Then I see the stairway leading from the resort to the tide pools. An instant before the next wave hits, I put all my strength into my legs and push off, lunging for the last vertical iron pipe in the stairway. I lock my arms around the metal and hold my breath.
The surge of water drives me toward the pole, and my head slams against the metal. For an instant, I realize I’m going to black out. And when I do, I’m going to drown.
Hang tough, baby. You’re almost there.
At this point, I want to tell my dad to go fuck himself, and I wonder if I’ll get the chance to say it to his angelic face.
When the wave recedes, I’m dumbfounded to find my body still intact, still clinging to the pole. I’m even more shocked to see a woman rush down the stairs toward me. I’ve seen her during the retreat, but can’t remember her name. She fists one hand in the shoulder of my wet suit and the other around the pole. There’s so much I want to say—where the hell did you come from? What in the hell are you doing out here? You crazy bitch, get back to the resort. But I know I only have mere seconds to speak.
“Lock your arms around the post.” When she does, I twine my arms through hers, then around the pole. “Hold on through the next wave, then run like hell—”
A punch of water steals my words. I pray this woman can hold on. Can hold her breath. How shitty would it be if I survived, but the one person who tried to save me died? I couldn’t live with that kind of guilt.
The water recedes, and we’re both still holding on. Both still breathing. I use the pole to get to my feet and cling to the other woman as we climb the cement stairway until we’re out of the ocean’s reach.
I collapse on the stairs, arms doubled around a vertical iron post. She does the same, one pole ahead of me. And when our terrified eyes meet, her name fills my head: Laiyla. But that’s all I know about her, and I can’t fathom her risking her life for me.
Then someone else comes down the steps. The blonde. An instructor. She pulls on my arm, and I get to my feet. I’m so heavy, I can barely stand. I reach for the strap across my chest holding my oxygen tank and release it.
Before the metal can hit the ground, a gust of wind catches me, spinning me like a top. My tank collides with something behind me, and I’m hoping it’s the iron rail, but when I look, Laiyla is on the stairs, out cold and bleeding from her head.
“Fuck.” I pull my arms from the straps and let the tank roll down the stairs and back into the sea while I tap Laiyla’s face. “Wake up, Laiyla. Come on.”
“Grab her arm,” the other woman yells. Chloe. Her name is Chloe.
We get Laiyla between us and start up the stairs. I’m ready to drop to my knees and crawl when Laiyla comes around and gets her feet under her.
Anything that’s not nailed down is flying through the air—tree limbs, rocks, outdoor furniture. The wind peels roofing and siding from buildings and launches it through the air like missiles.
All three of us crouch to restore some strength, and when we start out again, we’re all stronger.
An ear-piercing crack sounds behind us, followed by the continuous pop-pop-pop just before a century-old banyan tree falls into our path, inches from smashing all of us. We stand there shell-shocked for a long moment.
With our path to the resort cut off, I look around for shelter and spot a few of the outlying studio cabins. “This way.”
I don’t wonder, worry, consider…I don’t even think again until all three of us cross the threshold of a building and slam the door behind us.
We all drop to the floor in exhaustion. In shock. For several long moments, no one speaks, no one moves.
You’re not done yet, cupcake.
My father’s voice vibrates in my head a split second before something bounces off the glass louvers covering an entire wall of the studio. I roll to my knees, but before I can drag myself to my feet, Chloe does the same, crowding me. She leans forward to take Laiyla’s face in both hands. Laiyla’s head is bleeding. Head wounds create so much blood, and Laiyla looks like she’s in the cast of Carrie.
While Chloe checks on Laiyla, I work my way to my feet and move to the louvered glass windows to shut them, blocking out the wind and rain.
Every move feels like a monumental effort, and I have to rest in between.
“Laiyla, help me upend this mattress,” I say. “Chloe, drag those chairs over here.”
Pulling at the mattress makes every muscle in my body scream. For the first time, I realize I taste blood, but I’m terrified to consider my injuries.
While Laiyla holds the mattress up, I drag a dresser and two nightstands to brace it against the glass.
I knew you could do it. My father’s final comment warms me. Now, get to know these women. They’ll be important to you the rest of your life.
1
KT
Seven and a half years later.
My phone dings with a text message from Chloe, and I stop scrolling through Instagram to read it.
My meditation session went longer than expected. I’m running late.
I laugh because her meditation session is self-scheduled and self-propelled. She lives next door in our small marina on Wildfire Lake in central California, so I barely have to lift my voice to ask her, “Is that code for you fell asleep?”
“I did not fall asleep,” she calls back. “And it’s so much more serene to text.”
The lack of privacy works for me, especially since I’m not hooking up the way I did when I worked on a cruise ship with a plentiful, varied supply of sexy men looking for nothing but fun.
Now, I live in a small town where everyone knows everything, and I’d rather not get a reputation as a slut. But the real reason I put my sexuality into hibernation is because I don’t do serious or long-term, and I really don’t want any complications or bad feelings in town. When the weather warms up again in a few months, I’ll head to Santa Barbara and catch myself a few surfer boys.
The heater in my houseboat kicks on, and that insidious engine tick starts up again. I clench my teeth and look toward the back of the boat, where the engine compartment lies beneath the deck. I’ve been meaning to look at that, but there’s always so much other work to get done.
I push from the futon I use as a sofa, stuff my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and turn off the heater before I head outside. The winter air is crisp enough for my breath to create clouds, but not much more, and the marina is lit up by thousands of twinkling, multicolored Christmas lights. Laiyla, Chloe, and I strung them everywhere—the marina, the boats, even the construction equipment being used in the marina’s renovation.
The sight brings mixed emotions. I always miss my dad at Christmas, but I’m so grateful I’ve been able to reconnect with my best friends, Chloe and Laiyla. I’m also excited about this venture we’re undertaking together and the freedom it will bring me in the long term.
I grab one of the hanging lamps I’m always using in my work and crouch to pull open the door to the engine compartment. On my knees, I hover over the engines, looking for anything out of place. When nothing obvious catches my eye, I reach in and tug on the belts and test the tightness of various nuts and bolts. The smallest engine controls the heating unit, and it’s tucked into a dark corner. Stretching, I reach around the back and squeeze my hand into an area I can’t see to feel around.