Chapter 2 Grady #2
I turned back to the ocean, forcing my focus away from Esme and to my oldest friend, the sea. Waves rose and fell in steady rhythm, the light shifting as the sun climbed higher. I rolled my shoulders, grounding myself in the familiar weight of the wetsuit, the quiet pull of the tide.
The water surged a little stronger than before. One wave in particular began to rise farther out, taller and faster than the rest. My senses went on high alert. That wave was too tall and too fast, one that could easily pull an unsuspecting victim out to sea.
I glanced up and down the beach. An elderly man was walking along the shoreline with a large golden retriever, the dog trotting happily beside him, nose to the sand. They were close to shore, waves crashing only inches from their feet. They seemed oblivious to what was headed their way.
The wave broke hard and fast, surging up the beach.
I dropped my board and started running as the water slammed into the man’s legs, knocking him off balance.
The dog yelped as the leash went taut, paws skidding uselessly in the wet sand.
In seconds, both of them were down, dragged backward by the retreating wave.
I hit the water at a run, the cold pressing against the neoprene like a hard hand, but the wetsuit kept the bite manageable and my muscles loose and responsive. The undertow tugged at my calves, sand slipping away beneath my feet as the ocean tried to reclaim everything in its path.
The man was coughing now, one arm flailing as he struggled to keep his head above water. The dog paddled frantically beside him, eyes wide, terrified.
I dove.
I cut through the water with strong, efficient strokes, reaching them just as another swell lifted beneath the surface. I surfaced beside them, one hand immediately gripping the man’s jacket, the other catching the dog’s harness.
“I’ve got you,” I said, my voice calm and firm. “I need you to let go of the leash.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” I said, keeping my voice firm but gentle. “I won’t lose him.”
The man hesitated only a moment before releasing the leash. The dog whined but stayed afloat, buoyed by my hold and its own instinct to paddle.
Another wave rolled through, lifting us together. I adjusted without thinking, angling my body, riding the swell instead of fighting it. I wrapped an arm around the man’s chest from behind, keeping his head clear of the water.
“Breathe,” I said near his ear. “You’re going to be okay.”
The current pulled hard, but I didn’t waste energy battling it head-on.
I kicked sideways, parallel to the beach, letting the rip lose its grip before turning us back toward shore.
The water shallowed gradually. Sand rose beneath my feet, first uncertain, then solid.
When the next wave broke around our knees instead of our chests, I guided them forward, step by careful step, until the ocean finally released us.
I helped the man down onto the wet sand, then coaxed the dog beside him, keeping a steady hand on its collar until the animal stopped shaking.
The man lay back, coughing. “I don’t know how that happened.”
I crouched beside him, hands braced on my thighs, breathing hard but controlled. “I saw it coming but couldn’t get to you before it broke.”
The dog pressed close, tail thumping faintly despite the tremble running through its body.
“Thank you. We would have drowned.”
I glanced back at the water, which had already settled into its earlier rhythm, innocent again. “But you didn’t.”
“Thanks to you.”
I helped the man sit up, checked him quickly. No blood. No obvious injuries. Just shaken.
“You okay to stand?” I asked.
“I think so.” He took my hand, gripping it with surprising strength. “I’m Arthur. And this is Charlie.”
“Grady Nash.”
Charlie leaned into me, licking saltwater from my fingers.
“Hey, Charlie,” I said. “You were a brave dog.”
“You a lifeguard?” Arthur asked.
“I used to be when I was a teenager. Down in L.A. Now I own the surf shack and teach surfing.”
Arthur smiled. “Sure, I know your shop. I’ve seen you out there with the kids.”
I glanced toward my board resting on the sand, then back at the man and his dog. “We should get you two warm. Do you have a car here?”
“Yeah, I’m parked in the lot there.” Arthur waved a hand in the direction of the parking area.
“Let me walk you up.”
“Sure. I’d appreciate it,” Arthur said.
When we got to his car, he held out his hand. “I can’t thank you enough. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’m just glad the sea gave you back.”
“Me too.” Arthur opened his car door and Charlie hopped inside, sitting in the front passenger seat.
“Blast your heat until you get home,” I said. “And then get in a warm shower. Both of you.”
“Will do.”
After they were headed out, I walked back to where I’d left my board and hoodie. The sea had managed to distract me from thoughts of Esme for a few frightening minutes. Regardless, now I had to face the day, whether Esme had a date or not.
I had an appointment with a woman who needed assistance from my foundation. Nothing, not even my aching heart, could keep me away from work that helped me sleep at night.
The office of the Harborlight Foundation was in the basement of the Willet Cove Presbyterian church. The room was small and plain, with beige walls and a folding table. A box of tissues lay in wait. They were always needed.
Renting the space helped the church financially, but it also provided something just as important—anonymity.
The board had understood my mission and had agreed early on to keep my secrets, and those of the women and children who came to me for help.
Rape and assault victims. Children who had suffered years of abuse, often by a family member.
Women like the ones my father had destroyed.
Today, a young woman sat across from me with her coat still on, even though the room was warm. One hand wrapped around a paper cup of water, the other clenched in her lap. She hadn’t said her name yet, but I knew her age. Twenty-six. And that her life had just imploded.
The advocate beside her had already gone over the basics. Options. Boundaries. What we could help with and what we couldn’t. My role was simple. I was there to listen, and to say yes where I could.
“I don’t know if I want to press charges,” she said quietly.
“It happened at work. A colleague. I was there late one night, finishing up a project, and he trapped me in the bathroom. I haven’t been able to go back.
When I didn’t show up for two weeks, they fired me.
I need work to pay the rent. But I can’t sleep, and that makes it feel impossible to even think about a new job. ”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Insomnia isn’t uncommon after an assault. Without sleep, everything starts to fall apart.”
She nodded once, eyes fixed on the table. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not my parents. Not my sister. Or my friends.” Her voice wavered. “I don’t want this to become the thing people think about when I walk into a room.”
“I understand.”
She looked up at me, searching. “You do?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have something in my past that’s similar. Something I don’t want to be defined by.”
“Yet it’s now a part of you, right? Even though you don’t want it to be.” Tears leaked from her eyes.
I pushed the box of tissues toward her.“ That’s right.
And I can assure you that nothing leaves this room unless you want it to.
Everything said here stays between us. Even when I wish I could call the police, I won’t.
It’s up to you to decide what steps you want to take.
Nothing happens without your permission. ”
Her shoulders loosened just a fraction. “That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure I should come here. But I’m unraveling. I need help.”
I nodded. “That’s what we’re here for. If you decide to pursue legal action, the foundation will cover your legal fees.
We’ll pay for counseling, which we strongly recommend.
The women and children we’ve helped in the past all say how helpful it was to talk to someone.
We’ll help with your rent and living costs until you’re feeling better.
We also partner with an employment agency that will help you find a new job. ”
She shook her head slowly. “This is a blessing. I had no idea anyone was out here, willing to help me.”
“We do what we can,” I said. “But we also understand that what happened to you is not something that will ever go away. We’re here for you, though. You’re not alone.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. She dabbed at her face with a wad of tissues as she thanked me.
When she was ready, she signed the paperwork with a shaky hand. No last name. No unnecessary details. Just consent. As the advocate walked her out, she paused at the door and turned back to me. “Thank you. For believing me.”
“I’m glad you came.”
After she left, I sat in the quiet room for a while. I always needed a few minutes after these meetings. In the three years I’d been doing this work, I’d never ceased being deeply moved but haunted by the stories I heard.
I locked up, thanked Pastor Linda for the space, and walked back toward Harbor Avenue. The afternoon light had softened, turning the storefronts golden. I passed the art gallery and the bookstore and then I was in front of the flower shop.
The sign, Wild Petal, swung in the breeze over the door.
Through the front window, I could see Esme moving between the worktable and the cooler, arms full of white roses.
Buckets of flowers and greenery were spread across the counter as well as spools of ribbon, wire, and floral tape.
Trevor was asleep in his bed behind the register, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around him.
The shop looked warm and bright and chaotic and alive.
Not anything like the beige room at the church, where I’d listened to another heartbreaking story.
I almost went in. My hand was on the door. But I reminded myself. She is not yours. She’ll never be yours. Let her go.
I kept walking.