I nod. Across the room, Javier is listening intently to my mother, but as if he feels my gaze, he looks up. He tilts his head toward the door, and I nod. “Excuse me.”
We walk down the stairs in silence, and then he stops. “I need to remove my shoes for a proper walk on the beach.”
I wait while he takes off those very expensive shoes, and his socks, and rolls up the hem of his slacks. His bare feet, white and strong, make me think of the hot tub in Auckland, of the day he came down in bare feet to my room and I was leaving.
I swallow.
We head for the edge of the waves, and he takes my hand. “Okay?”
I nod, suddenly shy. Embarrassed that I’ve not responded to his emails very much and that I’ve been such a bitch, really. “Thank you for coming,” I say politely.
“Pssht,” he says. “I was very nearly on a plane the next day, but it seemed you might need some time.”
“We haven’t known each other very long.”
“That’s true,” he says. His hair lifts in the breeze, blowing away from his extraordinary face.
“It feels rash.”
He looks down at me. “Love is rash.”
“Is this love?”
“Yes, mi sirenita.” He stops and takes my face in his hands. “It is absolutely love. For me, certainly.”
I look up at him, resting in those big hands, trusting him. “I’m so afraid.”
“I know. But you are not alone—I promise you that.” He kisses me very gently.
“What does mi sirenita mean?”
“My little mermaid,” he says, smiling.
“And gatita?”
“Kitten,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
The beach is empty of my ghosts, but I feel Dylan with me, laughing gently. “Those were Dylan’s names for me.”
“Mm. They’re my names now.” He kisses me, and I kiss him back, and I have a million questions, but they’ll be so much easier to answer if I don’t have to answer them alone.
“I missed you so much,” I whisper.
“I know. Because we are twin souls, you and I.”
“Alma gemela,” I say. “Can you have more than one?”
“Of course! My friend who killed himself, he was one of mine. Your sister is one for you, and your niece.” He chuckles.
“Yeah. Sarah for sure.”
He nods, tucks my hair behind my ear. “Let’s walk.”
So we do.
Epilogue
Kit
In the early dawn, Josie and I go to the cove and carry our surfboards down the bluff. We’re wearing heavy wet suits against the cold water. It’s a little blustery, the wind creating sharp waves. We don’t speak, just stand on the hard-pressed sand where we once slept in a tent and made s’mores and gazed at the stars, watching the waves roll toward us, one after the other, endlessly, as they will for all time.
She looks at me. “Ready?”
I nod, and we paddle around the rocks out into the open. A lot of other surfers are there too, eager to ride, but it doesn’t matter. Every surfer and every wave is a unique combination. We’re all there for the same reason. For love.
My sister and I lose ourselves in the moment, in the salt on our lips, the boards under our feet, the tickle of water along our fingers. I follow her blonde head as I’ve always done, and then suddenly she waves for me to lead, and I do. The wave is beautiful, breaking in a powerful curl, and I leap to my feet at exactly the right moment, feeling everything in my body center and steady.
All of time condenses and coalesces, and I can feel Dylan behind me, his arms at my sides in case I fall. He laughs at my power, and I grow twenty feet tall.
I am alive. I am human. I am loved.
Behind me, my sister whoops, and I glance back, raising a shaka, and whoop myself.
Acknowledgments
If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes an army to get a book into the world. I’m wildly grateful to my whole team at Lake union —editors Alicia Clancy and Tiffany Yates Martin, who help make my work shine so much brighter; Gabriella Dumpit and the entire marketing team, who do such fabulous work behind the scenes; and of course Danielle Marshall, whose vision guides us all. Thanks to my warrior agent, Meg Ruley, for all the things she does all the time.
Thanks to my beta readers, who helped me scout for errors—Yvonne Lindsey, native Aucklander, a great writer and kindly friend; Anne Pinder, for help with Madrid and the quirks of Spanish speakers; Jill Barnett, for her insightful read and suggestions and knowledge of California, the Loma Prieta earthquake, and surfing. Any mistakes remaining are entirely my own.
And most of all, thanks to my readers, all of you. I love each and every second of our communion .