Beach Glass Read online

  Evan’s expression is uncertain. “Kind of like what you wiped out in.”

  “No way,” I say, shaking my head. “Count me out of that.”

  “No, of course not,” Carson agrees. “We’ll go to the cove.” Still, he looks behind him at Randy and Evan as they head off to the big waves. “You can go with them, you know,” I offer.

  Carson shakes his head. “No, I want to be with you.”

  The waves are calm at the cove, just the kind I like. Carson sets our boards down and sits on the beach, apparently not in a rush to surf anymore. He starts doing his simple warm-up stretches, and I unroll my yoga mat and pat it for him to come sit with me. “Put your legs out and together,” I tell him. When he does, I do the same, bracing my feet against his, and hold out my hands. He takes mine, and I instruct, “Deep breath in. Okay, now exhale.” When he does, I pull him forward to stretch his leg muscles. “Ouch!” he says, giving me a comically pained face. He gets the gist and leans back, pulling me forward as I exhale. “Wow,” he says, watching me nearly bend in half, “You really are flexible.” We do this back and forth breathing and stretching a few times before he says, “If we did this every morning, I’d be as bendy as you some day.”

  “I’m not going to be here that long,” I say, teasing him about his stiff limbs.

  He smirks at me. “We’ll see.” Then he leans all the way back and pulls me on top of him, and he rolls on top of me, and we laugh as sand gets everywhere.

  We get in a few good rides as the sun rises, but every now and then, I catch Carson looking off toward the intermediate beach. “Okay, come on,” I say, grabbing my board and heading out of the water. “Let’s go check out the gnarly waves.” His smile is as big as I imagine the waves are as he quickly gathers our things.

  The cove is protected from wind by a curved wall of rock and trees that hug it, but the intermediate beach is wide open, welcoming the elements. The two are just a mile apart, but the difference is startling. Wind buffets my hair nearly dry in the moments that it takes Carson to say “Wow,” and focus his gaze. I know he’s counting sets of these rough waves, some of them reaching as high as twelve feet. Randy’s out on one now, struggling just to maintain his balance on the board, never mind doing any surfer tricks. Evan walks over to us, his dreadlocks dripping, still panting from his ride. “Awesome out there, dude,” he says, grinning. Then he, Carson, and I all wince in unison as Randy gets mashed by his wave. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” Evan jokes.

  Randy eventually makes his way out of the surf, holding up one fist in triumph until he reaches Carson, who gives him a fist-punch. “Good?” Carson asks eagerly.

  “Aside from the saltwater smoothie that just got rammed down my throat,” Randy says. “That wave axed me. I’m done.” Evan agrees, saying they’ve been tossed around like a salad. “Time to go get the campers, anyway. Those of us who are working and not having fun on vacation with a beautiful mermaid, that is,” Evan teases as he and Randy leave. But Carson’s focus is already back on the water.

  “You’re not counting sets, are you?” I ask.

  “Threes,” he answers after a moment. “Excellent threes.”

  “How can you even tell? It’s like the rapids out there, only bigger.” I stand in front of him because he’s not looking at me. His eyes are full of that fire I found so attractive. Now I wonder if it’s the same as a moth being attracted to a flame. “Carson, I don’t know about this.”

  At last he looks at me. “No, Kate, of course not.” I breathe a sigh of relief until he adds, “These waves are way too big for you, so you stay here.” He starts heading for the churning water.

  “Carson!” I trot alongside him as he walks with determination toward the crashing tide. “Is this some kind of guy thing? Because I’ll be so much more impressed if you don’t do this than if you do.”

  “Kate, I’m not showing off for you,” he says with a patient tone. “Not that you aren’t worth showing off for. I just really want to ride one of those angry growlers.”

  “Don’t you ever worry about getting hurt?” I stand in front of him, stopping him. “Aren’t you afraid of anything?”

  He thinks for a second then looks down at me and smiles, shaking his head. “Not really.” He gives me a quick kiss to silence my protests. “I’ll be fine, Kate. Just watch.”

  That’s all I can do. I can’t stop him, even though the water’s so rough it smacks Carson just for trying to walk into it.

  But he’s undaunted. Instead of confronting the breakers, he duck-dives under them, dipping beneath the rising arcs and surfacing seconds later, safely past them. He does this until he’s out where the waves begin to form, and already he’s aiming for one. A water monster, roiling, taking shape, and barreling toward the shore. I can barely breathe, knowing that it’s going to maul him.

  My eyes get wide as I watch Carson take the wave and leap up on his board like a stuntman jumping on a moving train. Any minute now, I expect him to be thrown, but he’s on it; he’s gliding, hanging steady. And then I see the smile, the confident fearlessness, and Carson starts doing tricks. He grabs the nose of his board and zig zags along the wave’s face. He does a few spins, turning around completely. Only when he goes for the classic skateboarder jump off the top does he tumble and disappear into the surging wall of water. For a moment, my heart stops. All I see is churning foam.

  Then I hear a “Whoo-hoo!” Carson has popped up, laughing, so incredibly thrilled as he’s lifted up like a hero by the swell of the surf. It’s a magical sight, seeing someone this full of joy. I don’t think anyone can get happier than he is at this moment. Except maybe me, watching him.

  AFTER BREAKFAST, we go to the infamous Rat Hole, the surf instructors’ bungalow. We didn’t need to discuss Carson staying with me for the rest of my time here, and he’s run out of clothes. We walk down the path behind the main building, away from the guest quarters. Here, the grass is a little overgrown, the hedges a little wilder. A while later we come to a two-story bungalow flanked by palm trees that haven’t recently been cleared of dying leaves, like the rest of the meticulously kept grounds. A pirate flag mounted above the door flaps lazily in the breeze, and the sound of Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” drifts from inside the house. Carson holds the unlocked door open for me.

  The living room is hazy with mid-morning sunlight illuminating wisps of coconut incense floating through the air. Surf gear lies in all corners of the room, along with books, surfing magazines, sneakers, skateboards, iPods, a laptop, and various other boy things. It’s definitely a guys’ apartment, Costa Rican surf camp-style. Evan is stretched out on an old, well-worn sofa draped with Mexican blankets, and Anya reclines cat-like at the other end.

  “You slackers on your break?” Carson asks, nodding his greeting.

  “Exactly,” Evan says. “We’ll miss you at the morning lesson, Cartoon.”

  “Ah, you don’t need me, you’ll be fine. Just came by to pick up some stuff.” He turns to me. “Be right back.” Then he trots up the stairs, leaving me with Evan and Anya.

  She’s barely acknowledged me since I came in, and now Anya’s attention is fixed on a surf magazine she just picked up off the floor. She leans back, extending long, beautiful legs. Her cutoff denim shorts and tiny bikini top show off a perfect body, athletic and healthy and tan, like everyone who works at Emerald Cove. She lazily pulls back her honey-colored hair, revealing a face bare of makeup, not even needing any. She’s pretty in a natural, effortless way I envy.

  “So, Mermaid, you decided to stay,” Evan says in a friendly tone, using my surf nickname.

  I smile and nod. “Probably just another week.”

  “That’s what I said,” Anya mutters. She looks up from her magazine at me. Her expression is blank, but I see her taking me in.

  “Really? You came to visit and ended up staying?” I ask, intrigued by her comment and that she even deigned to speak to me.

  Anya nods. “Yep. I fell in love with the beach,
the lifestyle. The people.” Her eyes drift toward the room where I can hear Carson gathering his things. “But the vacation bliss wore off after a while.”

  Her statement begs the question, “So . . . why did you stay?”

  The flicker in Anya’s eyes is the same as the one I saw that day in the gift shop, but it’s not the bitchy side of Anya. The look seems raw and sad. “I keep hoping the feeling will come back,” she says.

  Just then, Carson comes downstairs with a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Ready, Kate?”

  We say goodbye to Evan and Anya, who doesn’t answer. She looks at Carson, then at me, and goes back to her magazine.

  Carson and I walk back down the overgrown path from the instructors’ bungalow toward the guest lodging. After a few quiet moments, with me debating internally whether I should or even have the right to ask, I turn to Carson. “Was there ever anything between you and Anya?”

  I want him to say no. I don’t know why I’m disappointed as the seconds go by. “Briefly,” he finally answers. “But that was a while ago.”

  “Was she one of your students?”

  “Not when she came back.”

  I don’t have to ask him to elaborate. Anya came here on vacation and fell in love, just like she said, maybe with the beach, probably with the exhilarating feeling of freedom that surfing gave her, and definitely with Carson. She went home, gave up her life, and came back here to be with him. And now, for him, their romance can be summed up in one word: briefly. But for her, it was reason enough to stay. Who knows what Anya did or didn’t have going on that would make her go home and pack, leave her family, maybe even another man, and change everything. But I can’t help wondering what her life was like before she came here. Was she the equivalent of what she is now, a shop clerk, and so the transition wasn’t a big deal? Did she have a dream, beyond being with Carson? Was changing her life worth the risk, especially given the way things turned out? I think of that sad flicker in her eyes. I wish I could ask her.

  “And then everything got really quiet,” Carson says.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re all quiet now,” Carson says. “Should I have lied about me and Anya?”

  “No, no, of course not.” I don’t want to admit that Anya’s story is upsetting me. I don’t even know the details of it, but I don’t need to. I’m not the first girl who came here on vacation and got caught in the green undertow of his eyes. If I stayed here, as Carson keeps hinting I should, I wonder whether I would gratefully take whatever job Juan had available at Emerald Cove just to remain in Carson’s sunlight. I’m sure Anya’s friends thought she was brave in changing her whole life for love, but her decision seems to have had all the triumph of me taking on my first big wave and nearly drowning.

  Carson looks at me and frowns, clearly regretting his honesty. I touch his arm. “I’m really not upset about Anya,” I say, shoving the truth under a pile of dead palm leaves. “I’m just doing what you said back at the volcano, being in the moment, admiring the beauty of this place.”

  After a tense moment for me, Carson breaks into his sunny smile. “This is just a shabby back path, and you think it’s beautiful. I love that about you.” He touches my cheek, gazing into my eyes as he seems to weigh a thought. “If you think this is good, I have something to show you.”

  “Better than the waterfall and the orchids?” I ask as we start walking again.

  “The best,” Carson answers.

  19.

  “OKAY, JUST A little bit further,” Carson says from behind me. His hands are covering my eyes, and we’re advancing slowly through what feels like very overgrown terrain.

  I feel plants softly brushing my legs where my board shorts end, and because I can’t see, I’m walking cautiously. “You’d tell me if I was about to step on a snake or off a cliff, right?” I ask.

  “No snakes or cliffs where we’re going,” Carson assures me. “And we’re almost there. Just a few more steps, and . . . okay, open your eyes.”

  Going from the darkness of his hands to bright sunlight has me blinded and blinking for a moment. Gradually, colors come into view and form a vision. Every jewel-like shade of blue and green becomes the ocean, the waves gentle and capped with sparkling white. Glittery champagne morphs into crystalline sand, bright compared to the dark, volcanic ash-tinged sand near Emerald Cove. Hills adorned with flowering bushes and palm trees bend gently downward to embrace this small, perfect stretch of beach. And there’s no one here but us.

  “This is Heaven. That’s what I call it,” Carson says. “Randy, Evan, and I found it by accident when we were looking for another beach where we’d heard the surfing is good. We’ve never seen anyone else here, not even locals.” He looks at my awestruck face. “Nice find, huh?”

  “Carson,” I sigh, “it’s incredible.”

  I stand there marveling at Heaven’s unspoiled beauty as Carson goes to a shady spot under a cluster of palms and spreads out a white sheet. I walk to him slowly and carefully, trying not to leave too deep a footprint in the silken sand. It seems a shame to disturb its perfection.

  Carson leans back against the base of a tree and pats the space in front of him. I sit between his legs and recline against his chest, loving the feeling of his arms wrapping around me, his legs crossing under my knees. Both of us sigh in unison as we take in the magnificent view, a vast and endless expanse of ocean and sky. “This place is unbelievable,” I murmur.

  “This is my idea of what heaven must be like,” Carson says. “When people talk about spirituality, this is what that word means to me. It’s like a cathedral, something holy.” A few comfortably quiet moments go by. “I’ve never brought anyone else here, Kate.”

  I can hear in his voice how important this place is to him, and I’m honored that he wanted to share it with me. I hold his hands, lacing my fingers with his, and look out at the pure blue horizon. “I love that you can’t see any planes or ships. It’s probably been just this way for thousands of years.”

  “I wish it could stay like this,” Carson says darkly. “Beachfront property here is getting bought up and built up so fast. We’ve lost some beautiful shoreline to condos and hotels. I’m almost afraid to come here and see bulldozers on it someday.” I feel him shudder against me. “I wish I could buy it and keep it just the way it is.”

  “Got a few million on you?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Not available at the moment, though.”

  I chuckle at his joke, though I know the situation is no laughing matter to him. He kisses the top of my head. “I’m glad it’s still perfect. I wanted you to see it and to share it with you. We just have to enjoy it while we can,” he says with a sigh. “I guess nothing lasts forever.”

  Time seems to hold still for us so we can look out at the untouched sand and an endless ocean that has probably been this way forever and yet won’t be this way forever. Carson is right. You can love something with all your heart, but that won’t keep it from changing, coming to a close. I thought Daniel and I were going to be forever. Anya may have thought if she moved here, she and Carson could be forever. This beach, that has probably felt centuries of couples making love on its sand, will be changed some day. Forever doesn’t exist. The only thing that does is for now.

  Slowly, I feel something slipping away from me. A demand I can’t ask for, the comfortable safety of permanence, ebbs away with the gentle waves moving off the sand and into the sea. Nothing can last forever. Even this perfect moment, in this most beautiful place, with this man unlike any I’ve ever met, is imperfect because it can’t last. But that doesn’t keep it from being the moment I’ve been waiting for.

  I sit up and turn to Carson, kneeling in front of him. His face, his open expression, his beautiful eyes gazing at me, all fill my heart. I cradle his face in my hands and kiss him once, softly. And when I look at him again, he knows what I feel. In this moment, this most perfect of imperfect moments, I can tell we feel the same thing.

  Slowly, Carson
comes toward me, kissing me softly. Our lips touch, caress, press together. Our mouths open in unison, now familiar, yet still tantalizing. His tongue beckons mine, and I am there, and we touch and stroke with adoration, and we melt together.

  My hands take their time going down the expanse of his back, wanting to feel the muscles that move in sensual response to my touch. My fingers travel further downward until they can curl around the bottom of his sky blue T-shirt and pull it up. Carson reluctantly breaks our kiss to let me take it off and quickly seeks my mouth again, though his kiss is slow and luxuriant when he arrives. His hands on my waist slip under my tank top, caressing my body as he pushes the shirt up. When he reaches my bra, I barely feel it being undone before his warm, smooth palms are against my tender skin. His thumbs sweep over my breasts, then again when he feels my nipples reacting, hungry for his touch. He cradles my breasts, handling them with reverent passion, and then he pulls my shirt and bra off.

  I’ve been undressed in front of Carson before, but for a moment I’m shy. Then I see the way he looks at me, with the same wonder we felt for the orchids and the waterfall, and my shyness falls away as easily as my shorts. I barely feel them being pulled down my hips and legs, aware only of the feel of Carson’s hands on my bare skin.

  He lays my naked body down on the sheet and embraces me. I feel the soft sand beneath my back give slightly as he rests on top of me, mostly braced on his elbows, but I can still feel the sweet weight of him.

  “Kate,” he whispers, tenderly touching his lips to my temple and down my cheek and my throat and along my collarbone. “My beautiful Kate.”

  My eyes close. My skin drinks in the feel of his kisses, moving slowly down. His hand holds one of my breasts, and I feel the warmth of his mouth on my nipple. My back arches up to him in the most natural way in the world, my body waiting for him all this time.

  Carson has touched me before, but the slow trail of his fingers down my belly, over to my hip, and then further down has my skin shivering. His fingers play a symphony on and inside me. Only a short time together and he knows how to make small cries come from my throat, how to make my hips rise, and how to make me shudder, now mute with pleasure but for a series of gasps. His kisses are softer as he holds me in his arms.