Heat Wave(29)
“But this is your first time out here?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “I never really got around to visiting. You know how it is. Work kept me busy. And it seemed that Juliet and Logan were busy too running this place.”
A silence falls over us, punctuated by the roar of the ocean. Daniel clears his throat. “How about we all do a shot in honor of your lovely sister.” Before I can say anything, he’s turning around and pulling out a bottle of Koloa Rum and several shot glasses.
He pours us each one, sliding them toward us. He picks up his and says, “Here’s to Juliet. We miss her dearly.”
“Here, here,” we all say before shooting back the coconut rum. It burns pleasantly on the way down, immediately washing away the day’s stress. I have another drink after that as the group starts chatting about the surf report and future hiking endeavors, but I’m starting to tune them out. Despite my long beach nap that afternoon, I’m beyond exhausted.
As I leave the bar and walk through the parking lot to the hotel, the crickets chirping, the waves breaking on the shore, I take in a deep breath of the soft, warm air, exhaling slowly. I did it. My first day here and I did it. I’m almost giddy with relief that I survived and it was nowhere near as bad as my worrisome heart made it out to be.
Then I see Logan disappearing into the reception, shutting the door behind him. If he saw me at all, he didn’t show it.
Shit.
As well as the rest of my shift went, Logan missed all of it. He was only there to see me literally sleeping on the job.
What was one of the things Kate had told me that morning? Never give Logan the upper hand.
Moonwater Inn—Veronica 0, Logan 1.
I sigh and head up to the stairs to my unit. Better luck tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Nice bum, where you from?”
I glare at Charlie over my shoulder and resist the urge to pull down my bikini bottoms. I knew I should have worn my board shorts, but they were still damp from yesterday. At least I’ve got a tank top on to protect me against board rash, which is no joke.
It’s been two weeks since I first landed on Kauai, and this is surf lesson number two. The first one Charlie gave me was on the smooth waves of Hanalei Bay. He spent about an hour just going over the basics of the board, including form and posture, all while on the beach. The following hour was spent in the water, with me bailing on every single wave I attempted to ride.
That was a few days ago. Today we don’t have as much time so we’re hitting up the beach just to the side of the hotel. There’s a narrow patch where the sand stretches out and the reef is set back far from the shore. Today the waves are coming in mild, rolling swells that can’t be more than two feet high.
To anyone else they would be children’s waves—and not even that. When we were at Hanalei, I was getting schooled by six-year-olds who could take the waves better than I could. But to me, they are just big enough. Even though I’d played it cautious with the ocean the last two weeks, it still makes me nervous.
I’ve got my own board now, tucked under my arm. It’s a longboard, since they’re easier to learn on and even though it’s bruised and battered—Charlie says he reserves it for the timid learners—I’ve already formed a strange attachment to it. When we’re out there, it’s the only thing to keep me from sinking.
Charlie follows me into the water—I struggle a bit at the break—until my toes barely touch the bottom and he holds the board while I climb on.
“Okay,” he says, letting go and moving away. I get myself into position, lying flat on it with my hands in the push up position, my toes pressed down against the board. “Don’t look behind you, just look forward. You see that gnarly looking tree on the shore between the palms? That’s an ironwood trees. Keep your focus there.”
“When do I stand up?” I ask him nervously. I hate the feel of the ocean at my back, hate the fact that he lets go so soon. Even though the water is somewhat calm today, I still get the fear of an unseen rip coming underneath me and taking me and the board far out to where no one can reach me.
Not to mention sharks. They’re real and I try my hardest not to think about them.
“You’ll know,” he says.
Right. Like the ocean is whispering its fucking secrets to me. I’m not Ariel!
“Not these waves,” he says, “next ones.”
I feel the board rise up, the sun filtering through the water and turning it a glowing aquamarine. It’s not that deep here, and with the water so clear I can see the sandy bottom interspersed with the occasional rock that catches my eye. Is that a fish? Something worse?