knew he’d turn around and throw a hard look my way.
Eventually, he did.
And before I could do it, Miranda blew him a kiss and showed him her middle finger.
TWENTY-NINE
I told Miranda she could stay with me.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said upon accepting the invitation. “I’ll be sleeping nowhere but the couch.”
“I’ll try to keep my raging desire in check,” I said, shaking my head.
I gave her a key and said I’d be back later.
“I have to go in there by myself?” she asked, glancing toward the patio door.
“No,” I said, heading down the boardwalk. “You can sit right there and wait however many hours it takes me to come back. And then I’d be happy to escort you in.”
I was pretty sure she was flipping me off behind my back, but I didn’t turn around to confirm.
I was exhausted and needed some quiet, some familiarity. I called Liz and left her a message, telling her I was coming over.
By the time I’d navigated the traffic out of Mission Beach, down I-5, and over the bridge to Coronado, she was waiting for me on the front steps of her house.
She wore a Padres T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, khaki capris, and white flip-flops.
She stood. “You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Well, too bad.” “What?”
She pointed to her car, a gray Volkswagen Jetta. Two surfboards were strapped on top: the long, soft board I had bought for her to learn on and the six-three Rusty I’d started leaving in her garage.
“I thought we could go out for a while,” she said, sounding like a kid whose parent had just arrived home.
We’d taken a trip to Santa Barbara a few months back, and I’d gotten her on a board. Now she was hooked and getting good. I liked that she liked it. I didn’t know if it was coincidence that our relationship had finally come together when she took up surfing, but I liked the parallel anyway.
“Okay,” I said. “Lemme go in and change.”
“Can I watch?” she asked, as I passed her and headed into the house.
“Might not get to the water.” “You wish.”
I changed—alone—and ten minutes later we were standing on the sand at a strip of beach just north of the Hotel Del. So late in the day, with the sun getting ready to wave goodbye, we had the place to ourselves.
“You’re going to be amazed when you see me ride,” she said with a grin, pulling off the T-shirt and capris to expose white bikini bottoms and a matching white rash guard.
If the beach had been full, it would have come to a standstill.
I refocused. “You’ve been practicing on your own?”
“You’ll see.”
It didn’t surprise me. She’d nearly had a fit the first hour she’d been in the water with a board. She was strong and athletic, but learning to get your feet in the right spot and your weight balanced was tough for everyone. Getting up and falling over right away had not thrilled her. She’d eventually gotten the hang of it, but she still had that I’m-new-at-this pose on the board and it irked her. She wanted to look like she belonged, and she’d probably been doing pop-ups in her living room every day to get it right.
We waded in and got out to just in front of the break line so she’d have some strong white water to use.
“Have at it,” I said.
She turned herself around, slid onto the board, checked behind her, and started paddling just before a big surge of water pushed into her. It propelled her forward and two seconds later she was up. Knees bent, relaxed, actually trying to maneuver the board with her back foot.
She had been practicing.
She looked back at me to make sure I’d seen her, then jumped off and paddled back out to me. “I’m impressed,” I said.
She pushed the wet hair off her face. “As you should be.” “You ready to paddle into something real?”
“Bring it on.”
We paddled out a little further, just beyond the break line. The sets were small but rolling pretty consistently, no more than three feet high.
“Watch when I
Eventually, he did.
And before I could do it, Miranda blew him a kiss and showed him her middle finger.
TWENTY-NINE
I told Miranda she could stay with me.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said upon accepting the invitation. “I’ll be sleeping nowhere but the couch.”
“I’ll try to keep my raging desire in check,” I said, shaking my head.
I gave her a key and said I’d be back later.
“I have to go in there by myself?” she asked, glancing toward the patio door.
“No,” I said, heading down the boardwalk. “You can sit right there and wait however many hours it takes me to come back. And then I’d be happy to escort you in.”
I was pretty sure she was flipping me off behind my back, but I didn’t turn around to confirm.
I was exhausted and needed some quiet, some familiarity. I called Liz and left her a message, telling her I was coming over.
By the time I’d navigated the traffic out of Mission Beach, down I-5, and over the bridge to Coronado, she was waiting for me on the front steps of her house.
She wore a Padres T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, khaki capris, and white flip-flops.
She stood. “You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Well, too bad.” “What?”
She pointed to her car, a gray Volkswagen Jetta. Two surfboards were strapped on top: the long, soft board I had bought for her to learn on and the six-three Rusty I’d started leaving in her garage.
“I thought we could go out for a while,” she said, sounding like a kid whose parent had just arrived home.
We’d taken a trip to Santa Barbara a few months back, and I’d gotten her on a board. Now she was hooked and getting good. I liked that she liked it. I didn’t know if it was coincidence that our relationship had finally come together when she took up surfing, but I liked the parallel anyway.
“Okay,” I said. “Lemme go in and change.”
“Can I watch?” she asked, as I passed her and headed into the house.
“Might not get to the water.” “You wish.”
I changed—alone—and ten minutes later we were standing on the sand at a strip of beach just north of the Hotel Del. So late in the day, with the sun getting ready to wave goodbye, we had the place to ourselves.
“You’re going to be amazed when you see me ride,” she said with a grin, pulling off the T-shirt and capris to expose white bikini bottoms and a matching white rash guard.
If the beach had been full, it would have come to a standstill.
I refocused. “You’ve been practicing on your own?”
“You’ll see.”
It didn’t surprise me. She’d nearly had a fit the first hour she’d been in the water with a board. She was strong and athletic, but learning to get your feet in the right spot and your weight balanced was tough for everyone. Getting up and falling over right away had not thrilled her. She’d eventually gotten the hang of it, but she still had that I’m-new-at-this pose on the board and it irked her. She wanted to look like she belonged, and she’d probably been doing pop-ups in her living room every day to get it right.
We waded in and got out to just in front of the break line so she’d have some strong white water to use.
“Have at it,” I said.
She turned herself around, slid onto the board, checked behind her, and started paddling just before a big surge of water pushed into her. It propelled her forward and two seconds later she was up. Knees bent, relaxed, actually trying to maneuver the board with her back foot.
She had been practicing.
She looked back at me to make sure I’d seen her, then jumped off and paddled back out to me. “I’m impressed,” I said.
She pushed the wet hair off her face. “As you should be.” “You ready to paddle into something real?”
“Bring it on.”
We paddled out a little further, just beyond the break line. The sets were small but rolling pretty consistently, no more than three feet high.
“Watch when I
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