“Rebecca, you can get a wave and ride on your knees,” he tells me. “That’s your next step.”
Sitting back on my board, I observe the scene around me. “I’m not sure.” I watch Michael paddling back toward me with Andrea. They caught the last wave together, having fun and giggling as they rode it to shore side by side on their boards.
“Rebecca.” Casey splashes me with water, demanding my serious attention. “You should try.”
My heart pounds within my chest, fear and adrenalin blending together. Trailing my fingers through the water, I say softly, “Casey, I don’t want to die.”
He laughs, edging closer in the water. “You’re not going to die, you freak.”
I look around us at the breaking waves and the teeming pack of surfers in the lineup. “But all that stuff Michael said yesterday—”
“—He said because he loves you.” He gives me a meaningful look. “All right? And the last person he loved did die. Think about that for a while.”
I stare down at my board, my mouth tugging into an awkward smile. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“Surfing saved my life, Rebecca,” he continues, gesturing around us. “There’s no greater peace than being out here in the water, riding the waves. I want to give that to you.”
“Why?” I ask, surprised by his seriousness.
“Because of what you’ve done for Mike.” He nods toward Andrea, paddling in our direction on her small board. “And her.”
I shrug off his compliment, not sure what to say. “Casey, that really wasn’t my doing.” I don’t feel responsible for these positive changes in Michael and Andrea’s lives; I hardly feel right taking credit for them.
“No?” he asks, staring into my eyes meaningfully. “Were you around this time last year? Mike was barely hanging on. He stayed depressed and drunk a whole lot of the time. It wasn’t pretty.”
My throat tightens. “I hate thinking of him in that much pain.”
“He tried to pull it together…” He shakes his head. “He kept trying, but I don’t think he got better—not truly better—until you came along. Everything seemed to change then.”
I smile. “You didn’t like me at first.”
“Screw that.” He rolls his eyes in mock irritation. “I liked you enough.”
“You liar.” I splash him, giggling. “You thought he belonged with a guy.”
He gives a grudging laugh, and I know that I’ve hit the truth. “But I changed my mind, O’Neill,” he says. “You did notice that, right?”
“When exactly?” I tease, tossing my wet hair back over my shoulder. “Last week or yesterday?”
“Shut up. You’re good for them—both of them. Course I can see that,” he admits. “Sure, I thought Warner should’ve stuck with the boys, but…” He shrugs, squinting at the shore thoughtfully. “But you brought them back to life, and I can’t argue with that.”
“They were ready to find healing, that’s all.”
“They needed you, O’Neill.”
“I needed them too,” I admit quietly, but he doesn’t hear me. His focus is trained behind us, at a mounting wave.
“Okay, look, that one’s got your name on it.” I follow his gaze as the wave burgeons upward. It will break somewhere in my proximity. “Go for it, Rebecca!” he shouts, glancing back hurriedly at me. “It’s yours! Paddle, Rebecca, go! Paddle! Paddle!”
He makes motions with his hands, demonstrating, and, lacking a better plan, I begin paddling like crazy. Feeling the wave burst forth under me, I rise upward in answering instinct onto my knees, clutching hard to the board as it takes off toward shore.
Charging forward, the wave vibrating and thundering beneath me, I begin to laugh—a cleansing, liberating, wild laugh of freedom that won’t stop.
Off to my side, I’m aware of passing Michael and Andrea heading out on their boards, conscious that they’re cheering me on. Michael whoops with pride. Behind me I hear Casey shouting me onward too.
I can do this, I think, grinning like a little girl, like I did the first time my dad helped me canter on my horse. I can do this: I can be free again.
***
Sitting on the beach, swaddled in a towel beside Michael and Andrea, the day is ending the way it began, down by the ocean, and it’s as if all the hard years have washed out to deepest sea. Like the undertow reached up from that one wave I rode and snatched all the black things away, dragging them out to the distant horizon. To a place you only imagine as a child, the edge of nothing.
“I’m so proud of you,” Michael whispers in my ear, kissing me there. The three of us are sitting together, watching the waves and laughing. A full day behind us, our bodies tired and saturated with sun.
Kissing his jaw, I long for more of him—for as much as he gave me last night. “Proud of what?”
He grins. “’Cause you’re my surfer girl.” He draws me close, against his side. “I’m proud of you for going out there. That’s a big freaking deal.”