I really had every intention of running this morning. I have some proper clothes and shoes now, and I even loaded my iPhone with songs to drown out all the heavy breathing. But when the alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., the comfort of bed is a magical spell cast over me, preventing me from leaving even as my brain scolds me. In fact, I sleep in so late that I barely have time for a shower before racing off to get to work at nine.
Lynn, the woman about Grandma’s age I met the other day when I was here filling out paperwork, leads me on a tour of the shelter. She’s very thorough and shows me everything from the animal enclosures to the turtle socialization area to the employee lunch room.
It’s clear right away that I won’t be getting to pet cute animals all day. Lynn sets me to work cleaning the waste from the dog enclosures and hosing down the cement while they’re on their walks. She takes me to my starting point but is called away for a crisis at registration. She quickly hands me some gloves, points to the hose, and tells me to clean from back to front inside each enclosure. And that’s the extent of my instruction. I’m okay, though. It can’t be that difficult, just a little gross maybe.
I drag the hose over to this first empty stall. The dog enclosures are rectangular cement areas with a shady section at the back for hot days like today. I discover immediately that it’s not as easy as one might think to clean from back to front. The ground must be uneven because most of the dirt and waste that I hose toward the front of the stall and out to the drain ends up flowing back inside. I try again but get the same result. This tragicomedy back-and-forth between the water and me seems to go on forever. I glance around, hoping no one who works here has noticed how the new girl can’t even hose dirt off cement properly.
After I finally figure out a successful system and get this enclosure cleaned, I fill the water bowl and move it back in the shady portion of the stall. I’m not sure if I should do that, but it’s so hot out here—a little more inland than Grandma’s house—that water will be hot in minutes if I don’t put it in the shade. I pull the hose out and move to the next empty enclosure when my eye catches sight of something that delivers a blow to my chest.
I fully turn around to stare at the young boy in the red Ohio State T-shirt. He is probably around Connor’s age with the same dark, wavy hair. His dad says something to him that makes both of them laugh. The boy playfully punches his dad on the arm, and his dad tousles his hair in return. I remember how my dad used to tease Connor. He pretended to hate it, but I think he secretly loved messing around with Dad.
My eyes lock on the giant OSU on the boy’s chest. I can’t help but worry again about what Mrs. Thomas told me the other day. She said I should be able to get in to Ohio State with my GPA and the score I have so far on the ACT, but now that I’m an out-of-state applicant, it will be a little more difficult. At least I didn’t shoot myself in the foot on this one by coming to California. I don’t think it would have made it any easier had I gone to Michigan. In fact, it would probably be worse. I chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” A voice startles me, and for some unknown reason as I whirl around to face it, my hand squeezes the hose nozzle. I spray a steady stream of water directly into the chest of a boy in a blue Seaside polo shirt that matches mine.
“Ahhhh!” He raises his hands to shield himself, dropping hold of a dog’s leash.
“Oh my God!” I panic and drop the hose, which only makes it worse as remnant water soaks the boy’s tan shorts, legs, and tennis shoes, and the dog—which miraculously has not moved—as the hose snakes its way to the ground.
The boy shakes water off his legs and grabs the leash.
“Oh my God. Oh my God... I’m so sorry...” It all happens so fast that it takes maybe an entire minute for me to realize I’m rubbing the chest of this stranger, trying to wipe away the water. My hand freezes in the middle of his chest. My cheeks flush, and I slowly lower my hand and take a step back, keeping my eyes focused on the ground.
His laughter indicates it’s okay to look up. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat for a hundredth time.
“It’s okay. It actually felt refreshing,” he says as he squeezes water out of his shirt. “You new here?”
I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not, and my cheeks heat up more. “Yes,” I respond with some sort of squeaky whimper while wiping off the bit of water that got onto my legs.
He moves the leash from one hand to the other and holds out his free hand. “I’m Ryan.”
“I’m Emma.” I shake his hand and make the unwitting mistake of looking into his eyes. They are a bold, vibrant blue—deep like the YinMn blue of that new Crayola crayon I fell in love with—but with specks of turquoise brightening them like tiny lightning bolts. I stare a little too long which causes me to hold onto his hand for an awkward extra moment.
I let go and mumble, “Sorry, yeah. Nice... nice to meet you.”
He laughs. “Really, it’s fine.” He points in the direction of the empty enclosure I’d been about to clean what feels like an eternity ago. “You finished with this one? I’ve got to put Jasper back.” He leans down and gives a scratch behind the ear to the quiet gray Husky-type dog that continues to sit still by Ryan’s side. He’s a beautiful dog with such a sad face.
“He’s gorgeous,” I say, admiring the dog’s equally striking wide eyes.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “They found him on the street. He’s only been here a week.”
I frown and let the dog sniff my hand.
Ryan clears his throat. “The stall?”
I launch into my thousandth ‘sorry’ of the day and explain that I was just getting to it. I hurriedly reach for the hose, but Ryan puts out his hand.
“Uh, maybe it’d be better if I did that.” Two perfectly-placed dimples emerge as a grin spreads across his face. He offers a trade: Jasper’s leash for the hose. I smile and accept.
While he hoses down the cement, I kneel next to Jasper. “Hey, buddy.” I slowly reach out to give him another scratch behind the ear. He pulls back slightly. “It’s okay, Jasper. I’m not going to hurt you.” I move even more slowly, and this time he lets me scratch behind those ears. “Aww, that’s a good boy,” I coo. Jasper leans his head into me. “Yeah, I know it’s been rough. But we’ll find you a good home.” I move my hand to the back of his neck. “We sure will.”
The water has stopped, so I glance at Ryan. He’s frozen inside the enclosure watching me. I spring to my feet, scaring Jasper a little. Maybe I’m not supposed to be handling the animals. Lynn recited a litany of rules earlier. Was that one of them?
“Sorry,” I say again.
Ryan shakes himself free of some thought and says, “No, you’re fine. I’m done.” He drags the hose out, and I hand Jasper over to him. Ryan leads him inside, gives him a few more scratches, then shuts the gate.
Instead of taking his break, Ryan helps me clean out the remaining enclosures. He says he doesn’t mind helping since it’s my first day, but I think he just doesn’t trust me with the hose. He asks about me, and I give him the SparkNotes version: I’m a senior and moved here because of family. He doesn’t press for additional details and doesn’t reveal much more about himself other than he’ll be a senior, too, at Union High.
He doesn’t let me do much other than fill the water bowls from the spigot nearby, so I take silent inventory of him: the eyes, the light caramel skin, the thick straight chocolate brown hair that sort of sticks out haphazardly on top, and the easy grin that seems a permanent fixture on his face. He catches me staring at him a couple of times, and I casually pretend to wipe my chin on my shoulder or stare exaggeratedly beyond him. I’m sure it doesn’t fool him, and it really doesn’t even matter. I’ve already soaked him with water, and he’s been staring at me, especially my hair. So I’m sure he thinks I’m a freak.
I’m relieved when we’re finally finished and he helps me find Lynn to learn my next task. Thankfully, he doesn’t report all my screw-ups to her, and I’m just grateful to survive the rest of the day without making any more mistakes.
I’m exhausted and dirty when I get back to Grandma’s. She’s reading in her armchair, and Susan is on the couch working a crossword puzzle. She did come back. I flew by her earlier in the kitchen on my way to work.
I tell Grandma—actually both of them as Susan is surprisingly interested—about my first day at work, complete with a full description of my humiliating introduction to Ryan. When I announce I’m going to take a shower, Grandma surprises me.
“How about we go to the beach instead? You could cool off in the ocean,” Grandma suggests, closing her book.
I’m surprised because it’s around five and Grandma has a strict 7:00 p.m. dinnertime. I’m not sure we could go to the beach and be back in time to get cleaned up and fix dinner by then. “What about dinner?” I ask.
“Oh, we can eat later this once. Can’t we?” I’m not sure if she’s asking me or Susan. “You haven’t been to the beach yet, and school will be starting soon...” She raises her eyebrows as her voice trails off.
All I wanted to do was shower and veg out on the couch, but Grandma’s eyes are practically dancing, and I hate to disappoint her. Plus, I do want to go to the beach and take my first swim in the Pacific Ocean. Callie has been hounding me for beach pictures. “Sure. Yeah, that would be fun,” I say.
“Great.” She claps her hands together and rises. “I have a couple of beach chairs out in the garage.”
Susan leaps to her feet, translating Grandma’s declaration into a task to be completed. We get changed and not more than twenty minutes later, Susan has dropped us at one of the numbered streets that dead-ends into the beach. I have her cell number, and I’ll text her when we’re ready to come home. There’s no way she could have stayed if she wanted to; there isn’t a single empty parking space anywhere.
I carry the chairs and Grandma carries her beach tote and the towels. The coarse grains of sand slide through my toes as we traverse the wide expanse of beach. We weave around the many clusters of people who remain despite the late hour.
Grandma stops midway to the water. “How about here?”
I wanted to get closer to the ocean, but I say, “Sure. This is good.” I set out the chairs and spread the towels in front of them. Grandma sits and fishes her large straw sun hat out of her bag. I pull off my shorts and tank top. The sun is still hot, and I’m already sweating.
“Do you want to walk down to the water with me?” I ask.
“Oh no, sweetheart. I’m going to read my book. You go ahead.”
I realize she hasn’t even worn a bathing suit. I had assumed it was under her long-sleeved blouse and shorts. Although I’m not sure why I thought that; she never wore a swimsuit to the lake in Ohio either. “Didn’t you wear a bathing suit?” I still inquire.
She dismisses such a silly notion with her hand. “No, I never do. I just like to be out in the sunshine and fresh air. Plus, at my age, no one needs to see that.” She shakes her head.
“Grandma! You’re not that old!” I laugh.
“I’m fine here. You go ahead.” She waves me on.
I head off. When my first foot meets the water, I recoil in sheer horror. It’s an ice bath. Definitely colder than the Atlantic water I remember from our Florida vacations. I whip around toward Grandma and her body quakes with laughter. I grab my upper arms and shiver as if to say, “Why didn’t you tell me???”
I turn back and try again, this time armed with proper expectations. I wade ankle deep and stop to acclimate. A little boy to my right squeals in delight as a baby wave crashes right in front of him, sending salty sparks up to tickle his face. The water is fairly calm today with small waves rolling in one right after another. Out beyond the break line, the deep blue water ripples in the gentle breeze. The setting sun is angled so it creates a spotlight of tiny sparkling twinkle lights dancing on the water’s surface.
I move a bit farther out until I’m knee-deep. The water is fairly clear, and I spot a fish darting around and finally crashing into my ankle. I think of Grandpa Emilios and the picture in Grandma’s hallway of Grandpa fishing in Corfu when he was a little kid. I gaze at the endless water in front of me, seeming to go on forever, and think of how much Grandpa Emilios must have loved living here—the sand, the water, and the open sea in front of him.
I wave at Grandma, but she’s no longer watching. She’s got her nose in her book and doesn’t see me. She’s here in this seaside town—even after my grandpa died and her only family was still back in Ohio—and she doesn’t even like the ocean. She’s living out Grandpa’s dream, dedicated to it just as this shore underneath my feet is dedicated to the water that ceaselessly crashes its waves against it. It’s funny to me how much she has in common with the sea and yet has little interest in it.
A bigger wave splashes me, and I turn back toward the water. I know I just have to go for it. I can’t be scared or tentative. I inhale a giant breath and slowly let it go. I squeeze my eyes and brace myself. One, two three... I open my eyes and dive forward into the crisp blue water.