“How old were you when you started working at the restaurant?”
“Fourteen,” she said. “I worked there after school and every summer and Christmas break until I graduated from law school. My parents thought it would be good for me to earn my own spending money.”
“You sound proud of them.”
“Wouldn’t you be? Though I must admit that I’m not quite sure what my parents would think if they knew I was with you today.”
“I have a pretty good idea of what they might think.”
She laughed, lighthearted and unrestrained.
“You want to try tossing the Frisbee around?”
“I’ll try. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She hadn’t been lying. She wasn’t very good; nearly all of her tosses veered off course, some hitting the sand and others getting caught in the breeze. Colin zigzagged gamely, trying to rescue the Frisbee before it hit the ground while hearing her call out, “I’m sorry!” Whenever she succeeded in making an accurate throw or catching the Frisbee, she reveled with almost childlike glee.
Through it all, she kept up a steady chatter. She told him about her trips to Mexico to visit her grandparents and described the tiny cinder-block houses where both sets had lived their entire lives. She touched on her high school years, along with a few of her college and law school experiences, and shared a few stories about working at the DA’s office. He was perplexed at how her first boyfriend could have let her go and why no one else had come along since. Could anyone be so blind? He didn’t know and didn’t care: All he really knew for sure was that he was unbelievably lucky that she’d wandered out to the pier.
Abandoning the Frisbee, he’d grabbed the Hacky Sack and heard her laugh aloud. “Not a chance,” she said before collapsing on her towel. Colin sat beside her, feeling the weariness of an active day in the sun and noticing that Maria’s skin had taken on a buttery glow. They finished the rest of their water, sipping slowly as they watched the waves.
“I think I’d like to watch you fight,” she said, turning toward him.
“Okay,” he said.
“When’s the next one?”
“Not for a few weeks. It’s at the House of Blues in North Myrtle Beach.”
“Who are you fighting?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“How can you not know who you’re fighting?”
He ran his fingers through the sand. “In amateur events, the ticket isn’t always finished until the day before. It all depends on who wants to fight, who’s ready to fight, who’s available to fight. And, of course, who actually signs up to fight.”
“Does that make you nervous? Not knowing?”
“Not really.”
“What if he’s like… a giant or something?”
“There are weight classes, so that’s not a concern. My main worry is if the guy panics and breaks the rules. Some of the guys who show up in these amateur events don’t have a lot of experience in the cage, and it’s easy to lose control. That’s what happened when my last opponent head-butted me. They had to stop the fight so I could get the bleeding under control, but the ref didn’t catch it. My coach was going nuts.”
“And you actually enjoy that?”
“It comes with the territory,” he said. “The good news is that I got the guy in a guillotine choke hold in the next round and he had to tap out. And I did enjoy that part.”
“You do realize that’s not normal, right?”
“Okay.”
“And just so we’re clear, I don’t care whether you win or lose, but I don’t want you to get all bloodied and bruised.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She furrowed her brow. “Wait – the House of Blues? Isn’t that a restaurant?”
“Among other things. But it has enough room. Amateur events don’t usually draw much of a crowd.”