Beach Glass Page 8

  I HAD TO PRETEND to be someone else to come here. Now I’m beginning to think I really am someone else, because I’m actually getting good at surfing.

  In our morning session, after my decent yoga class and transcendent passion fruit experience, I end up being part of Evan’s group. He’s a doe-eyed sweetheart with a totally chill vibe, and he teaches Krystal and me with effortless calm. Krystal, unlike the other members of the bridal party, doesn’t have a boyfriend she’s thinking of cheating on, and she flirts shyly with Evan. That is, when she isn’t falling off her board. She’s not terribly coordinated, but I admire the way she keeps trying, whether because she’s really game or she wants to impress Evan. To give her a little more Evan time, I volunteer to go practice my eggbeater kick, the one that turns you around to aim at a wave.

  Nice of me, but not such a great idea. An hour of eggbeater kicking both beat and kicked my legs into jelly, so after lunch I decide to pass on the afternoon surf session. Instead, I go to the bath pavilion, say hi to the huge spider that lives there after I shriek again, and have a lovely outdoor shower experience. Another first for me! Then I put on my new teal sundress and decide to do some writing. I’ve been having so much fun I’m almost forgetting that I came here for work.

  Since it’s mid-afternoon, there’s no one else around, and I have the whole veranda to myself. I get a cup of coffee and some sliced mango from the kitchen, and then I find a perfect table in a corner that’s partially enclosed by the large green leaves of the palms growing around it, like a big tree house.

  I turn to a clean page, past where I created my confident alter ego Kate, and start taking notes for the Bon Voyage article. I write about how the staff bends over backward to make everyone feel relaxed and happy, how great the food is, and that the beach and grounds are tropical perfection. I give a shout-out to the tentalow as a fun option over the usual room accommodations.

  Then I get to the surf lessons. I should make a few notes about those while they’re fresh in my mind. I write about how engaging Carson is as he talks about surf safety, about how well he demonstrates the board moves. I write and write, until I realize that I haven’t been writing about the surf lessons at all. I’ve been writing about Carson.

  I look up, surprised by this. I see hummingbirds dart from blossom to blossom in the trees. A memory comes to me of telling my sister about my first date with Daniel. Apparently I was going on a bit about how cute he was, so Bethy asked me, “Besides physical hotness, what else do you like about him?” There was a lot. And yet, could I have seen that we wouldn’t last if I’d looked a little harder?

  I turn to a fresh page in my notebook, and, at the top of the page, I write Daniel. Under that, I write Smart. Funny. Completely loyal. He never flirted with other women, or even checked them out in front of me. And he didn’t tease me in front of our friends, the way some people will make fun of their significant others. Thoughtful. Sentimental. Daniel always, always remembered details. “We were at the Lighthouse Tavern, you were eating a cheeseburger, and that’s when you said” whatever his point was. Daniel remembered everything.

  I chew on the end of my pen, a bad habit I try not to engage in, as I read the list over. On paper, Daniel looks great. Except for the word my pen scrawls out now. Afraid. The word sits there on the page, making me fold my arms in anger. Not just because I could hate Daniel for being too fearful to embrace life with me. It’s because that’s one of my least favorite characteristics about myself. He kept asking me during that big bad birthday conversation why I’d never brought up marriage and kids before. Well, it was because I was afraid he’d say no.

  A soft breeze brings the aroma of my coffee to my nose, and I put down my pen and take a sip. I can’t help but make a yummy noise, which reminds me of Carson. A smile comes to my lips, and I look around, even though no one would know what I was doing if anyone else were here. Then I turn to a fresh page and write Carson.

  Adapting what I wrote about the surfing lessons but abandoning any pretense of actually working, I write Incredibly friendly. Smiles at everyone. Now, these two things could just be a function of Carson’s job, since he has to be nice to the guests, but it doesn’t come off that way. When he smiles, which is often, he smiles all the way up to his eyes. Seems to be in love with life, I write. Great surfer. That’s not fair. Daniel is a great chess player, but for some reason, that didn’t make it to his list. Good teacher. Both my parents were teachers, so I know about patient, kind instructors. Appreciates good food. Seems to appreciate everything. Great listener. Excellent handshake. Again, Daniel’s perfectly fine shake wasn’t counted, dismissed like a hanging chad on a voting ballot. And lots of crooked politicians have great handshakes, too.

  Carson’s list seems kind of superficial. Well, I just met him yesterday, after I saw him surfing at sunrise. I remember watching him run happily into the ocean, confident and unafraid, which is close to the attributes I wanted for my new persona. For me.

  I look up to think about more things I like about Carson and find a pair of startlingly green eyes staring at me. “Hey,” Carson says, giving me that smile I was just writing about.

  “Oh, uh, hey, hi,” I blather. I smile and try to close my notebook without being too obvious about it.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just came by to grab some coffee,” he says, not moving from the spot where he’s leaning casually against the wooden rail of the veranda, facing me.

  “Yeah, this coffee is great. Best I’ve ever had.” Somehow it got even better in the last five seconds.

  “It comes from the mountains just a couple of hours away,” Carson tells me. “They roasted it right here this morning.”

  “That is amazing,” I say. Then again, I’m beginning to think Carson could read the label on a bottle of aspirin and make it sound amazing. “How come you’re not at the beach for the afternoon lesson?”

  “I think everyone’s kind of beat,” he says. “Only Krystal and Allegra showed up. Evan and Randy have it covered.”

  I smile as I imagine how happy Krystal is right now and how disappointed Allegra must be.

  “Thanks again for the yoga this morning,” Carson says. “I don’t usually take the class, as you could probably tell.” He gives a little self-effacing laugh. “But I wanted to try it with you after I watched you doing it.”

  My jaw unhinges. “You watched me doing yoga?” I didn’t know I had an audience and that the audience was Carson. How long was my butt in the air, and, OMG, did I fix my wedgie in front of him?

  “I went to the cove to surf this morning, and I saw you there,” he says. “I didn’t want to bother you, so I went someplace else. But I have to admit, I did stay and watch you for a few minutes. You were so graceful.”

  The way he says it, I’m not embarrassed anymore. “Well, I have to confess that I’ve watched you surf in the morning, too. I love the way you move on the board.” I hope I don’t sound like an idiot, but Carson is grinning at me.

  “Tell you what,” he says. “We’ll both keep going to the cove in the mornings. You do yoga, and I’ll surf. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I say, and hold out my hand to shake on it.

  His fingers close over mine, not shaking my hand as much as holding it for a moment, pressing it gently. I feel his thumb travel over the sensitive skin at the back of my hand. Just once, quickly, but it sends a subtle message. Our eyes meet and hold, and he seems to be waiting for me to do or say something. But when I don’t, mostly because I can’t, he releases my hand. “I should let you get back to that,” he says, his eyes dipping to my notebook.

  I shouldn’t get back to what I was doing, I think after Carson says he’ll see me at dinner and leaves. I should get back to work.

  I DID TRY TO do some work, really. But I gave up when I noticed I’d switched from rubbing my ring finger like it was Aladdin’s tragic lamp to tracing the back of my hand, where Carson gave it that slight touch that was a little more than surf instructor to student.


  On the way downstairs from the veranda, I check my email on the guest computer in the front office. I sit at the teak desk in a plush office chair and scroll down to the bottom of my inbox, scanning the “From” headings. There’s some spam, a few messages from publicists sending press releases, a note from Dina at Bon Voyage telling me to have a great time and that she knows my story’s going to rock. I think about my sparse notes and resolve to be more businesslike. I’m here to work not wonder what a caress across the back of my hand might mean.

  There’s a message from Mom asking a dozen questions, mostly about my safety. Am I using bug spray to keep the malaria-bearing mosquitos away, am I watching out for barracuda, and do I understand that monkeys can be cute and dangerous? I write back a quick note telling her that I’m mostly bug, barracuda, and monkey-free, and that I love her.

  The last message, at the top, is from Daniel.

  My heart jumps with a pang when I read the subject line: Please. I hesitate, not wanting anything to upset or distract me while I’m supposed to be working, but of course I open his message.

  Katy,

  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am. Call me every name in the book, and it won’t begin to cover what an ass I’ve been. I know you’re mad at me and ignoring my calls, so I figured I’d write to apologize. I never meant to hurt you. You know that.

  Please, let’s talk this over. I know we can figure something out. I can’t lose you. I don’t want to be without you, ever.

  I love you always,

  D

  I read the message twice. At first, I want to jump up and get a phone card from the front desk and call him immediately, but something about his words keeps me in my chair. Let’s talk this over. We can figure something out.

  It’s all on me again, isn’t it? If I want him back, I have to compromise. Settle for moving in and try to figure things out as more baby-less years go by. My arms fold angrily against my flat belly. If he wants me back, why doesn’t he just man up and marry me? Honestly, is being with me such a terrifying prospect?

  Wait. Is that what he wants to talk about? Being a writer, I can’t help but create scripts about the way I think things should go. If I were Daniel, I wouldn’t just be begging forgiveness, I’d be proposing marriage. But by email? That’s not very romantic. It sure wouldn’t stand up against Allegra’s sweet engagement story. I try to picture what it would sound like. Daniel and I had a huge fight the night of my thirtieth birthday because he gave me a watch instead of a ring. So I left the country, and then he sent me an “I’m so sorry and would you marry me” email. Nope, that is so not the engagement story I’d want to tell my friends, my kids, strangers at a surf camp, or anybody.

  And Daniel’s no idiot. A jerk, maybe, but he knows how important this is to me. He’d never pull an e-gagement. That is, if he intends to propose to me at all. There’s only one way to find out. I sign out of my email account and go to the front desk to buy a phone card.

  Behind the closed folding door in the tiny, old-fashioned phone booth, I can hear my heart outpacing the sound of Daniel’s cell phone ringing. This wasn’t a good idea. My stomach is jumping over the prospect that I might finally get what I want, or over the possibility that I’ll be told no all over again. I’m about to hang up when I hear a frantic “Hello? Hello?”

  “It’s me.” My voice sounds small, unsure.

  “Katy, where have you been?” Daniel exclaims. “Did you get my messages? I’ve been freaking out!”

  “I’m away on a business trip. I forgot my cell at home.”

  “Oh my God, I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Where are you?” he asks, still agitated.

  I debate whether or not to tell him, but I can’t come up with a reason why I shouldn’t. “Costa Rica,” I say. “I’m doing a travel story on a surf and yoga camp.” I like the way this sounds, like I’m not just sitting at home and suffering.

  Daniel composes himself. “Oh. I—I thought you were just ignoring me.”

  “The way you ignored me after you left me in the middle of the night on my birthday?” Oops. I think I just blew my cool, but the heck with it. I’m pissed.

  I hear Daniel sigh heavily. “Katy, I’m so, so sorry. You have to believe me. I never wanted things to go the way they did. I didn’t mean to leave that way, but I didn’t know what to do.” His voice sounds helpless. “I wish you weren’t so far away. I want to talk to you face to face, to be with you. When are you coming home?”

  “Not for a while. Did you have anything specific you wanted to say to me, Daniel?” I don’t know if I’m hoping he’ll propose over the phone, which is almost as bad as an email proposal, but I’d take it. Maybe.

  “Specific?” Daniel’s tone shifts. “What, specifically, should I be saying, aside from that I’m sorry and I love you?”

  I put my travel journal on the ledge by the phone and open to the page marked Kate. The person I want to be. The honest person who says what she wants, who speaks her truth. But something tells me that even Kate would decide that a long-distance phone call isn’t right for either the beginning of a marriage or the end of a relationship. “Daniel, I’m working. I don’t think we should be having this conversation right now. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

  We’ve been together for too long for me to just hang up the phone, bang, like we’re in a cheesy movie. But I can’t bring myself to sign off with my usual Love you. So I end up tacking on a muttered “Take care” before I put the phone back in its cradle.

  11.

  Emerald Cove Surf Camp Schedule

  Day 3: Excursion

  Note: Due to cloudy weather and rough currents, today’s activity is a day trip to Arenal Volcano National Park, or you’re welcome to stay at camp and relax. Enjoy your day!

  8:00 a.m.—9:00 a.m.

  Group breakfast on the veranda at the Main House

  9:45 a.m.—11:45 a.m.

  Drive to Volcán Arenal National Park. Van will be outside of front office and leaves at 10 a.m. sharp!

  12:00 noon—3:00 p.m.

  Volcano tour, lunch, shopping

  3:00 p.m.—5:00 p.m.

  Van ride back from Arenal

  6:30 p.m.—9:00 p.m.

  Dinner on the veranda at the Main House

  “HAVE YOU EVER seen anything like that?” Brigitte asks me.

  I haven’t, and I know that when I write my article, I’ll struggle to find the words to describe what it’s like to stand just a half-mile away from a mountainous, smoking volcano that could erupt at any time. But while I may never have seen a real volcano before, today I kind of know how one feels.

  I’d boarded the bus for the day trip with Brigitte, William, Nicholas, and all the other campers, and we figured we might be going on the trip unsupervised since none of the instructors were there. But at the last minute, Carson jumped on board and said, “Everybody ready? Okay, let’s go.”

  He sat near the driver, chatting amiably with him (in fluent Spanish, no less; I make a note to add bilingual to Carson’s “pro” list) as we drove. And I did what I always do on long car trips. I got drowsy and fell asleep. I had a very vivid dream, but this time, it wasn’t about being a kid in the backseat of my parents’ car.

  In the dream, only Carson and I were on a day trip, not at the volcano but at one of the waterfalls I’d read about in my guidebook. Behind the rushing water, there was a cavern wide enough to walk into. It was dark and cool with fresh spray from the waterfall that hung like a large, natural curtain in front of us. Making sure we were alone, Carson suddenly pulled me into his arms and kissed me like I was the source of everything he’d ever hoped for. Then he edged back, asking with his sparkling eyes whether I wanted him to keep going. Unlike in real life, I was bold, like Kate would be. I said yes, not with words but with my kiss. Carson leaned into me, pressing his body to mine everywhere he could, his strong arms pulling me ever closer, and I could feel how much he wanted me. My hands explored his broad back and
shoulders. I couldn’t get enough of him. I slowed down in ecstasy when he kissed his way down my neck. His mouth came to my ear and whispered one word: You. My skin tingled where his lips touched me as he spoke. I pulled off his shirt. He unzipped my dress. The mist from the waterfall cooled our heated bodies, and . . .

  Then I heard Allegra say, “OMG, this humidity is turning my hair into a total frizz bomb,” an awakening that made the howler monkeys seem like being roused gently by Mozart.

  I woke up completely discombobulated and unsettled. I don’t feel like Kate, in the dream or in reality. The phone call with Daniel last night stirred up all kinds of heavy feelings, like wanting to be with him and resentment over how his damn fears have ruined my plans of starting my thirties as a wife and future mother. And then I have this sexy dream about somebody I just met a few days ago.

  It’s all so confusing and distracting, and I’m pissed off about that, too. Not only could I get some steady work if I do this assignment well, but I’m on what most people would think of as the vacation of a lifetime. I don’t want to be pining for a man who won’t commit or dreaming about a surfing vagabond, hot though he may be, who says things like We, if only in my dreams. I feel a simmering anger, just like that volcano, rising all the way up to my cheeks. I want to get back to how I felt when I was surfing, feeling the cool ocean breeze as I sailed on the waves. In those few moments, it was just me out there, being so light, so free. That feeling was new, and it was brief, but I liked it. I want to feel that way again.

  I close my eyes. They say you play all parts in your dreams, and I think about Carson and Kate making love under a waterfall. That’s something I’ve never done and would probably never have the guts (or the chance) to do, but I think the dream was less about sex and really about the freedom that comes with being fearless. It’s what my alter ego Kate has, and I think Carson’s like that, too. I’m so not there, but it’s something to work toward.