Kayak Girl (Hilton Head Island #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

ELLE

“ W hat was I thinking?”

A salty sea breeze snuck in through the open window, coaxing my hair into a wild dance as I grappled with the steering wheel. I guided my van into the parking lot of Central Beach. The familiar clunking and sputtering from the engine suddenly seemed louder in the cramped car park. This old van, not just a vehicle, but a keeper of dreams, had become my home a little over a month ago. I’d filled it with my most treasured possessions and waved goodbye to my stable job, my family, and my friends. My hands had been steady on the wheel then. I’d brimmed with confidence, ready to embrace the open road, a year of kayaking along the Atlantic coast, and a chance to feel like I was making a difference in the world. But today, as the morning sun bleached my threadbare leather seats, doubts tiptoed in. Perhaps my mom was right. Maybe I was having a midlife crisis. Could someone even have a midlife crisis at twenty-four?

I came to a bumpy stop in one of the tiny parking spaces in front of the beach. A deep sigh escaped my lips as adrenaline coursed through me. Sweet-talking this bulky vehicle into a tight space was still a challenge. I glanced at the gleaming SUVs flanking me and winced. I shouldn’t have parked here; the space was so constricting that I couldn’t even open my door.

The beach, a lively canvas of activity, extended its warm welcome. Children darted around, tossing a red ball back and forth. Their shrieks and giggles momentarily transported me back to my classroom. I smiled, recalling the boisterous group of four-year-olds I’d had the privilege of teaching this past year. But then I remembered the boogers, the admin, and the difficult parents. Oh yeah, I needed a break from those duties.

Back home in Atlanta, my days had blurred into a relentless cycle of responsibilities, a test of endurance I hadn’t signed up for. This year, though, I’d vowed to inhale deeply the liberating air that only a road trip could provide.

Yet this journey was more than a mere getaway. I ached to leave a real mark on the world, to cast aside the heavy shadows of my family’s drama and carve a path uniquely mine. No more survival mode. I didn’t want to merely exist; I craved the feeling of living up to the person God made me to be, to know that my presence in the world mattered. Hopefully Hilton Head Island held a few of the missing pieces to my puzzling life.

I blew my fringe out of my eyes and twisted my body into a pretzel as I climbed over the headrest. I’d have to exit through the back doors. Desperate to get out of the stuffy van, I started moving through my pre-kayaking routine. After changing into my swim gear, I smeared sunscreen on my face, neck, and arms, being sure to cover my latest mini tattoo with a thick layer of cream.

Last night, I’d Googled the tide schedule for Central Beach, noting that slack tide, with its gentler currents and easier shore entry, would hit at 9:07 am. Now, with only minutes to spare, I scanned the chaos I’d created in my hurried changing and shrugged. The messy van could wait; slack tide would not .

With a gentle pull, I released the small step ladder from where it nestled behind the driver’s seat, a necessary companion for a petite girl like myself.

The back doors of the van let out a weary groan as I swung them open. I hadn’t considered my height when I purchased this beast. The ad described the van as roomy. And when I’d first laid eyes on it, painted in shades of buttery yellow that seemed to capture the very essence of happiness, it hadn’t occurred to me that owning such a hefty vehicle meant embarking on a mini expedition with every use. Climbing in was an adventure, a daily exercise in mountaineering; descending was a major leap of faith.

The ad also described the van as having old-school charm… aka, it was falling apart. But within that weathered charm lay a spirit of tenacity, mirroring my own. Some days I loved this chapter of my life, and others I questioned my sanity. Today was definitely the latter. Oh well. I just needed some time in my kayak to clear my head. After a few hours of paddling, I’d feel excited again.

My transport’s unique appearance garnered attention and inquisitive looks from strangers wherever I went. Add to that picture a skinny girl balanced precariously on top of a stepladder, battling with the unwieldy bulk of her kayak (my technique was not pretty), and you’d think I was the paid entertainment. Every heave and yank to dislodge the kayak from its rooftop perch became a spectacle under their watchful eyes. As I worked, I tried not to let the attention add to my anxiety. Soon, I would be on the open water, inhaling the fresh, briny air, and my soul would be at peace.

At least for a few hours.