Winter Tides by James P. Blaylock Page B

changed. And anyway, the swell’s too big. I’m not up for it. You know how long it’s been. I haven’t been wet for years.”
    “Hell, I haven’t been
dry
for years. But I’m stone sober this morning. Never drink before you surf, eh? That’s worse than drinking and driving. And what do you mean,
wet
? You’ve been in the shower, haven’t you? You’re halfway out to the lineup every morning when you turn on the faucet. You’ve been working on a comeback and you don’t even know it.”
    “This is no kind of swell for a comeback.”
    “We’ll go down the coast and check it out. It’ll be cleaner down south.”
    “Actually, I’ve got these sets to finish for Collier. He’s starting to worry.”
    “Collier’s like my old man; he doesn’t worry. It’s not in him to worry. This afternoon’s soon enough for Collier’s sets. Besides, we interviewed that new artist. She starts any time now. She’ll knock these sets out in two days. Herstuff’s good—too good for us, really, but this is what she wants to do, she says, so we’re going to give her a try. She’s a knockout, man.” Casey squinted at Dave and nodded his head to underscore this last statement.
    “I’ll take your word for it.”
    “If it wasn’t for Nancy …”
    “If it wasn’t for Nancy you’d be the biggest derelict in H.B.”
    “I won’t argue. Now listen. Here’s the plan. First things first. We grab the boards, rent you a suit, and go. I can’t believe we’re wasting a swell like this. What are we, old?”
    “We’re busy. At least I am. Hell, I’m old, too.” He listened to the sounds of the morning—the traffic, a radio playing inside the Java Hut next door, laughter from three surfers out on the street throwing pieces of doughnut at each other. All of it together masked the sound of the ocean.
    “Throw it out, Dave.” Casey said this quietly, and then the two of them sat in silence for a moment while they watched an incoming wave.
    “It’s not that easy for me.”
    “It wasn’t your fault. We’ve been through this before, haven’t we? Didn’t we discuss this once or twice?”
    Dave was silent.
    “Nancy and I were talking about this last night. If you were blind or had polio or something, then I wouldn’t open my mouth about it. But what you’re carrying around happened fifteen years ago. You’re holding onto it like a suitcase.”
    “It’s not that easy.”
    “You’re repeating yourself.”
    “It’s not that easy.”
    “Don’t push me, man. The more you stonewall me, the more I’m going to speak the truth. When you broke up with Kelly it was over kids, as I recall. She wanted kids and you didn’t.”
    “I’d be a lousy father.”
    “Now
that’s
almost funny. You’re a
shrewd
judge of character.”
    “Hard to say.”
    “I think it’s easy to say, and I’m going to say it. You didn’t drown that little girl, Dave. You tried like hell to save her. I
know
you did, because I myself
am
a shrewd judge of character. You have been purely screwed up since, whether you want to admit it or not. And if I weren’t your best friend, I wouldn’t be saying what I’m saying.”
    “Who says I don’t want to admit it? You think I’m not familiar with being screwed up? I’ve been thinking hard about it for a
long
time. Here’s something else I know. We’re living in a world in which children drown, man, and there’s not a damned thing we can do to save them. If she had been my own kid, I’d be a hell of a lot crazier than I am. I’m never going to find out how crazy.”
    “But she wasn’t your kid, and you didn’t let her drown. So quit beating yourself up.”
    After a moment Dave said, “How about you? You and Nancy have been together for a few years. Where’s your family? What’s your excuse, as long as we’re speaking the truth?”
    “I’m a drunk.”
    The silence was heavy for a moment. “Then throw it the hell out,” Dave said finally. “Take your own advice.”
    “I’m working