When I’d finished drying my hair with the towel, I laid out David’s uniform for work. I hoped it would avoid, or at least delay, the next fight for as long as possible. Needs must.
He was just beginning to stir when I started making breakfast. I banged around the kitchen as loudly as possible, taking out some of my frustration on the frying pan and kitchen sink, feeling his whiskey-soured eyes glaring at me balefully.
“Good morning, David. Are you feeling up to some breakfast?” I asked breezily.
“Just coffee,” he said sulkily, then added, “Thank you.”
I nearly dropped the plate I was carrying, staring at him in disbelief. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d thanked me for anything. I wondered what had brought on that outbreak of civility. It was too weird. Still, it was better than being snarled at, which was usually how he behaved when he was hung-over. Wonders would never cease.
The polite entente was fairly short-lived. He left the house without speaking to me again, for which I was inordinately grateful.
The sun had broken through a layer of thin cloud and the gloom of San Diego in June was instead promising to be another glorious day. My heart felt curiously light – and I knew what would be perfect. I texted Sebastian immediately, knowing he was waiting to hear from me.
Park in 20? Bring your boardshorts!
His reply made me laugh.
* Isn’t it bedtime? *
No! 20 mins?
ok :)
I changed into my bikini and pulled on a pair of shorts and strappy T-shirt, then ran downstairs to make an enormous picnic. I knew he wouldn’t have gotten himself any breakfast or, even if he had, he’d still be starving by lunchtime.
As an afterthought I picked up my laptop and notebook and tossed them in the trunk of the car. I still had some notes to type up and, more than ever, I needed the money from the articles that City Beat was prepared to pay me for. Besides, now I had a membership to the country club, I may as well use it. Of course, there were also the ancillary benefits of the locker room to be considered; if it happened to be empty again, well, who knew what might happen.
Sebastian was sitting on the curb in his usual place, my dear sweet punk.
“We’re going surfing?”
The hope and surprise were equally evident in his voice.
“Why not? It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you can teach me some more moves.”
“I liked the moves you taught me last night.”
“Sebastian!”
He shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Well, maybe. We’ll have to see if that locker room is free later.”
He groaned. “Oh, man, that was hot!”
I couldn’t disagree with that assessment.
We drove with the windows down and Sebastian chose another jazz station to listen to. I was fairly sure that his interest in opera was just to please me. It was really rather cute.
I parked next to the same surf shack just north of La Jolla. It was aptly named, being so ramshackle, it looked as if it might tip over the cliff with the faintest gust of breeze.
The owner recognized us immediately – either that or he used the same patter on everyone.
“Hey, sugar, long time no see! You want to rent another board?”
“Yes, please,” I said politely, elbowing Sebastian in the ribs as he scowled at the man. “And two shorties.”
“I’m good,” muttered Sebastian. “Just a shortie for her.”
“Pity,” said the owner, sizing me up, “I bet you look great in a bikini.”
I paid quickly, leaving my car keys again as surety, and pushed Sebastian out of the shop before he decided to start something. The owner grinned at me and winked. When he slid me my change, I saw that he’d written his phone number on one of the bills.
Classy. Ugh.