CHAPTER 6
Katrina
Katrina watched the ocean slide by through the passenger window.
The late afternoon sun caught the waves and turned them gold at the crests.
Marina drove with one hand on the wheel, her other arm resting on the open window.
She wore a soft teal dress that Katrina had convinced her to buy during a shopping trip to the City two years back.
Her sister’s wavy blonde hair fell across her shoulders, lifting slightly in the breeze from the window.
They were headed to Katsura, their favorite sushi place in Seabrook.
It was Marina's day off. Katrina had finished her last lesson an hour ago and slid into the passenger seat of Marina's silver Corolla without a word.
She always let Marina drive on her days off.
Most days, Marina's only drive was the familiar route to and from the Beacon.
On her days off, she enjoyed going somewhere different.
Katrina studied her sister’s profile. Rina had their mom’s features, the kind that made people turn their heads on the street.
Blonde hair that sun-bleached to something almost white in summer.
Soft blue eyes that looked sad even when she wasn’t.
Katrina had their dad’s build, his auburn-brown hair that never quite decided what color it was, his hazel eyes that shifted with the light.
She’d spent years looking at family photos and thinking, there’s the pretty one and there’s the other one.
It wasn’t that Katrina thought she was ugly.
She knew she wasn’t. She’d had plenty of guys tell her otherwise, sometimes with their hands on her waist in a dark bar, sometimes with flowers and bad poetry.
But Marina had something different. A quiet kind of beauty that made men stop whatever they were doing to watch her walk past. Katrina had seen it happen.
At the grocery store, at the gas station.
Those men would approach. They’d say hi.
They’d mention they’d seen her at the bar, or maybe they hadn’t and were just making conversation.
Marina would nod. She’d say hi back. She’d be polite in that way that meant nothing, and then she’d hurry away, her shoulders tight, her steps quick.
Katrina suspected that was why Marina didn’t like to eat in town. Too many chances of being recognized. Too many chances of some guy from the bar sliding into the booth next to them with a smile that said he’d been waiting for this.
Katrina didn’t get it. Attention was attention. She’d take it any way it came.
Today, Marina had been quiet. Since last night, really.
She’d made coffee this morning and stood at the kitchen counter staring at the wall while it brewed.
Katrina had asked if she was okay and Marina had said she was fine, which meant she wasn’t, but Katrina knew better than to push when her sister got like this.
Marina would talk when she was ready, or she wouldn’t, and either way Katrina would be there.
The silence in the car had stretched for ten minutes. Katrina decided to break it.
“I had pretty good lessons today,” she said. “Alex finally stood up on the whitewater. The man got no balance but he’s determined.”
Marina smiled a little. “That’s something.”
“And then there’s Ryan.” Katrina felt something shift in her chest when she said his name, a small warm thing she’d been carrying since that morning.
“He’s such a diligent student. Can you believe he actually studied ahead?
Watched YouTube videos after our lesson yesterday, learned how to paddle before we met again.
Damn. If only more people were like that... ”
“Then you might be out of business soon,” Marina said, with a small laugh.
Katrina looked at her. “When have you become so cynical?”
“Just being realistic.”
"If I were realistic, I never would've started a surf school,” Katrina said. “Although you’ve got a point. But still, I like it when students work hard.”
She leaned back in her seat and let the memory surface.
Ryan on his board, paddling into a wave that was bigger than anything he’d tried before.
The moment when he caught it, the board lifting beneath him, and then he was standing, wobbling but standing, riding the whitewater all the way to shore.
The smile on his face when he dragged his board out of the water.
Not the polite smile he’d been giving her all week.
A real one. His eyes bright, his whole face open.
“It felt amazing,” he’d said, and she’d believed him.
They’d talked afterward, sitting on the sand while the other students packed up.
He told her about Texas. The ranch where he grew up.
Horses, cattle, and why he left. His brother was better with horses.
His dad had that feeling for the land, that instinct Ryan couldn’t fake no matter how hard he tried.
So he went to school, studied computers, got a job in Silicon Valley building things he couldn’t hold in his hands.
Katrina had understood, right away. She’d felt it like a hook in her ribs.
Her dad had loved the ocean the way Ryan’s dad loved that Texas land.
He’d taught both his daughters to surf before they could properly swim.
But Marina took to it like she was born for it.
Smooth pop-ups from the first lesson. Balanced, fearless, reading waves before they broke.
Their dad would stand on the shore and watch Marina ride and call out to Katrina, “See how Rina did it? Watch and learn!”
Katrina had loved surfing. She still did. But those words had taken something from her each time. Crippled something. Made her want to do anything but what her sister did so effortlessly.
She’d find excuses. Her stomach hurt. Her legs were sore. She had homework. She’d sit on the beach and watch Marina cut across wave after wave, and something hot and tight would coil in her chest.
Even after the storm, the Coast Guard's call, and the funeral where neither of them cried because they'd silently agreed not to, Katrina couldn't shake the feeling that Marina was handling it better than she was.
They'd held hands all the way home from the cemetery, gripping each other so tightly their knuckles had turned white.
Marina's grief looked... right. Quiet. Dignified. People brought casseroles, spoke softly, and told her how strong she was.
Katrina's grief was different. She threw a lamp at the wall one night and screamed until her throat was raw. Marina had simply swept up the broken glass without saying a word.
Going to college had been an escape. Two hours south, a dorm room with a stranger, classes she didn't care about. She'd thought distance would make things easier. That living on her own would help her become less dependent on Marina, and maybe help them both heal.
Instead, she’d called Marina every night for the first month, crying into the phone about nothing, about everything, about how the dining hall food tasted like cardboard and her roommate snored and she missed the sound of the waves outside her window.
“Earth to Katrina.”
Marina’s voice pulled her back. The ocean was still there, sliding by. They were on the long curve of highway that hugged the cliffs north of town.
“You’ve been quiet for a while,” Marina said.
“Just thinking.”
“About your student?”
Katrina didn’t answer.
“Are you going to do anything about it?” Marina asked.
“What do you mean?”
Marina glanced at her. The setting sun caught the side of her face, turned her skin gold. “You know what I mean. Ask him out? He’s here for one week only. You’ve got to hurry.”
“I know.” Katrina looked out the window. “I was going to, but I... I’ve never asked a guy out. It’s always the other way around.”
Marina chuckled. “Neither have I. But maybe it’s time for a change.”
Katrina cursed silently. She’d had chances. That morning, when Ryan mentioned buying a surfboard. She could have offered to take him to Northpoint, show him the shops, make a day of it. Instead, she’d told him to hold on, wait until he was certain about the sport.
When they talked about food, she could have invited him to dinner at Katsura instead of just telling him it was good. Stupid. Wait. She had his number. She could still call him. Hey, random question, want to get sushi tonight?
But that sounded desperate. And she didn’t even know if he had a girlfriend.
He hadn’t mentioned one, but guys didn’t always mention that stuff.
Anyway, Ryan was only here on vacation. He'd be gone in a few days. Whatever this was, it couldn't last. She doesn’t want to fall for anyone, and she doesn’t want another fling.
If only she could control whatever it was that happened in her body when she looked at him. That warm, stupid feeling. That hook beneath her ribs.
“You're overthinking it,” Marina said. “It isn't like you, Kat. You really have it bad.”
“I do not,” Katrina protested.
But Rina was right. This wasn't like her at all.
She had had casual relationships. She’d gone home with guys she’d met at parties or bars. No regrets. No expectations. The future never entered her mind.
So why was she worrying about the future with a guy she'd met on the beach this morning?
Shit.