Summer of Love (21 page)

“Sexy Sadie? The Beatles?”

“Yep — and you? All you need is Love?”

“How’d you know?” I ask. “Out of all the Beatles songs with ‘love’ in the titles?”

Sadie stretches her tanned legs out so she can prop her feet up on the railing. “We have that record at home. When I was little I used to look at all the album covers and next to that song, there was a heart in indelible purple marker….” She looks at me. “I figured it had something to do with you.” Suddenly, Sadie stands up and looks at the ocean. “Man, I gotta get in there. One of the reasons I work here is so I can surf and get paid for it. You know, testing boards and stuff. Giving lessons. You want a lesson?”

Finally, Arabella pipes up. “Oh, let’s do it! Come on, Love. It’ll be fun.”

Sadie nods. “The Brit’s got a point.” Sadie motions for us to follow her inside. “And then later, we’ll hang out at my place, okay?” Then she stops. “Oh — I totally forgot to give you this, though.” She runs inside then comes back out with an envelope for me. “Your aunt seemed like a really chill person.” She looks at me in silent acknowledgement of Mable’s passing. “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You guys get ready and I’ll change in a minute. But just to warn you — and Arabella you can back me up on this — I am so not gifted in the realm of physical coordination.”

“It’s true,” Arabella says. “Love could fall off a flat surface.”

“Whether you fall or fly, it’s the ride that counts, right?” Sadie says then laughs at herself like I would. “Man, don’t I do a great surfer-chick?”

Arabella goes to the back of the store through wooden saloon-style doors to change and store our bags while I sit on a stool and open my envelope.

Love — You made it! You gave romance with Charlie another try (I hope), you journeyed to the Vineyard and to California, and you’ve found Sadie. Whatever — or to whomever — Sadie leads you — I hope you’ll stay strong and expand with the experiences. Do you feel I’ve been along for the ride?

I nod like she’s here to see me and then I start to cry. Not big sobs but slow tears that sting my cheeks and leave my eyes burning. I assume she means Sadie will lead me to meeting my mother for the first time in my cogent mind. I shiver at the thought and realize it could be mere hours away. Right after attempting to ride the waves. Maybe surfing is an omen, too.

But like all great trips, this one has to end, too. If I could leave notes for you forever, I would. Then you could be, like, forty and finding notes from me. That’d be pretty neat. Anyway, college looms ahead — and I know you’ll pick somewhere that really suits you. It matters, but it doesn’t — if that makes sense. It’s not an end point — it’s another part of your life. Think about where would make you excited and happy — YOU — not anyone else. Attached you’ll find one option. Just one — not the only one. But inside, at least to me, you’ve always been a storyteller. You’re able to set the scene and relay the dialogue so I always feel I’m experiencing everything with you. And I hope you’ll keep that going, even though I’m not there to hear it. I love you and always will. Now get out there and live! Love, Mable

I fold up her letter and open the other folded paper she has paperclipped to her note. Photocopied onto white paper is a newspaper article about the Beverly William Award and how Poppy Massa-Tonclair is the judge. All this I knew from my run-in at the used bookstore in Edgartown, but Mable has used a pink highlighter to draw my attention to the second to last paragraph which details the Beverly William Award for Younger Writers. My heart jumps, bumps and skips while I read.

This award, granted to a writer of no more than twenty-two years who has yet to publish a booklength manuscript, provides publication and a stipend to cover one year’s worth of living and travel expenses in order for the writer to complete a significant portion of his or her next work. Manuscripts may be fiction, non-fiction or creative non-fiction and must be turned in by December of the year prior to the award’s issuing.

Due in December? Right when college apps are due? I sigh, let down. Like I could ever write an entire book between now and then while also doing the ridiculous amount of homework and college work that needs doing. I reread the info, memorize the website for potential future lookage and then tuck Mable’s letter and the Beverly William Award paper away in my bag and flip flop to the back room to find my half-sister (my half-SISTER! Holy crap!) and my best friend — and, as Mable suggested, get out there and live.

“I could have you practice pop-ups on the beach,” Sadie says, her long blonde-red hair swaying behind her as heads right for the water. “But that’s way boring. So let’s go out to where the waves are breaking…”

“Okay,” I say like I have any clue what I’m about to do. “I’m just a lemming. Tell me where to go.”

Sadie and Arabella head out into the water and I follow. After the initial shock of being in the water after being hot on land, it feels good to be in the ocean. “I’m trying not to think about Jaws,” I say and do as Sadie’s doing, lying on her board and paddling out further. I look behind my shoulder at the surf shop, which seems far away and small, the moment of finding out I’m not an only child receding into the past like objects in a rearview mirror.

“Make sure not to hold your board in a position where a wave could knock it back into your face,” Arabella says.

“Yeah,” Sadie agrees. “Unless you like the broken nose idea. Okay…now I’m gonna get you started.”

Arabella waits for a wave and seems to effortlessly be carried ashore, popping up on her surfboard on the second try, her sunlotioned self gleaming in the west coast rays.

“Put your board here,” Sadie says, and puts hers at her side so I do the same. “Watch the waves that’re coming towards you. Then you pick one.”

“How do I know which one to pick?” I ask and realize I could be talking about guys or friends or colleges.

“You gotta look and check it out. Find one that’s big enough and pick one that to pick you up and take you in but not so big it’ll crush you.” Sadie grins at me and wipes the wet hair back from her face. In the water, I imagine we look even more alike, with her hair less blonde, and mine pushed away from my eyes. We tread water there and look at each other. “Go for it.”

“I’m scared,” I say and know I’m talking about more than finding the right wave. My life is changing a million miles a minute right now, with relative popping up and fading, locations shifting, my own expectations unknown.

“I’m right here. Go for it!” Sadie sounds so confident and sure that I’ll be fine that I start to believe her.

One big wave passes, then a small one — too small — and then I see one and ask Sadie if she’s going to take it. “Yeah, now watch me.” I watch her get ready and she yells her narration to me. “You’re on a small, light board you’re going to have to work a little harder. Right as the wave’s about to reach you, push…” She’s up on the board and yells back. “When’re you’re belly down on top of your board, paddle…the wave’ll pick you up! You should feel the board rise in the water and…”

Then I can’t hear anything else and I’m alone in the water. I could think about what lurks underneath me, or what lies ahead with potentially meeting my mother today — or the various thrills and trappings of love, lust, and a long-distance relationship with Charlie (not that Martha’s Vineyard to Hadley qualifies as super long-distance, but it’s enough to matter), but I don’t. instead, I feel my body relax and float in the ocean. I listen to the waves and find myself doing what Mable said I do well — experiencing the moment both so I can tell about it later and live it now.

I pick that wave that feels right to me — not by thinking but just by feeling — and paddle hard, my arms sore but still going and then, in a big leap of faith, I stand up. Of course, I’m only up for a minute or so — with my feet on the surfboard and my arms out for balance, the water gliding under me, propelling me forwards to the beach where Arabella and Sadie are waiting for me.

While Arabella and I change into dry clothes, Sadie goes to talk to Stan, the owner of the surf shops and to Chase, to find out what he and their surfer friends are doing later.

“Have you asked yet?” Arabella says and I don’t have to demand clarification.

“I’m too…overwhelmed.”

“You have to meet her, Love,” Arabella says and shakes her hair out like a dog, splattering me with salty water.

“Thanks, Fido,” I say. “Of course I want to…but I don’t want Sadie to think I’m all interested in meeting Gala and not in hanging out with her. I mean, maybe she hasn’t brought up Gala because the woman still has no interest in meeting me. Even after all this time.”

Even though she has a daughter. One she didn’t desert. I try sliding into my jeans but have that post-water tugging experience of having them stick to my thighs. Instead of the denim I go for a casual skirt that makes me think of walking hand in hand on the beach with Charlie. I want to call him and hear his voice — find out what his big announcement is that he plans on saying at his parent’s fancy dinner — but I feel like with my news of Sadie, I’d be upstaging him. And with my dad, too. I call Dad’s cell to leave a message that I’m here and fine and safe but I don’t add anything else. I don’t want him to be all excited about his trip to Europe with Louisa and have me drop the sibling bomb. Thinking of life back East reminds me of how fast the summer always goes and then how school slams you with that rush of newness for all of three seconds until you realize it’s always going to be the same. Except this year is my last year at boarding school and now I’m in Fruckner — the same house that Lindsay Parrish is in — so the suggestion of things remaining the same is unlikely. For a minute I can transpose myself from the beach in Malibu to the dorms at Hadley Hall, and it’s fall or winter and I’m in a sweater rather than a tank top and — and why is it that in these imaginings, Jacob is always there? I have a confrontation with my imagination and remind myself he’s hardly at friend level right now, let alone parietal level of visiting me in my as-ye-uninhabited dorm room. But I digress.

“God — you just got your Jacob look,” Arabella scolds me.

“I get a look?” I ask, blushing.

“Yes, it’s like this,” she looks wistfully out the window to the sea and dramatically rests her face on her forearms.

“I’m not that bad,” I say. “Am I?”

She shrugs. “So when are you going to ask about your mum — or do I have to do it?”

“I guess I’ll ask Sadie when she comes back,” I say. “What do I do just say, how’s Gala or can I meet her or what?”

“That’s really for you to figure out,” Arabella says. She brushes her hair and then we pack up our stuff, balling up the wet bathing suits in a plastic bag. We take our luggage outside and sit on the ramp, our hair drying in the now-fading sunlight. Sunbathers and swimmers are packing up, going home or going out, getting ready for that transition from daytime into evening.

“It’s almost the fourth of July,” Arabella says.

“I know. I kind of wish…”

Arabella nods. “I know — that you could be with Charlie?”

“Not that it isn’t great being here, but I feel badly — like I’m letting him down.”

“You aren’t — you’re just living your own life, too. And of all people, he’s got to get that. He’s the spokesperson for choosing your own path, right?”

“And what about you and Henry?” I ask and tuck a stray bit of hair behind Arabella’s ear.

“Oh, he’s just another in my long line of lascivious men…” she looks up the beach and sees Chase walking with Sadie. “Maybe I’ll find proper distraction here.”

“And then what?” I ask. “I spend all this time wondering what my future holds but you never talk about yours. Are you going for the film or the stage?”

Arabella twists her mouth. “You know, I always thought it’d be film. I can’t very well audition for theatre in London without everyone blaming nepotism for the casting — or the lack of it. So film would be different.”

My eyes widen. “We should so try to get into Martin Eisenstein’s party!” I say. “It’s tonight, right?”

Arabella claps her hands. “Oh, let’s do it! Do you think Sadie’ll be into it?”

I debate by tilting my body back and forth like a metronome. “I don’t know…it might not be her thing…plus, what about meeting Gala?”

Sadie and Chase shuffle up the beach and meet us on the ramp. “Where’re you guys staying, anyway?”

Arabella and I look at each other and shrug. “We don’t actually know yet.”

“Good — then it settled and you can stay with me,” Sadie says. “Let’s go.”

On the car ride to Sadie’s, she explains where her house is (hers=hers and her parents) and how even though it’s nice, all the schools she’s applying to this fall are on the east coast. “True, I love the waves, but I’m kind of ready to jump into something new, you know?”

“I know what you mean,” I say. “I’m looking at Stanford.”

“Wouldn’t that be funny if we traded locations?”

“You could just bum around for a year or two…” Chase suggests. He’s the constant loafer, all tanned and glowing and perpetually in sunglasses and worn in tee-shirts.

“And become a Stan-abee?” Sadie suggests and shakes her head. “No way.” As she drives she explains to me. “Stan was this champion surfer who had some epiphany and opened his two shacks. He basically just lives on the beach and barbeques and bums a round.”

“It doesn’t sound bad,” Arabella says.

“Not at all,” Chase says. “I figure I can delay college for a year or so before my dad flips out on me. It’s fun while it lasts.”

“So, you’re set on coming to Cali?” Sadie asks me as we turn down a winding road lined with high hedges.

“No, not set on it.” I think about how to explain it. “it’s more like coincidence and the fact that my college counselor got me this interview with this alumni person here and it’s all high-pressured east coast prep school craziness.”

“But if you had your way — what would you do?”

“You mean if I could snap my fingers and be immediately accepted somewhere?”

I snap my fingers as I say it. I remember Mable’s advice and close my eyes trying to picture being on a college campus, but just as I’m attempting to find my four-year future, Sadie swings the car through a huge gate that marks the entryway to —