The sun smiled down on the plein air art show at Devendorf Park in Carmel-by-the-Sea, where Herschel Greenfield couldn’t stop staring at Mila Davenport. She was tall, blonde, and fearless. A surfing goddess of the waves, and he’d just said the clumsiest thing to her, implying he wouldn’t want a painting of her on his wall precisely because of that. Truth was, he couldn’t imagine anything he’d rather look at all day than Mila, but preferably on dry land, so he wouldn’t have to look at crashing waves and be reminded that the sea had very nearly killed him.
However, she couldn’t know that was what he’d meant when he’d implied he didn’t want to buy a picture that featured her surfing. Mila was stunning. Tall, statuesque, with long sun-kissed blonde hair and sea-witch eyes that seemed to see right through him. As she walked away, Hersch felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. Not only was Mila gorgeous, she was strong enough to ride those treacherous waves. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be able to walk into the water without fear.
And with that single thought, his near-death experience came rushing back, as intense and terrifying as the very day it happened, more than a year ago.
The mission to space had been successful. Everything had gone as planned, and re-entry to Earth’s atmosphere was smooth. Even the splashdown itself was textbook. But within minutes, the seas turned, the waves roaring up with a sudden squall. The capsule, tough as it was, didn’t stand a chance. Unable to orient itself upright, it was hit by a wave and knocked onto its side. Water began to gush in, freezing and frothing, swirling around their feet.
Hersch didn’t panic—there wasn’t time for that. Instead, his training kicked in, and he knew that the most important thing was to get every astronaut out safely. Hersch insisted his team exit the flooding capsule ahead of him into the flotation collar to await rescue. He was single. If he perished, he wouldn’t leave behind a spouse or kids to mourn him.
With everyone out safely, Hersch left the capsule, but as he crossed the threshold, a huge wave grabbed him and swallowed him whole.
It happened so quickly he was robbed of a last breath before he plunged into the icy water and was pulled down. Survival instincts took over, something innate in him that screamed live, live, live. He managed to kick his way to the surface, desperate for air.
When he managed to get his head above water, the relief was only momentary. He began to flounder. Despite the regimented two hours of daily exercise while in the space station for so many months, his muscles had begun to atrophy, and his legs and arms were jelly, useless against the fierce waves.
He was left struggling in the ocean for what seemed like an eternity, spluttering as salt water filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes.
Rescuers almost didn’t get to him in time, and he very nearly drowned. To make matters worse, it was filmed by media, so the whole excruciating episode was reported in minute detail worldwide. His near-death experience was viewed, discussed, written about, and retold repeatedly. He could never escape it.
Only when he heard his name spoken in a tone that suggested someone had been saying it multiple times did Hersch snap out of his dark memories. In front of him was a tall man in chinos and a polo shirt. His shaved head lent him a tough edge, but there was a warmth in his steely gray eyes that Hersch noticed immediately.
“You looked light-years away,” the man said, not unkindly.
Not a bad guess, Hersch thought, wrenching himself back into the present. Thursday afternoon, third week of May, in Carmel. His heart was still pounding, but he pieced the fractured parts of himself back together until his breathing regulated and a smile could form on his face.
“Lost in thought,” he replied.
“I’m Jay Malone,” the man said, extending his hand. “And you’re a man who needs no introduction. Herschel Greenfield, astronaut hero. I’ve been following your stellar career since the beginning.”
Hersch swallowed. Since his accident, his relationship with the media had changed. Where once he’d been happy to give interviews or take photos for the press, now he would do anything to sink into anonymity and be spared retelling his story. He began to thank Jay, asking which newspaper or magazine he wrote for, when Jay cut him off midsentence.
“I’m a Hollywood agent,” he explained. “I’ve got an eye for a story. And boy, do you have a good one. Have you ever considered turning your life story into a movie?”
Hersch was stunned. “A movie?”
Jay grinned. “When you sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to your mom on her sixtieth birthday from space, you were the most famous person on the planet for a week. That video went viral. Millions of hits. You touched people. Got them right here.” He thumped his chest.
Now Hersch had to laugh. He’d always been a little playful, and the idea of the video had tickled him as well as being a fitting tribute to his hardworking mom. He could never have predicted that it would be shared so widely. He said as much to Jay, who again cut him off midsentence.
“Don’t be so modest. It was a stroke of comic genius. Plus, you have a great singing voice. Then you nearly didn’t make it back to your mom or anyone else. You can’t make that stuff up.”
Hersch tried not to shrink. He wasn’t one for praise. He’d been raised in a very loving family, but they weren’t the kind of folks who doled out heaps of praise. Hard work pays off was his mom’s motto, and he owed his career to her. It was one of the many reasons he’d made the birthday video in the first place.
“And the cake?” Jay continued. “How did you even manage that in a microgravity environment? Magic?” He laughed.
Now this Hersch didn’t mind talking about. “It wasn’t easy, but it sure was fun getting creative with some prepackaged food and Velcro strips to stop the ingredients from floating away while I assembled it. I had a stash of thermostabilized fruitcake and wrapped it in a sheet of almond paste that I’d dyed with pink food dye. That was the icing.”
“My favorite bit was when you lit the candle.”
“A trusty LED light and a touch of showmanship.”
“Well, that you’ve got in spades. If you feel like quitting the space game, I could represent you.”
Hersch chuckled again. “You flatter me.”
“Just a genuine fan.” Jay looked down at his phone. “Since I saw you here, I’ve been reviewing your story, and I’m in awe. You came from pretty humble beginnings, I see.”
Hersch nodded. “But my mom never let that stop us from dreaming big.”
“That’s why she named you Herschel—after the astronomer.”
Hersch was impressed and nodded. “You really have done your homework. My mom always said we could go to the moon and back as long as we worked hard. And, well, I took her words literally.”
“You always wanted to go to space. It was your big ambition from the age of four.”
“Right. Not the only four-year-old who ever wanted to become an astronaut.”
And then he began to worry. Jay was shrewd, that much was obvious, and it wouldn’t take much more digging to uncover Hersch’s fear of the ocean since the crash. If it got out, his entire career would be over. Everything he had worked so hard for all his life would vanish.
But Jay didn’t seem to notice that Hersch was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “And you made that ambition come true. A scholarship to Yale to study medicine and then a PhD in molecular biology. And somehow in your spare time, you completed thousands of hours of jet training. Then the space program.”
Hersch didn’t know what to say. It was all too much. And then he noticed they were no longer alone. Mila Davenport had reappeared, and was playfully punching Jay’s solid-looking bicep. The two of them must have known each other for a long time. At the sight of her, he felt his heartbeat quicken, admiration for her beauty overtaking his mounting sense of panic.
“Leave the man alone, Jay,” she said. “You’re worse than my brother when it comes to turning everything into a Hollywood story.” How had she known Herschel had needed someone to intervene in such a chance encounter?
Jay grinned as if Mila were paying him a compliment. It was clear he had no intention of stopping his rousing recitation of Hersch’s life story. In fact, he barely paused for breath as he continued to rattle off the details of Hersch’s career until he reached that fateful last mission.
“Of course I followed the story as it unfolded in the news. Those were rough seas your capsule came down in. The splashdown nearly killed you.”
Hersch watched, silently horrified as Jay told the story of his life. The familiar panic set in. He could feel Mila’s presence, so near him, as she listened to Jay, but he wondered if she could also hear his heart pounding too hard in his chest.
“Jay,” Mila interrupted, her tone firmer now, though it was clear Jay was so persistent a meteor wouldn’t stop him.
“But you were a hero,” he continued. “You made sure your fellow astronauts got out first.” Jay’s brilliant eyes were sparkling now, and it was clear to Hersch that he thought triumph concluded this tale, not fear.
Jay pinched the air between thumb and index finger, finally pausing his monologue to take a breath. “You were this close to death when they managed to rescue you. Look at you. You’re a true hero. These are the kinds of stories people love.”
Jay stood back as if waiting for applause. Hersch’s horror hadn’t faded. He couldn’t tell Jay that despite all his training, all his hard work, he could barely even look at the ocean.
When Hersch failed to respond, Jay suggested that Archer Davenport would be a perfect fit to play him in the biopic of his life.
“Oh, so this was your grand plan all along,” Mila said. “You’re always scheming to find the next big movie for your clients, so you figured you’d just create one yourself.”
“I know a good story when I see one,” Jay argued. “And, Hersch, you could come on board to make sure you’re happy with the way it’s told. With Arch attached and you as executive producer, we could make a nice little feature film. In fact, Arch is just over there.” He indicated a tall man with his arm around a dark-haired woman. They were talking to each other in the way those deeply in love communicated—as if no one else existed, even though they were in the middle of a very busy art fair. But Jay took no notice. He called, “Arch, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Hersch groaned inwardly. How had he allowed this conversation to continue? But the answer was simple: It had been a monologue, not a conversation.
To Hersch’s relief, the movie star didn’t hear. This charade had gone on long enough.
“I think he’s busy,” Hersch said. “Another time.” And before Jay could say anything else, Hersch quickly added, “Nice to meet you, but I’ve got to head out.” Flashing Mila a smile, he walked away as quickly as he could.
* * *
Mila’s heart felt heavy as she watched him walk away. How had Jay not seen that he was making Herschel Greenfield super uncomfortable relaying his whole life story blow-by-blow? The poor guy was obviously mortified by the attention and had just wanted to walk around the art fair without being reminded of his traumatic accident. She turned to her brother’s agent and said with conviction, “Jay, you’re an idiot.”
Jay looked surprised at her verbal attack. “What are you talking about?”
“Does it ever occur to you that someone might not want their life made into a movie?”
He looked at her blankly. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s a genuine American hero.”
It was clear she was going to have to spell things out. “Think about it this way. If you had come to me right after I had to quit surfing and said, ‘Hey, let’s make a movie about the dramatic end of your career,’ I would have punched you. Herschel Greenfield obviously has better self-control than I do, or your nose would be dripping blood right now.”
Jay’s gray eyes opened a little wider, and she could see it dawn on him that he might have gone in all Hollywood-guns-blazing without taking a moment to read the room.
He wrinkled his nose in thought. “Maybe my timing was off and I overstepped.”
Mila crossed her arms. “No maybe about it. If you ever see him again, don’t pitch him, okay?”
Her tone was harsher than she’d intended, and Jay’s eyebrows shot up.
“Why does this matter so much to you?” he asked, curiosity entering his voice. “You don’t even know the man.”
Jay was right. Despite one conversation, she didn’t, but she wasn’t about to tell Jay, of all people, that she’d felt an instant connection when they’d met. She knew all about career-ending trauma and had picked up that she and Hersch had that in common. Instead, she said, “It just does. So drop it.” With the final word hers, she turned on her heel and marched away.
She watched Herschel Greenfield for a couple of minutes. He was gazing at paintings, but she could tell he wasn’t taking them in. Should she leave him be?
He might be an astronaut and a tad on the nerdy side, but she’d felt an incredible connection to him when she’d first set eyes on him. He wasn’t her usual type, with his short brown hair, moustache, and casual clothes that looked ironed. Now that she knew he was an astronaut, it all made sense.
She glanced at the high-end watch that she almost never took off. Time was important to Mila. She wanted to make the most of every minute, whether in her job as a Realtor or snatching a few more minutes to ride the waves on her surfboard.
She had things to do. She needed to get going. With a last glance at Herschel Greenfield, she turned away and headed to her next appointment—showing a house to people who were available only at six p.m. on a Thursday night. She tried to be philosophical. As a salesperson, she had to bend her schedule to accommodate her clients.
She’d slipped her card to Herschel Greenfield earlier. She really hoped he’d call. Even if he wasn’t in the market for a house, she still hoped he’d call.