexity to it all?
I can’t help replaying every moment again and again, from the moment in the driveway when we found ourselves alone, to the feverish groping in the pool.
I replay it all while I’m sitting in planning meetings, while I’m stirring a pot of soup, while I’m walking on the beach at night after my workday is over and Gramps is asleep.
As I walk, I catch up on the latest episode of Elementary , but I haven’t been paying attention for the last few minutes (my mind got snagged on the memory of the look on Daniel’s face when he said, “Red light”).
But something the podcast hosts are talking about catches my attention.
One of them is moving to another city soon for a new job, and she’s saying that she created a bucket list of things to do before she moves.
Touristy things that she never got around to doing in her own city.
And suddenly I’m counting the days I have left. Only eleven. Eleven days before I have to go back to Seattle—home to a place that doesn’t even feel like home right now.
Staring out at the dark water—so dark I can only tell where the gulf begins by where the bank of purple clouds on the horizon ends—I realize there are so many things I still want to do.
Not only do I need to finish the floors and walls at Pebble Cottage, I need to soak up every minute of life here.
Because I don’t know when I’ll be back. Once I go home, my job here will be done: The cottage will be rented out, and Gramps will be in a better place than he was when I found him.
And once I’m home, there will be no beach walks, no Jacuzzi, no mermaid bar, no dinners with Gramps. No cottage. No Daniel.
Before I know what I’m doing, I stand up and strip off my jogging shorts, tank top, sports bra, and underwear. I leave them in a pile on the sand with my phone and earbuds on top, and then I jog out into the dark waves. Naked.
I’m not a naked person. Even when I’m changing in front of my sister, or in a gym locker room, I always cover myself with a towel.
But right now, swimming naked in the Gulf of Mexico under a thin wafer of moon just seems like the right thing to do.
I swim out to the sandbar, reveling in the feel of the silky salt water on my skin.
Until I step on a slippery stingray that swims away before I can scream.
Maybe next time I’ll try morning swimming.
Sunrise swimming, even. I’m pretty sure sharks come out at night.
The next morning, I hear Gramps bustling around pouring himself cereal—but only after he scoops some food into Wally’s bowl—and I’m instantly awake. Like, freakishly awake given that it’s before six A.M.
“Morning,” I say, stepping into the kitchen as I slip on a cardigan.
“Ah!” Gramps nearly drops the carton of milk. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “What are you doing up?”
I shrug. “Seizing the day.”
He squints at me suspiciously.
“I know, weird, right?” I still haven’t told him that I’m being summoned back to the Seattle office. “How about a beach walk?”
I watch as he and Wally eat their breakfasts—even with my newfound energy, it’s too early for me to eat—and then the three of us troop downstairs.
“Wow.” I stop in my tracks, halfway down the grassy path that leads to the beach. “Look at the sky.”
It’s awash in color, gentle pastel shades that remind me of orange sherbet and farm-fresh butter.
Gramps places his hands on my shoulders and steers me around to face the other direction, away from the beach.
I gasp. The eastern sky is swathed in fluffy pink clouds, the horizon gilded with sunlight.
“Sunrise, my dear,” Gramps says. He sounds amused but also pleased.
“It looks different than sunset.”
“Indeed, for it is the exact opposite.” With that, Gramps turns and leads the way toward the beach.
It’s the absolute perfect temperature, warm but not yet humid or blazing hot.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, nodding hello to the other early beach walkers: people walking their dogs, joggers with earbuds in, and one middle-aged couple walking barefoot and collecting shells at the water’s edge.
Gramps stops to let Wally sniff a clump of seaweed.
“You know,” Gramps says suddenly. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”
“What is it?”
He coaxes Wally forward. “If you would attend one of Angela’s aerobics classes, it would mean a great deal.
” He sees the stunned look on my face and continues, “She’s mentioned a few times that she would like to get to know you better.
And I know how much you enjoy your—” He waves a hand as though he’s forgotten the word.
“Yoga?”
“—so I thought it might be the perfect combination.”
“Um, okay. Sure, Gramps.”
“They meet at eight A.M. on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, under the gazebo.”
We turn around to head home; Gramps’s endurance still needs some work.
“Will you be joining me?” I ask, giving him a sly look.
“Oh no, I will have already done my kickboxing training before then, so no need.”
“Of course.” I laugh.
Okay, so on top of everything else I want to do while I’m here, I need to add Angela’s workout class. I should really make a list.
On Tuesday, Gramps successfully drives himself to his therapy appointment and home again. He seems more chipper this time, so I take that as a good sign, although when I ask how it went, he just says, “Fine,” and shuts himself in his room with a book, Wally trotting at his heels.
My calendar is snarled with meetings, but I have the evening to look forward to: Daniel and I are planning to meet at Pebble Cottage to paint.
Or we were. Around three in the afternoon, he texts me, saying he needs to reschedule.
He sounds genuinely apologetic, but a gloomy part of me guesses what this is: It’s regret and awkwardness about what happened between us last weekend.
My mood is dismal for the rest of the day, but I force myself to go to the house that evening anyway and paint without him.
Wednesday morning, my primary concern is that I’ve agreed to go to Angela’s workout class.
I’m so used to doing my workouts alone—my virtual yoga class back home, and now my solitary beach-walks-turned-swims—that I feel apprehensive approaching the gazebo.
I still got up early for a swim in the Gulf, because I only have nine more morning Gulf swims. But even those endorphins don’t calm my nerves entirely.
“Mallory, you came!” Angela flings her arms wide, and I don’t know if she’s expecting a hug or just expressing herself in the most energetic way possible. I give a little wave in return. This doesn’t seem to faze her.
“Everyone, you know Mallory, Leonard’s granddaughter.”
I’m greeted by a chorus of “Hello, Mallory”s from a group of startlingly tan and scantily clad senior citizens.
The men are dressed in sweat shorts, T-shirts, and white sneakers with tall white socks.
The ladies are all dressed like Angela, in little brightly colored skirts and tank tops.
I’m wearing copper-red bike shorts and a matching crop top, and I’ve brought a beach towel, because I noticed they all have a yoga mat during these classes and a towel is the best I’ve got.
“So, what is this class, anyway?” I ask.
In response, they laugh. I mean, they all laugh, as though I’ve made a hilarious joke. Okay…
One of the elders moves to the front of the group, waving his hands to get everyone to quiet down. He’s short and squat, with a round, freckled face and a big white smile that reminds me of Gramps. Unexpectedly, the voice that comes out of his mouth is loud and booming with a heavy Boston accent.
“All right, everyone, let’s get started.”
“That’s Ace,” Angela whispers to me as I spread my towel next to her mat.
“Is that his real name?” I whisper back.
“No.”
There’s no time for further explanation, as Ace has started the music, using an iPhone and a Bluetooth speaker with absolutely no technical difficulties. His competence leaves me feeling unbalanced. The music is a sort of instrumental power rock, which only adds to my confusion.
Following Ace’s instructions, we sit cross-legged and begin with some gentle stretches.
This, I’m okay with. He leads us through neck stretches and wrist rolls, gradually transitioning into cat cow.
Music aside, moving through the familiar yoga stretches against the backdrop of bright white beach and sparkling water is downright pleasant.
I’m starting to loosen up, when Ace calls, “Now that everyone’s back is warmed up, we’ll move straight from cat cow to scorpion walk.”
Scorpion walk? I cast a bemused look at Angela, but she’s looking at her friend on the other side, raising her eyebrows like, Oh, here we go .
Suddenly, everyone is on their hands and feet, butts in the air, flipping one leg over the other, followed by one arm, doing a sort of extravagant sideways crab walk.
I do my best to follow their lead, getting dizzy as we scorpion-walk across the gazebo and back to our mats.
I’m a little out of breath, but the move definitely got my heart rate up and stretched my shoulders and hips.
“Duck walk!” Ace calls.
There are some appreciative murmurs as everyone finds a deep squat position and then waddles, hands on hips, like a duck. I can’t help but laugh as I waddle unsteadily along with them.
That one was kind of fun. And also, how are they all doing this with their elderly knees?
“Gorilla!”
There are a few groans and a few whoops. I whoop along with them, getting into it. The gorilla walk turns out to be similar to duck, except you swing one leg out in front of the other while the other stays in a deep squat. It looks hilarious, but my quads and glutes are on fire by the end of it.
“Okay,” I mutter to Angela, “I can see why you’re all so toned. Ouch.”
She just gives a little laugh. An ominous little laugh.
“Bunny hops!” Ace says. That sounds cute—but no one whoops this time. I glance around uneasily.
We’re back in the deep squat, hands behind our heads, and we’re hopping.
After two hops, it becomes apparent that I absolutely do not have the stamina for this.
I barely make it, doing tiny squatting bunny hops with my feet barely leaving the ground.
Back on my towel, I’m panting, ready for a break.
Someone calls out, “My knees, Ace, my knees!”
“Yeah, can we move on, please?” another man agrees.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re done with the squats,” Ace says, and I can’t help but notice that his stout body isn’t as round and squishy as I previously thought. It’s more… round and rock-hard, like a boulder. I’m about to settle into child’s pose when Ace booms, “Crouching tiger!”
Quickly, with no complaints, everyone finds a plank position and crawls across the gazebo with their knees extending to their elbows. I can do it without too much difficulty, but I’m definitely getting a cardio workout from all this.
“Not too bad,” I whisper to Angela when we’re back on our mats.
She shushes me. I take this as a bad sign.
“Chameleon!”
At first glance, the chameleon walk appears to be similar to crouching tiger. Except, I realize, everyone is pausing for a beat in the middle to do a one-armed push-up before crawling onward.
“Uhhh…” I kneel on my mat, watching these old folks move their bodies in ways I could never hope to achieve.
“Mallory!” Ace barks.
Everyone else “ooohs” like we’re in second grade and I just got in trouble with the teacher. So I do my best to follow the moves, wobbling like a drunken lizard instead of a muscular chameleon.
I half crawl back to my spot and gulp down some water. Ace gives us a thirty-second rest break.
“Is it almost over?” I ask Angela.
She simply shakes her head, delicately mopping her hairline with a small white towel.
“Okay, people,” Ace shouts. “Inchworm jump!”
The woman on Angela’s other side utters a small scream. Ace demonstrates the move: from a wide-armed plank position, he sticks his butt up and then propels himself into the air, landing back in plank position with the grace of an acrobat. What fresh hell is this?
I’m not alone in my sentiments: There are a few audible groans.
“Would you rather do jumping spider?” Ace asks threateningly.
Whatever jumping spider is, it must be scary, because everyone immediately lurches into the inchworm jump.
We go through a few more animal walks, each more torturous than the last. I have to sit out the last exercise (angry piranha).
My limbs are jelly by the time the class ends.
And yet, for some reason, when everyone has rolled up their mats and trooped off in small groups to hit the sauna or jump in the pool, as I’m sitting on my towel unable to move, I find myself laughing.
Once I start, I can’t stop. I’ve just completed what was simultaneously the hardest and the most ridiculous workout of my life.
I might not be able to walk tomorrow. And also, I might have to come back next week.
If Ace’s animal workout class isn’t making the most of my time here, what is?
As expected, I can barely walk the next day.
I mostly hobble. But the kernel of energy inside me isn’t dimmed by my physical limitations.
There’s one thing I haven’t tried yet that I suddenly can’t stop thinking about.
Over breakfast, I waver back and forth. Things feel strained with Daniel right now.
He hasn’t reached out again since canceling on me on Tuesday, and I haven’t, either.
But I have to at least ask—if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it.
I want to ride bikes before I leave.
After I send it, I hurry to add: As friends .
He replies minutes later saying that I can borrow his spare as long as I want. To my delight, he offers to meet me this evening.