Collateral (34 page)

Saturdays, late June. The twenty-third

or the thirtieth. Could go the Friday

evenings before or the Sundays after.

That's, like, nine dates. Surely we can

find a winery that can accommodate

one of them. I call Mom, ask her what

she thinks of my plan, and if she'd be

willing to help out. Avoidance.
Well,

you know, I'm pretty busy with school.

Redirect. “But, Mom, winter break

is pretty soon. Can't you spare a few

hours to make some calls for me?”

Change of subject.
You're coming

home for Christmas, right? You could

make the calls yourself then.
Wow.

Tactic shift. “I guess I could. So,

what do you think of the idea?

It might be kind of expensive.”

Long sigh.
I guess we'll know that

after you make those calls. How

much were you thinking of investing

in this wedding, Ashley? Look, I put

a little money away for your day.

You might want to consider the best

way to spend it, though. Big wedding

or maybe the down payment on a house?

But only when it's applied

to something as emotional

as this. “I'll think about it.

Can you give me a ballpark

figure, though? It will help.”

I've got around twenty

five thousand earmarked.

If you're careful, you could

do a very nice wedding for

half of that. Or less. Or . . .

Or I could just wait. That's

what she wants to say.

I won't give her the chance.

“Thanks, Mom. I'll make

some calls and then we can

decide. How many people

do you think we should plan

for?” Way to keep her involved.

“I should probably make

a guest list. Can you help?”

Another, bigger sigh.
Of

course. When you're home

at Christmas we can do it

together. You should get

hold of Cole's mom, too.

Good point. “I will. Hey, Mom?

I really appreciate your support.

Love you lots. Bye.” All things

considered, that went okay.

Looking at websites. The average

cost of a wedding is just about

the amount of money Mom has

put aside. The average cost

of a winery wedding . . . well,

there are just so many variables.

The brides are beautiful, in white

dresses, among the grapevines.

The handsome grooms stand

happily by them, all decked out

in tuxes. We'll save a little there.

Cole will wear his dress blues.

Catering, per person. DJ or band?

Flowers. Rings. Invitations. Do

we really need “save the date”

cards? So much to consider. No

wonder it takes so long to plan

a wedding. And I'm just getting

started. We definitely need those

guest lists to do very much. I can

start mine now, let Mom add to

it later. I put in a call to Cole's mom.

Feel relieved when it goes to voice

mail. “Hi Rochelle. This is Ashley.

How are you feeling? Cole says

you're doing much better. Listen,

I'm starting to make wedding plans

and before I can do much, I need

a guest list. Can you please help out on

your end? Thanks and I'll be in touch.”

Relatives. Friends. Many of whom

I haven't spoken to in years. My bad.

I mean, school has been my focus. Well,

school and Cole. I used to be popular,

but I really have turned into something

of a recluse. Who will I even ask to be

in the wedding party? Darian, of course.

Hopefully, she'll come around and agree

to be my maid of honor. Bridesmaids?

Sophie and Brittany, I suppose, though

it's been weeks since we've gone out

together. I haven't even told them

I'm engaged yet. Note to self: Call

Sophie and Brittany. Invite them out

so you can break the news in person.

And maybe have a little fun in the process.

I am considering just how little fun

I've allowed myself when my phone rings.

Rochelle, calling me back already?

Nope. Local number. Wow. It's Jonah.

Morning, Ashley. Do you have a wetsuit?

I hear they're breaking large at Swami's.

Spend the day alone, perusing

wedding websites and stressing

over not getting out enough and

having fun or . . . surfing with Jonah.

Kind of a no-brainer, except,

“Actually, I don't have a wetsuit.

I don't surf much in the winter.”

Oh, but December is prime

riding. Massive storms up north

mean big breaks down here.

And no worries. I've got an extra

wetsuit that should fit you.

“Does this mean I get to ride

in your Woodie?” That sounds

vaguely vulgar, but we both

let it go and he says he'll pick me

up in a half hour. Guess that

means I should get dressed. I've

been sitting here in my jammies.

I slip into the purple bikini I

haven't even looked at since

Hawaii. It reminds me of Cole,

chiding me for dressing too

provocatively. Wonder what he'd

think about my going surfing

with Jonah. Scratch that.

I don't wonder at all. I know

exactly what he'd think.

I'm going. I leave my ring stashed

beneath my underwear. Probably

the first place a burglar would look,

but still. I don't want to wear it

riding big water. If it came off,

I'd lose it forever. I hide the bikini

beneath jeans and a sweatshirt,

French braid my hair. Grab my

board, hoping it's long enough.

I've never attempted swells

much bigger than six feet.

These could easily be twice that.

Excitement and fear collide

in a heady torrent of blood

through my veins. For about

a half second, I consider

a Xanax. Toss the notion

aside. This particular variety

of anxiousness is righteous.

I want to stay sharp, not feel

all blurred around the edges.

I walk by my laptop, where

a beaming bride poses midst

a vineyard. Hit
Hibernate
.

Cooler than the BMW. It's cherry

red, with big polished wood panels

in back. Super clean. Super Jonah.

“I didn't know cars like this really

existed. It's so . . . Beach Boys.”

Jonah slides my board up on

the roof rack, secures it carefully.

You know the Beach Boys?

“Well, sure. Doesn't everyone?

They're quintessential California.”

Yeah, like forty years ago.

Don't tell me you've heard

of Jan and Dean, too.

I wink at him. “She's the little

old lady from Pasadena.” It's a fair

imitation of the original.

You are just full of surprises.

He gives me a lightning-quick sideways

hug, then opens the car door for me.

I can still feel the grip of his hand

on my shoulder as I squish into

the cushy leather seat. “They built 'em

for comfort back then, didn't they?”

That, they did. Make yourself

at home.
He looks just like I pictured

him as he motors us to Encinitas,

except it's too cool to put down

the windows so his hair can blow

back. Still, he's so Jan and Dean.

I glance over the seat, where two

neoprene suits, one Jonah-size, one

smaller, look a lot like beheaded seals.

“So, do you keep an extra wetsuit

around, just in case some girl

wants to go winter riding with you?”

It's a flip throwaway question, so

I don't expect the serious answer.

You're the first girl I've gone

surfing with since my wife left.

It was hers. Hope you don't mind.

“Uh, no. Not at all.” I forgot he had

a wife once. He mentioned her

wanderlust in passing that time.

“How long were you married?”

Five years. Well, officially five.

Velia split after three and a half.

Met a guy she liked better. An Aussie.

Last I heard, they'd moved Down Under.

When I tell him I'm sorry, he shrugs.

Don't be. She and I were worse

than oil and water. We were more

like kerosene and flame. Volatile.

Definitely not meant to be together.

Are just weird. You think

you belong together. Find

out you don't. Some people

stay. Smart people go. Except

sometimes you can't. You have

kids together or your bank

account is empty or there are

special circumstances like your

husband being a burn victim.

Or, like my parents, you're just

too damn stubborn to admit you

made a major mistake. How many

people meet, hook up, commit,

and find themselves glad they did

after a decade or two together?

I muse out loud, “Do you think

it's possible for two people to

stay in love forever? Or at least

to stay content together forever?”

Yes.
No hesitation at all.
I do.

Too many people get together

for the wrong reasons—sexual

attraction. Or escape. If they can't

find common interests, build

a friendship, those relationships

are probably doomed.
He turns

onto a long boulevard.
Too bad

it doesn't work the other way

more often. When love evolves

from friendship, it must be stronger.

Is an elongated stretch of beautiful

beach. I can see why it's so popular.

Especially today, with big, rolling breaks.

Probably ten- or eleven-foot swells.

As Jonah gathers the gear, I watch

a couple of rides. Again, that blend

of fear and anticipation quickens

my heartbeat. The slight trepidation

I feel must be obvious somehow

because Jonah asks,
Nervous?

“A little,” I admit. “They're a bit bigger

than what I'm used to. Any tips?”

First of all, a bit of fear is good.

It keeps you thinking. Be patient.

Don't take the first wave in the set.

If you're not sure, watch me or one

of the others to know when to go.

Then paddle in hard. Harder than

you might normally. Use the power

of the wave to your advantage.

Once you've done one or two, you'll

be fine. And remember, this is fun.

Into Velia's wetsuit, I follow Jonah

to the water's edge. Stand for a minute,

watching the surf, and the two dozen

or so guys and exactly three girls

working it already. They're good,

but I don't think they're better than

I am, so when Jonah asks if I'm ready,

I flip my head in answer. The initial

splash into the winter Pacific takes

my breath. But almost immediately,

the neoprene goes to work. I'm warm.

I paddle out after Jonah, admiring

his contours. We push hard over the breaks,

finally reach the semistill water beyond.

Be smart, be safe, and if those two

things fail, I've got your back,
says

Jonah. We watch a couple of sets.

Finally, I give him a nod meaning

I understand the water's rhythm.

The perfect wave starts to roll in front

of me. I don't look right nor left, but

rely on my instinct and paddle hard.

Harder than I've ever paddled before.

Instinct yells, “Stand up.” Next thing

I know, I'm on my feet and a powerful

force is pushing me forward and it curls

behind me in excellent fashion. I don't

panic or fall. I just ride. And it is the best

thing I've ever done. At least, for myself.

For Cole's last homecoming, I was equal

parts relieved and worried-as-hell. His

e-mails were coherent. Outlined, maybe.

Plotted to sound as reasonable as I hoped

they would be. Had I only heard from him

via the web, I would probably have felt fine.