Already Gone

– 49 –



The next morning we wake up early and get back on the road. I drive, and Diane sits in the passenger seat with the map open on her lap. Outside, the day is bright and the air is clear, and the sun shines warm on my skin.

We reach the ocean that afternoon and stop for lunch at a seafood shack on the beach. We take our food out to sit on the sand and stare at the water.

I don’t eat right away, and Diane asks me what I’m thinking.

“This is a first for me.”

“What is?”

“This.” I point out at the blue water and the white waves. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

“You’re kidding.”

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

Diane smiles, sets her food aside. “So, what do you think of it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Are you going to miss the mountains?”

“Probably, but I’ll adapt. How about you?”

“I won’t miss them.”

“You sound confident.”

“There’s a trick to never being homesick,” she says. “I learned it when I was a kid.”

“What’s that?”

Diane pauses, says, “Never have a home.”





We drive south for a few more hours, and the view changes from sandy beaches to rocky cliffs to palm forests, thick and green.

Eventually, we pass a sign for El Regalo.

Diane looks down at the map and says, “There should be a turn up here somewhere. Look for a road.”

“Don’t we need to go into town?”

She holds up the map and points to the line Doug traced for us to follow. “It’s before the town.”

I don’t argue, and when she tells me to turn, I do.

The road is unpaved, and a thick trail of dust lifts into the air behind us as we drive. We pass a line of one-level concrete houses with a group of children playing out front. They stop to watch us go by.

One little girl waves.

I wave back.

The road curves, and then the trees open and I see a haze of blue water in the distance.

“There’s the ocean,” I say. “The road ends.”

Diane doesn’t look up from the map. “There’s no address. His note says to turn left before we hit the beach, then look for the lawn jockey.”

I laugh.

Diane turns to me. “He’s not serious, is he?”

“What do you think?”

She shakes her head and mumbles to herself.

The road stops at a line of sand dunes just before the beach, and I turn left in front of a row of stone houses that stretch south along the water. They’re bigger than the concrete homes we saw on the way in, but not by much.

Diane says, “Is that it?”

She points to a two-level house with a small, sun-bleached statue out front. It’s a man wearing jockey boots and a riding cap and holding a rusted metal ring out in front of him.

“Has to be.”

There’s no driveway, so I pull off the road and park on the lawn. We get out of the SUV and stretch, staring at the house.

“Doesn’t look too bad.”

Diane crosses the lawn, past the jockey, and stops at the door. She turns the knob, locked, then walks around to the window. She looks inside, using her hands to shield her eyes from the sun.

“There’s furniture in here,” she says. “Are you sure this is the place?”

I look around at the other houses. None of them have lawn jockeys out front. I take the key Doug gave me from my pocket and say, “There’s only one way to find out.”

Diane steps aside, and I slide the key into the lock. It turns easily, and the door opens.

I look at Diane. “I guess this is the place.”





“It’s clean.” Diane crosses through the room. “When Doug said he hasn’t been down here in years, I was thinking the worst.”

“I should find the caretaker and tell him we’re here.” I take the letter Doug gave me before we left out of my back pocket and read the name written on the front. “Oscar Guzman.”

“Where is he?”

“He runs the market in town.”

Diane nods, then turns and starts wandering around the house. There’s not much to it. The main room has two hard couches and a small table with a chess set on top. The kitchen has a sink and a reach-in refrigerator next to a walk-up bar and two stools.

“There’s no stove,” Diane says. “What kind of house doesn’t have a stove?”

I shrug, then walk past her to a set of full-length curtains covering two sliding glass doors. I pull them open, and for a second, I forget to breathe.

I feel Diane come up behind me.

“Oh my God,” she says. “It’s beautiful.”

She’s right, it is.

The glass doors open onto a redwood porch and a set of stairs leading down to a thin walking trail that snakes around rocks and over sand dunes toward a rolling line of teal blue water and waves breaking white over white sand.

“You want to go down there?”

“Already?”

I look at Diane. “You have other plans?”

“I thought you wanted to find the caretaker.”

“We can walk up the beach into town and introduce ourselves.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“The exercise will do me good.”

Diane slides the glass door open and steps out.

I follow her.

The breeze coming in off the sea is clean and cool. I breathe deep and taste the salt on my lips.

Diane taps my shoulder and points to the corner of the porch and a large outdoor gas grill. “There’s our stove.”

I smile. “Mystery solved.”

Diane laughs, takes my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

I motion to the stairs, and we start down the trail toward the sea.





Once we reach the ocean, we stop and kick off our shoes. The sand is hot, and Diane skips down to the waterline. She’s laughing, and the sound warms me.

The beach is deserted.

I stand on the wet sand, letting the water cover my feet. “Where is everyone?”

“Who cares,” Diane says. “I hope it stays like this. I can’t wait to go in.”

“Not me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t swim.”

Diane takes my hand. “Maybe I can change that.”

I laugh. “Maybe you can.”

We start walking south toward town, stopping every few feet to pick up a shell or piece of driftwood to throw back into the sea. The sun is burning low on the horizon, reflecting a rusted line of fire across the surface of the water, all the way to the shore.

I put my arm around Diane’s shoulder. “I think I could get used to this.”

She looks down at her feet as she walks, silent.

“You know, this could be a new start,” I say. “We can put everything behind us and go back to the beginning.”

“You think so?”

“Why not?”

Diane smiles, then steps closer and leans into me as we walk. “Let’s just wait and see.”

I don’t like her answer, but I let it go.

We walk for a while longer. The closer we get to town, the more houses we see along the coast. A few are white and modern, but most are older. These are dark and weatherworn, and they blend in to the dunes, hidden by sand and trees.

There is a wooden signpost dug into the beach up ahead. We passed another one by the house, but I’d been distracted by the view and didn’t pay attention.

Now, looking up and down the coast, I notice several identical signs, each one spaced about a hundred yards apart.

I stop and read the words stenciled in green spray paint across the front.

“Ninguna Natacion!”

Then under it.

“Corriente de Resaca!”

Diane is next to me, reading over my shoulder.

“What does it say?”

“It says we can’t swim.” She pauses, frowns. “There’s a riptide. The currents are too strong.”

I turn and look out at the ocean. The water is so blue and so beautiful that it’s hard to believe it could be dangerous.

We keep walking, but now we’re both quiet.

After a little while, Diane stops and says, “I think I want to go back. I’m tired.”

I stop and look down the beach toward the town.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “We’re almost there.”

“You go ahead,” she says. “I’ll meet you.”

I could keep going, but the sound of her voice, distant and detached, worries me.

I decide we’ve gone far enough.

“This can wait,” I say. “Let’s go back.”

Diane smiles and reaches for my hand.

We turn and walk back down the beach together.