Mai Tai'd Up (12 page)

When I got back from my training, I was floating high above the clouds and eager to get our operation open for business. And I came back to a place nearly ready to do just that. I was amazed at how much work had been done; we were in the homestretch. I walked the grounds with the head contractor, checking out the final punch list of things to be completed, but it was pretty close.

After everyone left for the day, I was out on the patio, working on my to-do list, when my cousin Clark called. Smiling, I answered the phone.

“What’s up, mister?”

“Hey, how’s my favorite cousin?”

“Good! Just got back in town, trying to get things finished up around here so we can start taking in some dogs. What’s up with you?” I asked, still working on my list. Get a hose for watering bowls: check. Tennis racket for exercising with balls: check.

“Not much, I just have some news.” His voice sounded different, a little high pitched and breathless, and I looked up from my list.

“Oh?” I asked, setting my pencil down. Something was up.

“Remember the pickles? How Vivian was craving them?”

“
No
,” I breathed, putting two and two together and coming up with pickles. “No
way
,” I squealed.

“Vivian’s pregnant,” he said, his laughter ringing out across the line. “She’s pregnant! I’m having a baby! Well,
she’s
having a baby,
we’re
having a baby! Can you believe it? Ha!”

I
couldn’t
believe it. They’d been dating, like, two minutes. But listening to him go on and on, babbling like a brook, his excitement was so contagious that I found myself laughing right along with him.

“And we’re getting married! I mean, I already had the ring, so it was just a matter of time, really, and when she told me, I passed out—can you believe that?”

I could, actually. Once when we were kids, he passed out from excitement when he got to go on the Jurassic Park ride at Universal. All those dinosaurs, it was just too much for him. I smiled just thinking about it.

I came back from my memories to hear him say, “So when I came to, I just asked her to marry me and she said yes!”

“Clark, breathe, honey, breathe,” I said. “That’s fantastic news, all of it. I’m so happy for you! Congratulations! So give me all the details.”

And as he told me all about how far along she was (not far) and what their plans were (they’d get married after the baby came; she wanted a big wedding back home in Philadelphia) and how at first her brothers were planning to come out to kick his ass (all five of them) until she convinced them what a terrible idea that was, I listened and laughed along with him. After we got off the phone, I looked down at my to-do list and realized I’d doodled right over everything I’d been working on. And I’d doodled several versions of cribs, rattles, and a stick figure family.

Christ, if I’d gotten married, I could have been pregnant already. Charles wanted a family right away. And I did too . . . I’m pretty sure I did. That was the plan, anyway, and I was all for the plan, right? Wait, I
wanted
kids, right? What the hell kind of a woman wasn’t sure she wanted kids but would
probably
have had them anyway?

As I was contemplating my doodles, my phone rang again. It was the ginger vet this time.

“Hey,” I said in greeting.

“Hey to you too; how was your trip?”

“Good, just got back this afternoon. They got so much done while I was gone; you should see the place.”

“Great, when I pick you up in the morning you can show me what’s new.”

“In the morning?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah, nights and weekends, remember? Tomorrow I get to start showing you the best Monterey has to offer.”

“The best Monterey has to offer? What are you, working for the tourism board?”

“Yes, exactly that. So throw all your cares away and enjoy Monterey,” he said, game show voice style.

“Well now, that’s just creepy,” I said with a laugh. “What are we doing?”

“It’s a surprise, but you’ll get wet, so wear a bathing suit, please.”

“A bathing suit?”

“Notice I said please. Something really skimpy and preferably see through.”

“Lucas!”

“Kidding. Not kidding,” he deadpanned.

“Lucas,” I warned once more.

“Okay, suit is a definite, skimpy is optional.”

“Uh-huh, thanks,” I said, wondering what he was up to.

“Pick you up at eight. Bring a change of clothes too.”

“Okay, bossy. And mysterious. You’re being bossy and mysterious,” I said.

“And cute. You forgot cute,” he prompted.

“I can’t see you. How do I know you’re cute?” I teased.

“Oh, you know I am,” he insisted

I blew him a raspberry, and hung up listening to him laugh.

Smiling, I laid back in my lawn chair and looked up at the night sky. This high up in the hills, it was so clear that you could see thousands of stars. After mentally going through my bathing suits—which were mostly skimpy, let’s face it—I got up to head inside for a good night’s sleep. Eight o’clock would come early. As I picked up my doodled to-do list, I noticed that on the bottom I’d written
Lucas
. On my to-do list.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” I muttered to myself. Still smiling.

“P
addleboarding? This is why you wanted me to wear my bathing suit?” I exclaimed as he pulled up the next morning and I saw what was stowed in the back of his truck.

“Hello to you too,” he said in response, jumping out of his side.

“Sorry. Hello,” I allowed, then went back to my earlier greeting. “Paddleboarding?”

“What’s wrong with paddleboarding?” he asking, walking around the front of the truck. Long black swim trunks, old surfing T-shirt, unzipped fleece—he was ready for a day on the water. With those legs of his that were tanned and oh so long. He really was a tall drink of water.

“Nothing,” I said to his legs, then forced my eyes toward his face. What a hardship that was. “I’ve just never tried it. I thought we were going to spend the day lazing around a pool somewhere. Like the one I happen to have here . . . the water’s warm, drinks nearby . . .” I gulped nervously. “No sharks.”

“Sharks! Is that what you’re worried about?” he laughed, taking
my bag and throwing it into the bed of the truck. “You grew up in California. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of sharks.”

“I have a healthy fear, yes. Not to mention the bottom of those paddleboards look just like a tasty seal.”

“These boards are over ten feet long,” he said, pulling me toward the passenger side.

“So?”

“So how many seals are over ten feet long?”

“The sharks will think they’ve hit the mother lode,” I muttered as he packed me in and shut the door. Peering through the side mirror, I looked at the boards and paddles behind me. I caught sight of him running around to his side, shaking his head and grinning.

“Besides, won’t the water be freezing?” I asked as he jumped in next to me.

“I’ve got that covered, chickie baby,” he said, giving me two thumbs-ups. “Wet suits.”

“Oh. Great,” I replied weakly, and settled against the passenger-side window. He just laughed, and we were off. It wasn’t that I was deathly afraid of sharks. Most of the guys I grew up with surfed. They all seen a fin or two, maybe even had a bump once in a while. And I loved going to the beach, loved going in the ocean. But I tended to stay pretty close to shore, and by tended, I mean I rarely went in past my waist. Paddleboarding? Definitely past my waist. Where sharks might be. Shudder.

But as we drove toward his favorite beach, I watched him tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel, glancing over and smiling every so often, relaxed and happy as a clam.

I decided nothing ventured, nothing gained, and when we pulled into Lovers Point Park in neighboring Pacific Grove, and saw that gorgeous beach, punctuated by wind-shaped cypress
trees and rippling with craggy rocks and peaks, I realized that trying something new could be a very good thing. I took a moment to breathe in all that good salty air. Lucas climbed out of the truck and came around to my side while I hung out the open window like a Great Dane, just sniffing and smelling.

Leaning on my window, he looked at me carefully. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s totally okay with me. We’ll hang on the beach, maybe take a drive—we can do whatever you want to do.”

I looked past him at the beautiful water and the beautiful day, and said, “I want to do this.”

“Great! Let’s get suited up,” he said, helping me out.

“But if we see one mother-fudging fin, you’re the sacrificial seal.” I pointed at him, then grabbed the wet suit. “Now, how do I get into this thing?”

T
urns out wet suits are not easy to get into. There’s a fair amount of jiggling and jumping, especially if you’re not used to putting one on. And while I didn’t wear my skimpiest bikini, I did spend more than a few minutes picking it out. Black and white polka dots, tied tight in the back. Semiskimpy. Did I notice how his eyes bugged when I took off my shirt? Yes. Did I notice how he bit his lip when I took off my shorts? Yes. Did I notice how he tried so very hard, but failed so very miserably, to not look directly at my breasts when I jumped and jiggled my way into a second skin of rubber? Oh, yes.

The real question is, did
he
notice how I whimpered the tiniest bit when he took off his shirt? No idea—because when he did, I couldn’t look anywhere but his torso. Lean, tan, lightly freckled, especially on the tops of his shoulders from a lifetime
spent on the beach. He was in his wet suit in a flash, zipping up the back with practiced ease. And when I struggled to zip my own suit, he offered to help, taking his time.

He held me steady with one hand on my shoulder, while I looked over at him with a hairy eyeball. “You okay back there?”

“Oh, yeah,” he teased, his eyes nowhere near my own hairy eyeball, which earned him a slap on the butt from me as he went to grab the first paddleboard.

He went easy and slow, giving me a mini lesson on the beach first. To distribute your weight on a paddleboard, you want to make sure you keep your feet about shoulder width apart and in line with your body, rather than in a surfing stance, where one leg is in front of the other. Because I grew up with surfers, it didn’t seem natural to me, but I was going to give it a go.

The water was bracing but the day was warm and sunny, so it was a good mix. It was calm, hardly any waves, which was great for paddling. Once we were up to midthigh, he showed me how to sit comfortably on my knees and how to hold the paddle.

“Hold it about midshaft now. Once you’re standing up, you’ll want to grip the end.”

“Midshaft. Grip the end. I see what you’re doing there,” I muttered, struggling to keep my balance when what looked like a tiny wave actually made the board move quite a lot.

“You’re the one with the dirty mind, Chloe—I’m just trying to show you how to stay on top,” he said with a wink. “Relax a little. If you fall off, no big deal, you get back on. And if you do fall off, fall away from the board. You don’t want to smack yourself in the face.”

“This is supposed to be relaxing?” I sputtered thirty seconds later, when I did in fact fall right off.

“Once you get into it, you’ll love it, I promise,” he said, holding the board steady as I climbed back on. “Straddle it.”

“Oh, shut up,” I yelled, falling in again. When I finally made it back on and felt reasonably stable, we paddled out a bit farther. Once I felt comfortable enough to look up from my board, I took in the scenery.

He sliced his board through the water, his strong shoulders moving effortlessly as he paddled just ahead of me. His back muscular even through the wet suit. That hair, messy and tousled by the wind and the water, a dark mahogany now that it was wet.

That coastline was real purdy too.

And before long, it was time to try standing up. “Now remember: go up on your hands and knees, get steady, then slowly raise up, bringing your feet to the center of the board. Not too far back, or you’ll tip. Just find that sweet spot,” he cautioned, demonstrating the standing-up part, not the tipping. He made it look really easy.

“Hands and knees . . . sweet spot . . . Do you have a job taking late-night phone calls that I don’t know about?”

“You’re stalling,” he said, and I nodded. I took a deep breath, scanning the water for fins. Nothing.

“You can do this, Chloe,” he said, only a few feet away.

And you know what? I did. I stood up on my first try, legs trembling a bit as I wee-wawwed trying to find the sweet spot, something that really did exist. Holding tight to the paddle, I stood up strong.

“Way to go!” he yelled, and I turned to smile . . . and promptly fell into the water.

But it was okay, that was just part of it. I stood up once more, and under his careful instruction, started paddling. And before I knew it, I was totally doing it! We went out farther and he showed me how to turn slowly, and then how to make a quick turn. He fell in, I fell in—okay, I fell in many more times—but each time
it got easier, and before long I was skimming the surface, making great long pulls with the paddle, flying across the water.

At one point I looked back toward the coast and realized how far out we were. It was so quiet. No cars, no buses, no radios; just lapping water and a few gulls crying overhead. It was a bit unnerving at first, feeling so far out, but then I looked to my left and there was Lucas, gently paddling next to me, grinning.

Then I
really
looked around. When I saw the coast, this time I didn’t see how far away it was—I saw how from this distance you could really take in the cypress groves, the twisted rock sawing at blue sky, the mossy green grass. It was the same coastline I’d been sitting on not thirty minutes before, but from this angle, it was a totally different thing. From a totally different perspective. “Thank you,” I whispered.

It was quiet enough that my words were carried to Lucas, who simply said, “You’re welcome.” And then asked, “You want to go see some otters?”

A
lways answer yes if anyone ever asks you that question. Because they are the
cutest
fudging animals on the planet. Not far from where we started was a tiny, protected cove filled with kelp beds. And that’s where we saw the sea otters, in groups, rolled up in the sea grass to keep them tethered while they ate their breakfast on their backs. Breaking open tiny abalone and mollusks on their chests, they ate while floating in the kelp bed, aware of us nearby but not bothering to hide their buffet. I could have watched them for hours, their sweet little mouths busily prying off the outer shells to get to the tasty treats inside, all the while floating on their backs.