On Ocean Boulevard Page 8

  She looked at Cara. “Tell her not to hold her breath.”

  The memory of John telling her that he didn’t want children flashed in her mind, bringing again the short stab of hurt. She didn’t want to think about that now. Or about John. Emmi would have to learn to deal with John’s decisions, as she had.

  Linnea paused in the driveway where the vista opened to reveal the breadth of the Atlantic. Now dark clouds were moving in and the ocean reflected the gunmetal color. “Looks like a storm’s coming in.”

  “It’s due sometime tomorrow,” said Cara. “I can smell the rain.”

  “The surfers will be happy.”

  “That reminds me,” Cara exclaimed. “I have something that belongs to you. Follow me.”

  Cara led her to the storage area underneath the front porch. She flicked on the rusting overhead light. The small space was chock-full of stuff covered in dust, sand, and spiderwebs.

  “It’s in here,” Cara said, poking her head into the cramped space. “In the far back. Yes, I see it.” She turned and pointed.

  Linnea’s heart skipped at seeing the tall blue surfboard. It had once been Brett’s. Cara had given it to Linnea a few years earlier when Linnea learned how to surf. Not only was it her first surfboard, but it meant the world that it had belonged to a man she’d loved like a second father growing up. She put her hands to her cheeks.

  “Big Blue!” she exclaimed. “You kept it.”

  “Of course I did! It’s been here, waiting for you to return.”

  Linnea squeezed past the old VW bug under a sand-and-dust-coated tarp.

  “You really are a hoarder,” Linnea said, resigned to seeing her shirt smeared with dirt. “You kept the Gold Bug too.”

  The VW bug was a fixture on Isle of Palms. It had originally belonged to Lovie. Everyone on the island knew that if the Gold Bug was spotted parked along Palm Boulevard, a turtle nest was involved. Lovie had passed the car on to Cara.

  “Believe it or not, it works like a charm. That car will never die. Brett took such good care of it. And then… well, I couldn’t take it with me to Chattanooga. When I adopted Hope, I bought the Volvo. The poor thing’s been in hibernation all these years. I take her out on the Fourth of July, for old times’ sake.”

  Linnea made it past the car, then climbed over a stroller and some clay pots, swiping away spiderwebs, to reach the surfboard. It was resting on a shelf Brett had built especially for it, obscured by a thick layer of grime. She brushed away the coating of muck to reveal the bright-blue color. Linnea felt the emotion of too many memories surge. She swallowed hard.

  “I forgot how much I loved this board.”

  “Brett loved it too. I remember him waxing it. He was so methodical. He enjoyed doing it.” She smiled in memory. “He used to say it was his tai chi exercise.”

  “It’s totally a classic board. John always admired it. Told me to take good care of it. As if I wouldn’t,” she snorted. “It’s a bit heavy for me, but Big Blue gives a good ride.”

  “Come on,” Cara said. “Let’s pull the board out. You should take it home.”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “What happened to your Mini Cooper?”

  “I sold that when I moved to San Francisco. I needed the money. My parents didn’t support my move, if you recall.”

  “I do indeed. Quite the fireworks display. I also remember being quite proud that you were brave enough to go toe-to-toe with Palmer. You went out west with just the money you had in the bank and a jar of peanut butter.”

  “I had a good mentor.”

  “Hardly,” Cara said, swiping away a spiderweb as she followed Linnea through the densely crowded, makeshift garage under the porch.

  Linnea could see that Cara was pleased with the compliment. “Don’t forget, I also had a place to stay.…”

  “Yes,” Cara said, reaching her side. She made a face. “But I’m guessing in the end, the rent was pretty high.”

  Linnea felt a momentary pang. She brushed her sleeve. “Yeah. It was.”

  “Okay, take one end. We can carry it over our heads. It’s the only way we’ll get it out.”

  The two women squeezed back out of the storage space, then laid the board on the ground and stood a moment brushing away the dirt from themselves.

  “I’ll drive you home. We can stick this in the back. The tail will stick out some.” She laughed. “It’ll be like old times.”

  Linnea was awash with relief. “Thank you. I was about to call Uber.”

  “Well, I have some more good news for you.”

  “More?”

  “Why don’t you take the Gold Bug? It’s just sitting under here, gathering dust and rust. It would be good for it to be driven again.”

  The offer seemed too good to pass up. She needed a car desperately. But there was no way she could afford one and her parents were no longer able to help. Everyone was pinching pennies these days. She reached up to scratch a bit of web from her hair.

  “I’d love it, of course. Except I don’t have any money right now. No job… yet. Maybe we could work out a layaway or something?”

  “I’m not trying to sell it to you,” Cara said with an astonished laugh. “I’m giving it to you.”

  “Oh no,” Linnea sputtered. “I couldn’t let you do that. That’s too big. A surfboard is one thing. A car—”

  “Don’t be silly. The surfboard is yours. I just held it for you. But, Linnea, I want to give the car to you.” Her voice changed to reflect her seriousness. “You’re my niece, and we both know you helped me in more ways than I can count after Brett died. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. You need a car, so take it. And frankly, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s just sitting here taking up space, rusting away.”

  “But you could sell it—”

  “Please,” Cara scoffed. “I’d never. And I couldn’t give it to just anybody. There’s far too much sentimental value in that old rust bucket for that. It would give me great pleasure to see the Gold Bug buzzing around the island again. And you know Lovie would approve. It’s an old car, positively ancient. It’s not worth all that much.” She shrugged. “Though it has surprisingly good mileage for a car its age.”

  Linnea smirked. “Only driven by two old ladies on the island.”

  Cara barked out a laugh. “Good one.”

  Linnea felt tears spring to her eyes. Cara’s generosity seemed endless. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve always loved this car. Did you know that?”

  Cara shook her head.

  “I always felt so cool when Grandmama Lovie would take me for a ride in it with the top down. When I turned sixteen, I begged Daddy to get me a VW just like it. But fickle youth… I saw a Mini Cooper and fell in love.” She sighed with disbelief. “But now I’ve got the Gold Bug at last.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited. We’ll have to see if it will start up. I’ll make an appointment with ol’ Mr. Tut. He’s retired now and his son runs the shop. But Mr. Tut still hangs around. He can’t keep his hands out of the grease and motors. He knows this car better than anyone.”

  Linnea couldn’t believe her luck. “Now all I need is a job.”

  “How’s it going in that department?”

  Linnea lifted her shoulders. “As you predicted. I’ve got a few leads I’m following up. Nothing solid. But, hey, I’m hopeful. In the meantime…” She smiled. “Surf’s up!”

  Chapter Seven

  Oceans are the planet’s lifeblood. Oceans cover more than 70 percent of the earth’s surface and provide habitat for many of the planet’s organisms and produce most of the world’s oxygen.

  A STORMY OCEAN was a siren call for the local surfers. When the wind blew and the current got rough, waves along the Isle of Palms shoreline could be measured in feet, not inches.

  It was a drizzly, gray morning. Linnea woke early and slipped into her bikini and a Naish T-shirt. She packed her wet suit and a towel into her backpack, tossed in a stainless steel water bottle, then lo
aded Big Blue into her brother’s monster truck, which she’d borrowed. As she drove along Palm Boulevard dawn was breaking, but already cars with strapped-on surfboards were on the move. She followed a rusted white truck with two surfboards poking out from the bed, fins up. It belched fumes whenever it stopped. It parked near the Twenty-Fourth Avenue beach path and she pulled in beside it.

  Climbing down from the truck, she spotted two slender, ripped men emerging from the other pickup. The guys were already wearing their wet suits, which told her they likely lived on the island. No one drove too far in a steamy suit. The taller one was blond and cut a Thor-like figure with his shaggy hair and broad shoulders. She was checking him out when the second man stepped into her line of view. He was shorter, lean, and more wiry. His red hair was cut short, though the curls were beguiling in a boyish way. He glanced up and, spotting her watching, smiled and waved in a neighborly manner. Surfers shared a camaraderie on the beach.

  Linnea was struck by the vivid blueness of his eyes and how his smile transformed his face from ordinary to extraordinary. Taken aback at being caught staring, she returned a brief, awkward wave.

  “Nice truck,” he called.

  “Thanks. It’s my brother’s.”

  “And he lets you drive it?” He rested his palm against the truck bed. “He must be a nice bloke. Not sure I’d let my sister drive my truck.” He laughed. “If I had a truck as nice as that one.”

  “It’s his pride and joy,” she called back. “I’m under strict orders. I can drive it once, maybe twice while he’s away. He’s in England. Is that where you’re from?”

  The man walked closer so they wouldn’t have to shout. She could see that a few freckles dotted his tanned cheeks. It added to his appeal.

  “Yes. Outside London.” He extended his hand. “My name’s Gordon.”

  She took his hand, felt the long fingers curl around hers, firm and tight. “Linnea.”

  “Linnea,” he repeated. “Pretty name. Named after Linnaeus? The horticulturalist?”

  “Indeed, I was.” She was impressed Gordon knew who he was.

  “You said your brother is across the pond?”

  She smiled at the phrase. “At Oxford. For a summer abroad program.”

  “He’ll love it. Oxford is beautiful in the summer.”

  “Oh. You studied there?”

  “I did,” he replied, nodding.

  Intelligence was an aphrodisiac for her. She was liking him even more.

  “But Cooper is a lowcountry boy at heart. As evidenced by this monster truck. It’s a bit juiced up for me, but it carries a surfboard like a dream.”

  “It’s a bloody nice ride.”

  “Yo!” his friend called from the other truck. “If you’re done over there…”

  Gordon turned and waved in acknowledgment, then faced Linnea again. His blue eyes rested on her, seemingly without hurry. “Hope to see you around, Linnea.”

  She was sorry to watch him turn away and trot back to his pickup to unload his board. Sorrier still that he’d not asked for her number. Was there anything sexier than a British accent? she wondered. She turned back to the massive, shiny black truck that had earned Gordon’s admiration and patted it. “Thanks, you monster,” she whispered.

  She pulled her board out of the truck bed; then, tossing the line over her shoulder, she followed a line of surfers down the beach path. Everyone was anxious to get to the water.

  Despite the stormy weather, or because of it, there were more surfers already out on the water than she’d expected. She’d heard that the sport had been growing in popularity on the South Carolina shores. She grimaced. The increased numbers of people bobbing in the water reflected what was happening everywhere in Charleston these days.

  She claimed her spot on the sand, then took her time to spread an ample amount of wax on her board to help prevent her feet from sliding. As she worked, the drizzling rain dampened her clothes. When the board was waxed to her satisfaction, she stripped off her hoodie and shorts, revealing a green and navy bikini. Her figure was petite yet filled out a bikini with ample curves. She noticed a few appreciative stares from the men nearby and, annoyed, quickly stepped into her neoprene wet suit. Today she wore what was known as a shortie—a suit with short sleeves and cut at the knees. It was spring and the Atlantic waters still bore the chill of winter.

  That done, she straightened and took her time surveying the ocean. The water was a muddy gray-green, like the sky, and choppy. The rip current looked fierce. She gripped her board and headed toward the sea. Sticking a toe in, she shivered. Cold water on a cool, rainy morning was not an inviting combination. But she was addicted to the high she got riding a wave and needed that in her life right now.

  She held tight to Big Blue and walked through the shallows, then lay down on the board, took a breath, and began to paddle. She sucked in her breath when the first wave splashed its icy water over her.

  It was tough going in the choppy water. The salt stung her eyes. But the rip current she had feared instead helped pull her farther out away from shore. She was in pretty good shape from all the surfing she and John had done in California. Still, the conditions were rough, and by the time she made it to the breakers, she was huffing and puffing.

  John was always very clear that one of the major rules of surf etiquette was to be mindful of those around you, which included taking one’s turn. Those with the inside position near the peak of the wave had the right-of-way. Linnea paddled to the far side of the lineup at the breakers and slowly worked her way to the inside as surfers took their turns. She pushed up to sit atop her board and looked over her shoulder, taking stock and watching how the waves were breaking. She was grateful for the moment to catch her breath.

  “Hey, Linnea!”

  She swung her head toward the inside where a line of surfers sat on their boards, bobbing like pelicans. She spotted Mickey Williams and lit up. Mickey was one of the old guard. In his fifties now, he was part of the hierarchy that regulated the beach. He wasn’t shy about educating one of the many new surfers on how to behave on his beach. Beyond him, she spotted more of her old gang. She felt a rush of gladness and waved back.

  “Welcome home!” called out Carson Legare, one of the first women surfers she’d met. Bobbing next to her was her husband, Blake.

  “Where’s John?” Blake called.

  Linnea had expected the question. The guys were surfing buddies of John, who had spent summers on Isle of Palms with them growing up. Surfing had always been a big part of their lives. Out on the water, they had each other’s backs. She’d come in as John’s girlfriend and they’d all warmly welcomed her into the fold. She wondered how they’d feel once they found out that she and John had broken up.

  “In California,” she called back. It was the truth, after all.

  Blake waved again, then flipped to his belly on the board. His turn was coming for takeoff on an incoming wave.

  Next to Carson sat a stunning woman Linnea didn’t recognize. She had light brown hair that fell in a long, wet braid down her back. She looked at ease on the board as she leaned back on one arm, watching the set of waves approaching, her body as lean and taut as steel.

  A good wave was coming in. Linnea watched as those closest to the peak immediately moved to lie flat on their boards. Heads looked back, arms at the ready to take off.

  “She’s ripe!” she heard Mickey shout as the wave mounted.

  A solid wave swept away the inside line as they rode it to shore. Linnea was pumped because she was on the inside now. It was her turn. She lay on her belly and focused on the incoming waves. She spotted the one she would ride. It was building steadily, and she felt her heart beating faster. Linnea paddled hard to maneuver her surfboard around so it pointed toward the beach. As she felt the water building beneath her, she kept her head low, attention riveted. Then she felt the lift. She was just about to pop up on her feet when from her left she glimpsed another surfer taking off, cutting in front of her. The woman b
locked her ride.

  Linnea quickly gripped the board, lifted her head, and aborted. Furious, she sputtered as she watched a redheaded girl with a ponytail ride what was supposed to be her wave to shore.

  “Snake!” called someone to her left.

  Snake was a derogatory term for someone who deliberately dropped in front of a surfer who had the right-of-way. She turned to see Gordon floating on his board nearby.

  “Yeah!” she called back, still annoyed.

  “Better one coming,” he shouted, and pointed behind his back.

  Linnea looked over her shoulder and saw he was right. A bigger wave was indeed building. This one she wanted… bad. Once again she maneuvered her board toward shore. She took deep breaths. This time when the wave lifted her, she ducked her head, gave two extra-hard strokes, arched her back, and popped up on her feet.

  She was up! Grinning ear to ear, arms stretched out, Linnea rode the shoulder of the wave and felt the incredible rush of flying. This was immediately followed by an extreme amount of focus. She wasn’t thinking about John, or getting a job, or about anything else. She was totally in the moment. She had to give all her concentration to every little foot movement so she didn’t fall. And while doing all that, she felt utterly and completely free. Ecstasy!

  It was a glorious ride to the shore. Linnea felt her fin dig into the sand and slipped from her board. Hoisting it in her arms, she carried it to the beach, smiling, still stoked from her ride.

  Carson waited for her on the shore and waved her over. “Nice ride. You caught the best wave of the day.”

  Linnea remembered how much she liked Carson. In her mid-thirties, Carson had spent most of her summers on Sullivan’s Island at her grandmother’s home. She’d been one of the first female kite-surfers on these islands. She still held records in the sport. Now, however, she’d married and settled on Sullivan’s Island and rode the waves purely for fun.

  “It was gnarly out there in the chop, but that ride was worth it,” Linnea said.

  “It’s why we brave the storms,” Carson added with a laugh.