Chapter 11
SUMMER
Ihad spent the last three days not thinking about Colt Anderson.
More like I told myself not to think about him and then of course I thought about him.
It was so much easier when he was out of sight and far from my mind.
But he was next door. Every time I looked over there, I wondered what he was doing.
Was he swimming in their pool? Maybe soaking in the hot tub.
I thought about all the things we did in that house and blushed.
But I wasn’t thinking about the sea-green-eyed Texan who had shown back up in Surfside like a rogue wave I hadn’t seen coming. Nope. Not doing that at all. I had lessons to teach and actual lives in my hands. I couldn’t be distracted.
“Keanu, weight back! You’re not trying to headbutt the nose of your board!”
Keanu, fifteen and roughly six feet of pure optimistic chaos, made a correction that nearly plunged him face first into the water.
He wasn’t my first Keanu. Parents hoping to give their kids some cool, surfer name loved the actor’s vibe and clearly hoped their offspring would somehow just develop it based on their name.
I had yet to meet anyone that came close to Keanu’s vibe.
We were two hours into the afternoon session and I was so ready to be done.
I loved my job but the sleepless nights were catching up with me.
That was Colt’s fault. He was under my skin and I couldn’t get rid of him.
I even used the white noise machine I got for Christmas a couple of years ago.
I lived on the beach. I didn’t need a machine to produce the sound of the ocean.
Even the magical properties of the machine were no match for my overactive imagination.
The number of erotic dreams I had was embarrassing.
I could only hope he was suffering from the same affliction.
I had eight teenagers in the water, all of them at the stage where they could get up reliably and were now learning that getting up was actually the easy part. Reading a wave and finding the pocket was the actual surfing. Getting to your feet was just the beginning of the whole process.
Lana was working the left side of the group, her dark hair pulled back, moving between the students and correcting their stances. She’d always had the eye. The innate ability to see exactly what a surfer was doing wrong and explain it in a way they could understand.
She caught my eye from twenty feet away and held up four fingers. Four kids ready to try a longer run.
I nodded and whistled to get the group’s attention. “Okay, we’re going to send four of you out for a full ride in. Do not look down at your feet. The board knows where your feet are. You don’t need to check on them.”
It was the same thing I always said. Unfortunately, they always looked at their feet and it always threw off their balance. Always.
They paddled out. Lana and I called out corrections over the break. One of the youngest in the teenage beginner class nailed it. She was up, balanced, and skating across the water with a triumphant smile on her face.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I hollered.
“I did it!”
“You did it!”
“I want to go again!”
“Get back out there.”
The session wound down. I let them have fifteen minutes of free time while Lana and I regrouped on our boards just past the break. We bobbed up and down, watching each of the teens.
“You want to close out?” Lana asked.
“Obviously.”
I waited for the right wave. When it came I paddled hard and felt the lift and popped up. My knees were bent, arms hanging loose at my side in what looked like a very chill pose, but I’d be ready to catch my balance in an instant if needed.
“My turn,” Lana called out.
I watched her and thought about telling her not to do it. Not yet. She was still healing. But I also knew she wasn’t going to listen to me. She was twenty years old. I remembered that age. Nothing and no one would have stopped me from surfing.
She caught it, got up clean, and then went for the same move I pulled off. But I saw her mistake and knew how her ride was going to end. She bailed and went sideways off the board. She hit the water hip first, causing me to grimace. I was already moving before she surfaced.
She came up with her hair plastered across her face, one hand going immediately to her right hip, and I saw the expression she was trying to hide.
“I’m fine,” she said before I’d said a word. She pushed her hair back and grimaced. “I’m fine,” she said again. “My hip’s just a little sore.”
I said nothing more as we all made our way out of the water. The parents collected their kids from the parking lot at the top of the beach with the teens exaggerating their skills. The parents hung on every word, convinced they were looking at the next pro surfer.
Lana and I stood at the edge of the sand and waved them off. As soon as the last student was gone, I turned to her.
“How’s the hip really?”
“Sore,” she admitted with a sigh.
“You went too hard.”
“I felt good out there.”
“You always feel good out there. Adrenaline makes you feel invincible.” I picked up my board and tucked it under my arm. “Dr. Fields told you to take it easy. You push too hard and you’re going to set your recovery back.”
“She told me I’d probably never compete again and here I am, so…”
“Here you are instructing,” I said. “Which you’re genuinely good at, by the way. Don’t push it. You have time to heal properly.”
“I just can’t go any slower, Summer. I’m already going so slow.
” She spoke with disappointment and resignation in her voice.
“Surfside is as good as it gets for me. I know that might be an insult to some, but it wasn’t my dream.
I know you love it here and that’s great for you, but I wanted to be on the circuit. I wanted to be competing.”
“Come get food with me,” I said. “Shack’s got the fish tacos today.”
“I can’t, I’ve got errands.” She was already backing toward the parking lot. “I’ll see you Thursday?”
“I’ll be here.”
I watched her load her board into the back of her Jeep and pull out.
She was fortunate, but she couldn’t see it yet.
Two years ago she’d been the most talked-about junior surfer on the California coast. Sponsorships lined up.
Competitions won. A trajectory that had looked like a straight line to the top.
She had the skills. The innate talent. I had helped train her since she was twelve.
We learned a lot together, but I could admit she was better than I was.
I’d been there the day of the injury and watched her go down. She was twenty years old now and rebuilding her life, but she would never compete. Eventually, her hip would give out, especially if she kept pushing herself too hard.
I slid my board into my truck and reached for the long-sleeved shirt I would wear over the swimsuit when I heard the engine of a car revving.
I glanced behind me and saw a black sports car rolling through the parking lot.
The windows were down and the driver was making it a point to slow way down. He looked over at me and whistled.
I rolled my eyes. Did men really think that worked?
A whistle was going to get me naked and in their bed?
I didn’t understand the thinking. Why not stop and offer a compliment?
It happened every year. The summer people rolled in like a tide.
They arrived in Surfside with the idea that catcalling a woman in a parking lot was cute.
I’d been getting it since I was sixteen and I had zero patience for the nonsense.
With no more lessons, I drove home, leaving my board in the truck in case I decided to go out later. Sometimes, I could surf twenty feet out our back door. Other times, I had to chase the waves.
When I walked through the door, I was greeted by Summer and Ocean sitting at the table with their afternoon snack of milk and cookies.
The cookies were from a package. It was their routine.
You could track time by their feeding schedule.
Becca said they were like trained dogs. She never had to wonder what time it was.
“I hit a bullseye today,” Ocean said.
“You did?” I opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of juice.
“Yep! Right in the middle.”
“I got close,” River said. “I’m not good at it.”
“You’ll get better,” I told her. “It takes lots of practice to get good at something.”
They were in day camp, which was basically daycare, but they got to learn all kinds of cool stuff. And it gave Becca a break. Six hours of Mom time. Becca worked part-time when the kids were in school and did a few odd jobs during the summer, but being a single parent was a full-time job in itself.
“Next month we’re doing climbing camp,” Ocean announced.
“No, you’re not,” Becca said from the couch. She was stretched out, the fan blowing directly on her. “I am not buying all the gear just to have you bounce off a cliff. I told you to pick something else.”
I laughed. Ocean was a lot like me. Always moving. Always chasing the next thrill. He was never going to be satisfied with art camp. River would be thrilled, but Ocean had the energy of twenty boys.
I snatched a cookie and sat down at the table with the kids. “What else did you do today?”
“I think archery is hard for moms,” River said.
“I think you’re probably right,” I said with a grin.
“What’s hard is watching your children shoot arrows at each other,” Becca said.
I looked at the kids. “Were you shooting arrows at each other?”
Ocean looked guilty. “I didn’t aim it at her. I was just showing Mom how to hold the bow. I lost my grip. It has a rubber tip. No one got hurt.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you’ll have to be extra careful in the future.”
“No more bows,” Becca groaned. “Why can’t you just paint? Or origami? There’s a calligraphy class.”
River scrunched up her nose. “What’s calligraphy?”
“No one is taking calligraphy,” I replied. “Where’s the brochure? Let’s find something a little safer.”
They had both done the surfing camp and they had both been bored to tears. They lived on the beach. With me. They could teach the instructors a thing or two about surfing.
“I think it’s sandwiches for dinner,” Becca said. “No one tells you becoming a mother means you have to make dinner every night. Every. Single. Night.”
I looked at both kids who were completely unbothered by their mother’s crash out. It happened once a week. We were all used to it and no one was complaining about eating sandwiches for dinner. It was her that said it wasn’t healthy.
I finished my cookie and stood. “I’m going to shower,” I said. “We’ll go for a walk and give your mom some time alone.”
“I’m fine,” Becca said.
“Of course, you are.”