There Will Come a Time (10 page)

I look back at the shore. Hanna is timidly working her way in, while Sebastian sits this one out. Charlie stands with Hanna, which is fine. She'll probably need more help. I notice that Charlie's hands are all over Hanna, which is not fine. It's like I'm watching some stupid romantic comedy where the guy teaches the girl how to play pool by coming up behind her to help her hold a cue. Hanna giggles and Charlie steadies her on the board.

Oh, please, Hanna. Like you can't get on a board.
She's acting like she's helpless, and I hate when she does that. Even though I did just fall off myself. I wasn't putting on a show. I focus on what I'm doing instead of what's going on with Hanna. I'm not here for her.

I paddle out. It's rough, trying to paddle and stay on the board. I tighten my core and work to keep my balance centered. I see a wave and have to get off to turn the board around. I try to remember what Charlie said about waiting until the wave pushes you.

The wave hits the board and I push myself up, but the board starts to tip. I have to grab on to the rails to steady myself, but the force of the wave hits and shoots the board out from underneath me. I'm pulled under. It tugs at the leash around my ankle. I surface and swim to the board, grab it, and get back on. It's much harder than I thought, but I need to do this. Number five on Grace's list said to surf, not to fall and splash around in the ocean.

Another wave heads toward me. I try again with pretty much the same results. To get more of a feel for the board and the waves, I catch a few using the surfboard like a boogie board, but I still flop around. After what feels like hours of getting pummeled, I finally get a break. The wave carries me and I push up, not jumping to my feet, but using a knee to thrust me upward. It works. I'm actually standing on the board. I'm all wobbly because I can't get my balance. I hold out my arms to try and steady myself, but I flip backward, crashing into the white water. I jump up because I'm now where I can stand and whip the water out of my face. For a few seconds I was actually surfing. Charlie and Hanna are cheering. Sebastian yells something from the shore, but I can't hear him over the ocean.

Determined now, I catch a couple more waves in the white water, trying to feel how to maneuver, trying to get a sense of balance and board and motion. After probably ten waves, I find one that I can stand up on again. I'm still shaky, but this time the ride lasts for maybe ten seconds instead of five.

I take the board just past where the waves are breaking. Not that they're huge waves or anything. It's pretty tame here, and there's a sandbar, so it's not that deep. I run both hands through my hair to smooth it out. The water's cold on my face and hands, but I'm warm, protected by the suit.

I see Hanna's out of the water now, and Sebastian is on the
board. The first wave slams him. I laugh out loud, wondering if I looked that ridiculous. Probably.

I glanced at the smokestacks. It's not what you'd think of as picturesque. The water's cloudy, probably from the refinery. A plane flies overhead, a reminder of how close we are to the Los Angeles airport. Charlie said this was a good place to learn, though. The locals are friendly and expect beginners. There's a cluster of surfers nearby who don't seem to mind me flailing around. I've tried to steer as far clear of them as I can. The clouds are starting to break overhead and sunlight hits the top of the waves.

“So, Grace,” I say. “Here we are. What do you think?”

Grace hated the cold. She hated getting wet. She hated the water. Whenever we went to the beach, which wasn't really that much, she stayed on the shore, collecting the small sand crabs. When the water came in, they'd get flooded out of their holes. When the water was drawn back into the ocean, the crabs would try to bury themselves quickly before the next wave came. They'd make these V-shaped lines in the sand. That's how you knew where to dig for them. She'd run and scoop the sand, then she'd hold her hand over a bucket and let the crabs fall inside. I did it with her, but I didn't like the way it felt when they tried to dig into your hands. It didn't hurt, but it kind of freaked me out, like they were little alien creatures burrowing into my skin.

Grace's wish list is odd. It's very physical, and all things she hadn't done before. In fact, it seems more like things she was
afraid
of doing. Why would Grace have wanted to surf? Did she secretly like the water? Did someone else put her up to it? Did River? He didn't seem the surfing type.

Thinking of River gives me a headache, like one of those behind-the-eye headaches that takes coffee, Excedrin, a shower, and going to bed to finally get rid of it. I don't get migraines very often: the first time was last year after a very stressful week of tests, practice, a recital, and jazz band concert. The second time was after the accident.

I see a wave coming in, shake my head free of River, and decide to go for it. It'll be a big one because it's on the outside of the break, but I'm ready. I turn and wait for the water to start to take me. I paddle hard and when it starts propelling me forward, I push up. This time I pop up to my feet, without using my knees. But I don't anticipate the force of the wave dropping, and I'm thrown off the board and crash underneath the water. I try to swim, to get to the surface, but I'm caught in the churning water. I panic. The undertow spins me around, and I'm confused about which way is up. I don't know how long I've been under, but it feels like a long time. My chest begins to hurt because I'm still holding my breath. I try to relax, thinking that maybe if I do, I'll float to the surface. I'm suddenly very calm.

I wonder if this is how Grace felt at the end. If there was a moment of peace right after she said my name and the car hit us. Right before she stopped breathing, did she have a brief moment when dying came as naturally as living?

My brain feels like it's going to explode, and my reflexes take over. My body wants to live. I break through the surface, gulping a huge breath. I cough and cough from all the water I hadn't even realized I'd swallowed.

“Mark!” I hear my name being called. Charlie is near me. “Can you get on your board?”

“Yeah,” I shout between gasps. Surprisingly, my board is still attached to my ankle.

“Get on it. Follow me in.”

I'm right where the waves are breaking, and another one is coming quickly. I get on my board and paddle in, staying close to Charlie.

At the shore, I stumble out of the water, dragging my board. I'm a little shaky. Charlie pats me on the back.

“Awesome, bro. Fearless.” He laughs.

“Are you okay?” Hanna asks as soon as I reach the blanket. She hands me my towel.

“Yeah,” I say, still out of breath.

“I was so scared. It took forever for you to come up.” She hits me. “Don't do that again!”

“Like I planned that.” I am relieved to be back on shore. “How'd it go?” I ask Sebastian.

“Not in my DNA.”

“I got on one knee,” Hanna says, all proud of herself.

“You guys were great,” Charlie says. He looks out at the ocean. “A good set's coming in. Mind if I get in a few before we go?”

“Have at it,” Sebastian says.

The three of us sit on the blanket watching the water, while Charlie heads out. He makes it look easy, as do the other surfers out there. We watch him take a wave, riding it much longer than I ever did. When he's finished, he just floats over the lip of the wave and sits on the board to wait for another one.

“He's really good,” Hanna says. She takes a CapriSun out of the bag she brought with her. It takes her a couple of tries to puncture the straw through.

“I had no idea how hard this was,” Sebastian says. “I'll stick to land.”

“You think you'll do it again?” I ask Hanna.

“Maybe,” Hanna says. “Charlie's a good teacher. But my arms are going to be crazy sore tomorrow.”

It did take a lot of upper-body strength with all that paddling. I don't admit it, but I know I'm going to be sore tomorrow too.

“I can't believe it's only nine a.m. On a Saturday. I should still be sleeping,” she says.

“I should be prepping food,” Sebastian says. He unzips the suit and lies back against his towel.

Charlie wipes out on a big wave. “Ouch,” I say. But he gets right back up on the board and paddles out again.

“Grace would have . . . ,” Hanna begins, and stops.

I finish her thought. “Hated this.”

Hanna laughs. “I know! What was she thinking? She barely liked it when we'd go swimming and play Marco Polo at the community pool when we were kids.”

“I'd always give her position away.”

“Yeah, 'cause you were a cheater,” Hanna says.

“I'd win the splash wars, even with the two of you ganging up on me,” I say.

“You were such a brat.”

We're both quiet, remembering our summers at the pool.

“It's a list of fears,” I say finally. “They are things she was afraid of doing.”

“Maybe we should say something. Recognize the moment,” Hanna says.

I know she's waiting for me to initiate, but I can't. Besides, this was all Hanna's idea. I watch Charlie catch another wave. It's beautiful and simple. He rides for maybe twenty seconds and then gets off, to wait for another.

I think about how the ocean never stops. It's relentless. It
keeps going forever and ever. I pick up a handful of sand and let it fall through my fingers. I wonder how long it took for the beach to be made. How many years for the ocean to beat against stone and rock, until they crumbled. What can I say about Grace?

A small stone remains in my palm. It's smooth and dark, standing out from the pale grains. I don't want to be a pebble turning into sand, rubbed free of Grace. I want to keep her in my heart and hold her deep, where the waters cannot touch.

“Grace, if you're watching us. We miss you and love you,” Hanna says, since I'm not giving her any help. “Thanks for getting us to surf. And may we never do it again.” She smiles.

“Right on,” Sebastian says.

I stand and walk down to the water's edge. I throw the stone into the ocean. As the surf retreats, I spot the V tracks, like tiny clusters of birds flying in formation, in the wet sand. I bend down and dig. I hold a huge clump of sand and watch the tiny crabs thrash. They reach the palm of my hand, but I don't release them. They try to claw into my skin, but their limbs aren't strong enough. I want to feel the pain of them cutting through, but all I feel is an irritating rubbing, like time itself pressing against earth and ocean. I tilt my palm and they drop into the sand, disappearing.

Suddenly there's a foot with orange toenails digging right in the spot where I've dropped the crabs.

“Gross,” Hanna says.

I get up. “You're probably killing them with your big feet.”

“Oh no you didn't,” she says.

“What?”

“Say I have big feet.”

“Well, they're big to the crabs.”

She skips to the water and splashes me with her foot. I look at her. Her eyes are dancing. She tries to dart away, but I catch her in the middle and pick her up.

“No!” she shrieks. “Mark, put me down!”

Even though she's kicking and squirming, I carry her into the water and throw her into a wave. But I stumble and fall as I do it. Then she's on top of me, climbing on my back, trying to take me down.

“You are so dead!” she shouts. Another wave crashes into us and we both go under. She comes up coughing.

“You okay?” I ask, and reach for her, pulling her away from the deeper waters, to where she can stand. This time she comes willingly.

“Yes. I just need to catch my breath.”

I hold her, waiting until she tells me she's okay. Instead she slips her arm around my waist while the waves break against us again and again.

O
n Sunday morning I sleep in while everyone goes to church. I stopped going right after Grace died. My parents didn't make me, and I am grateful for it. I overheard Dad telling Jenny a while back that “He'll come when he's ready.” I don't tell them that I may never be ready.

Church is not a bad place. I used to play for the band, and Marty, the band's leader, still sends me an e-mail or text from time to time about coming to practice. Good bass players are always hard to find. But I don't know if I can be in a room with God and all those people who've known Grace and me for years. I think I'd suffocate. I don't want them asking me how I'm doing, or telling me how much they loved Grace. I don't want
their kindness. Their kindness kills me. It's not the sugary-sweet kind. It's genuine and motivated by love and there's no fighting it. Sometimes love can be more overwhelming than hate. So I don't go.

I pull a pair of jeans out of my drawer and throw on a T-shirt before heading downstairs. There's a yellow sticky note for me on the fridge in Jenny's handwriting.
Mark, call your mom
. I crumple it up and throw it in the trash. They can't make me talk to her. Where was she before Grace died? She had years to reach out.
Years
. I'm not going to be the one to hold her hand through this.

I open the front door and stand outside. I should get in some bass practice, but I'm tempted to head over to Hanna's. I hesitate though. After the beach, it's like something's shifted. I remember how her skin felt against mine as I held her in the ocean. It would be so much easier if Grace were here. She'd tell me what to do, although I know what she'd probably say.

Grace told me once that Hanna and I just needed to get it over with. Make out or something already. I'd ask her what Hanna thought about me, but like I said, Grace was always the best at keeping secrets. She said I was being stubborn by not admitting my own feelings.