Casey grinned in return. His hair glistened with water droplets from the early morning sun, and tanned muscular arms protruded from his short-sleeved black wetsuit. “Look out, she’s cracked a smile, call the paparazzi.”
I gave a mock snarl and he laughed.
“That’s more like it,” he said and then nodded towards the horizon. “Set’s up.”
Following his gaze, I shivered at the line of waves rolling in. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“You can. Shut up and start paddling.”
Casey was teaching me how to surf as part of my physical therapy because it helped rebuild the core strength I’d lost. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite ready to hit the pro circuit. I was far too busy meeting the ocean floor with my face and eating sand for breakfast. Casey, who appeared to be good at everything, found the whole farce the highlight of his mornings, but I’d rather sit down and endure back to back episodes of The Nanny while eating sprouts. At least I’d gained a new nickname―Kook―which was apparently some kind of reference to a newbie surfer. I didn't know if it was complimentary, but I did learn from Casey’s surfer mate, Ben, that Casey was a ripper hotdogger, whatever that meant, so I used it liberally and told everyone else to as well.
“Fine, hotdog.”
The wave bore down and I turned on my board and literally paddled for my life, feeling the cool water lurch beneath me, each stroke of my arm a gnawing ache in my middle.
“Woot. Go Kookie!”
Grinning, I paused in my paddle to introduce Casey to my middle finger and promptly tipped my board, going down in a crash of limbs, riding the white wash upside down and inside out to the shore. I crawled up the sand on my hands and knees, my board dragging behind me as I coughed out a piece of seaweed.
A warm hand landed on my back and with tired eyes I looked up at Casey’s concerned face.
“You okay?”
I flopped down on my back and sucked in life saving oxygen. “Does everyone have it in for me? Even the ocean is trying to write me off.”
Casey dug his board upright in the sand and leaned down to remove the leg rope from my ankle. “Don’t be like that. You’re getting better.”
“I know.” I let out a painful wheeze. “I didn’t eat sand that time.”
He gently let go of my ankle with a laugh. “See? More room for bacon and eggs.”
I eyed him hopefully and sat up. “You wouldn’t tease me, would you?”
He gripped my bicep as he helped me up. “Come on, Kookie. I’ll take you to Tilly’s. Us surfers need to keep up our strength.”
This was true. I ate twice as much for breakfast since I started the whole surfing debacle. I wouldn’t ever admit it to Casey, but I always felt better afterwards. Fresher, more alive and, a little less sad.
We picked up our boards and trudged through the sand, dodging the diehard beachgoers setting up their place with competent movements in the early light of day. A few surfers trotted by with a hand wave and shouted greetings like “Yo, brah” and “Hey, Kook.” I’d seen the movies and being known as Kook sounded preferable to seeing newbie surfers enduring bloodshed for ‘dropping in’ on waves. Apparently, I was well known though. Suffering a few bullet wounds in a badass gun fight made me a “hard core babe” and earned Casey lots of back slapping for his “score.” Not correcting their assumptions, Casey would just roll his eyes and accept their good natured ribbing.
We reached the outdoor showers, and I peeled the wetsuit down to reveal my bikini underneath. I turned the water on to its one and only setting of ice cold and shivered under the spray.
I turned around and Casey, now down to his boardshorts under the shower next to me, eyed the scars on my torso, and his lips pressed flat.
“Fading,” he said, his voice barely audible under the spray of water.
Rubbing at the one on my chest because I couldn’t get used to the numb feeling, I turned back around self-consciously. “Yeah.”
We finished up, and half an hour later found me sitting at Tilly’s clad in a simple pair of short denim shorts and white tank top, wet hair tied messily in a bun on the top of my head. We sat at an outdoor table in the sun, so I was wearing my giant sunglasses as I annihilated a stack of pancakes and bacon.
Casey swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “How’s it going with Jude?”
At Coby’s request, Carol from their office visited me in hospital with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and the contact information for Jude. His hope was for the counselling to help alleviate the anxiety I was feeling from the trauma of a life-threatening injury and the distress from taking another person’s life.
“He’s helping,” I answered honestly because every day my breathing got a little easier. “But every time I finish an appointment I need wine, so I think he’s turning me into an alcoholic.”
He chuckled as I shovelled in another bite of pancakes. “Yeah he does that to all of us.”
I swallowed my mouthful and echoed, “All of us?”
Casey shrugged. “With our line of work, it’s common to help with the stress of what we do or sometimes see.”
I wanted to ask what they sometimes saw but my phone rang, and I answered.
Mac's chipper voice was on the other end. “Marty rang and you’re needed in the studio tomorrow.” There was a muffled crackle, and I heard her shout, “Just a goddamn minute, asshead” to someone in the background.
I sighed as she got back to me, ranting about something or other that was pissing her off. I gave her my sympathy, simply thankful the tirade wasn’t directed at me. Sucking in a breath, she finally asked where I was.
“Tilly’s.”
I heard her let out a loud whoosh. “Bring me back some mushroom cups, and I’ll take you off my shit list for the day.”
“I’m on there?” I asked with dismay.
“No, but you will be if you don’t bring me back some mushroom cups.”
I made the promise to bring some home and hung up. I’d planned on getting them anyway because you didn’t go to Tilly’s and not get them. They were little pastry cups of heaven filled with mushroom, feta, egg, and finely diced bacon.
Finishing our breakfast, we returned to the beach parking lot, surfboards attached to the racks of our respective cars.
I beeped the unlock button before Casey gently pulled me in for a hug. After a few moments, when he didn’t seem inclined to let go, I drew back slightly puzzled, and he softly brushed a hand down my face. “Tomorrow. Same time, same place?”
“Sure. I couldn’t do without my daily dose of surf dumping, and the sand is good exfoliation for my face.”
He chuckled and moved to get in his car.
“Oh wait. Mac’s having a get together at our place tonight. Come with Travis.”
His answer was a brief nod before he hopped in his car, backed out, and drove away.
Later that night I dressed in a pair of white shorts and a fitted black t-shirt that had Badass Bitch written in silver studs across the br**sts. The shirt was a gift from Cooper just last week. I made sure to flaunt it in front of Tim’s face at every opportunity, and he played deliberately obtuse and kept telling me to stop parading my “lady bags” in his face.
I sat out on the back deck, nursing a glass of wine, as friends littered the inside of the duplex and the backyard. Coby was manning the barbecue, and Casey and Travis were standing in the all-important huddle that was man grilling meat. As I was still riding the coattails of invalidity, Mac and Tim were the ones in the kitchen dealing with everything else. Frog, Jake, and Cooper were busy chatting to two of our female neighbours. I could see them putting on their best moves. Cooper was leaning close, trailing a finger along the collarbone of one of the girls. Her eyes were wide and she bit her lip as he spoke to her. Not to be outdone, Frog reached out and pulled the other girl down on to his lap and she shrieked with laughter. Jake it seemed, had missed out, but the gazes he kept flicking towards Mac whenever she appeared from the kitchen left me thinking that it didn’t bother him at all.
Henry pulled up a chair next to me and sucked down his beer as though it was the elixir of life. When he finished he sat the empty bottle on the table with a lip smack and a sigh. “So…”
I raised my eyebrows in reply.
He looked over at the barbecue pointedly. “What’s going on between you and Casey?”
My eyebrows reached newer heights.
“Why?”
“His eyes have been tracking you all night.”
My eyes trailed to the barbecue in time to catch Casey glancing away, and I frowned.
“We’re just friends, Henry. We bonded over surfing.” I would have thought Henry would understand the difficulty in explaining a platonic friendship between a man and a woman. “How many times have we had to defend our relationship to other people?”
“Yeah but I don’t look at you the way he looks at you.”
“And what way is that?”
“Like he wants to eat you alive.”
“Jesus, Henrietta. I know people think I have some kind of death wish, and frankly that’s not surprising, but have you seen Casey? I need to go back to my dorks.” Wistful memories of Hairy Parry and Beetle Bob filled my head.
Henry must have been doing the same thing because he winced in reply.
“Maybe I need to swear off men altogether.”
“Maybe you and Casey should just sleep with each other and get it out of your system.” I could always depend on Henry with sage advice.
“Is it Groundhog Day? Wasn’t it just yesterday you and Mac were pushing me into some kind of…whatever the hell that was with Jared? Look how well that turned out, and here you are at it again.”
Henry shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Well don’t. Thanks for the retarded relationship bastard advice, Henry, but that’s a really shitty idea.”
I ignored Henry for a while, and after we ate dinner, I replenished my wine from the bottle in the fridge. Feeling a slightly wonderful buzz that softened my tatty edges, I shifted out to the quiet of the front yard and sat on the step at the front door as I nursed my glass.
Mac came out carrying a bag of garbage and almost tripped over me. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
So much for the quiet. “I was enjoying the peace, Mactard.”
“Suit yourself.”
She headed down the driveway and threw the bag into the big green wheelie bin just as Casey came out, beer in hand, and sat on the step beside me.
Mac came up the drive, texting on her phone. She glanced up as she reached the stairs and chortled with glee. “Hey, look! It’s Hotdog and Sandwich.”
Casey groaned and I laughed out loud.
Mac pushed her way in between us. Before heading through the door she added over her shoulder, “Don’t be long. There’s chocolate cake.”
“Thanks for that,” Casey said with a mixture of amusement and resignation in his eyes.
“My pleasure, hotdog.”
“Kook.”
“Hotdog.”
He sipped at his beer before resting his elbows on his knees.