26

 

HURRICANE POINT

Each shaking off a feeling of oppression, Daniel and Gwen walked into the sunshine.

“She’s pretty intense, your friend Dr. Riley,” Dan observed.

Gwen squinted, pulled on a battered pair of Aviators. “Often the way with brilliant scientists.”

“OCD?”

Gwen frowned.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?”

“I hate labels,” said Gwen.

“But something’s there,” probed Dan. “And I would bet she’s somewhere on the bipolar spectrum too. She was an inch short of manic today.”

Gwen looked levelly at Dan. “You a psychiatrist?”

“Nope. Just an observer of human nature.” He said it with slight self-parody, but Gwen could sense it was the truth. There was a deep shrewdness in his eyes.

“You’d have to ask her,” she murmured.

“A loyal friend. I like that.” Dan gave her a crooked smile. “So, you gonna show me Hurricane Point?”

“What, you need your hand held?”

“You offering?”

Gwen laughed. “How’d you get here?”

He nodded to his car.

“The Batmobile?”

“Yeah, I like fast cars, and I like ’em black. So shoot me.”

“The thought occurs. It’s a long drive.”

Dan shrugged. “And?”

Gwen paused. She had nothing planned. She could show the guy the Point, send him on his way. What would be the harm?

“OK. Wanna follow me?” she asked.

“With pleasure.”

*   *   *

A short two hours later, finally freed from Friday afternoon traffic, they stood fifty feet above the Pacific, listening to it roar. The scent of wet herbs wafted up on the air so strong you could taste it.

“Hurricane Point. Nice.” Daniel turned to look at Gwen, standing just feet from him.

“More than nice. It’s home, and I love it.”

“I can see why. Let’s just hope it doesn’t live up to its name.”

“Let’s hope,” agreed Gwen, suppressing a shudder. “You ever been in a hurricane?”

“Used to live in Florida, hurricane central. I remember when Hurricane Andrew was heading for us. All these hurricane warnings came: get out, get out. My parents figured it wasn’t going to be so bad, reckoned we’d all stay put, and the warning guy said, fine, just get a pen with indelible ink, and write your name and social security number on your forearm. And your kids’ forearms. Then we can identify their bodies when the storm’s done. We got out. But I tell you, when we came back after the storm, saw what it had done…” Daniel shook his head. “Like a war zone.”

“Did you rebuild?”

Daniel shook his head. “My Ma’d had enough. Broke her heart. She couldn’t face that again. We went to Denmark.”

“As in Europe?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“No hurricanes.”

Gwen laughed.

“My father is Danish,” he continued. “My middle name is Soren.”

“Ah, OK. Makes sense. But where’d you get the tan from, and those eyes?”

“My ma’s got Spanish blood in her.”

“Not a bad combo.”

“Easy, Boudy. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Unintentional.”

Daniel eyed her, openly speculating. “Surf’s up, Boudy. Got a spare board?”

“You want to surf with me?”

“I’ll start with that.”

Gwen eyed the waves. She needed to surf, could do with the distraction. Again she asked herself, what could be the harm?

“Maybe we can catch a few waves. But cut out the Boudy-this and the Boudy-that. Only my old friends call me Boudy.”

He smiled. “What do your lovers call you?”

Gwen gave him a dazzling smile right back. “I leave them speechless.”

“I can believe that.”

*   *   *

Gwen had to admit, he surfed with a certain style and bravado. He whooped with joy when he caught a good wave, or when she did. His joy was contagious and soon Gwen found herself forgetting Freidland and his son, and Messenger, and all her suspicions and her fears, and just living in the moment.

She laughed out loud, turning three-sixties, pulling stunts, rewarded by handclaps and whoops and more of the same from him, many of which ended in a pile of spume and human limbs, from which he would invariably emerge with a smile. Gwen hadn’t had so much fun in months. He was the dream surf partner. Technically strong and watchful, not greedy with his waves. Every inch the gentleman, damn him. It was much easier being angry with him.

*   *   *

Reluctantly, they left the sea as the sun began to dip. Reality began to intrude. Gwen wanted to keep it at bay just a while longer.

She smiled up at him as they carried the boards back to her house. They peeled off their wetsuits. Gwen almost gasped as she saw a vicious scar that cut down Daniel’s ribs.

“Where’s that from?” she asked.

“Long story,” he answered. “Got a hose?”

Gwen recognized a subject change when she heard one.

“Over there.”

Together they hosed down the boards then stacked them. Daniel grabbed the hose and turned it on himself. He stood there, eyes closed, utterly unself-conscious as the water cascaded down his tan body. God, scar or no scar, he was beautiful, thought Gwen. He was ripped, with the long, muscled body of the best surfers. Muscles that didn’t just look pretty in the gym but could generate real power. For a fugitive moment, Gwen just watched. Then she headed in to her house, brought out a towel for him.

“I do have a shower inside,” she said, handing him the towel.

“This is just fine,” he said, vigorously rubbing his hair.

“I don’t know about you,” said Gwen, not giving herself time to wonder if this were wise, “but I am starving. If I snagged a coupla pizzas from the freezer, would you like one?”

“I would fall down on my knees.”

*   *   *

They put away two pepperoni and cheese, washed down with two Coors, talking easily, laughing. Leo, Gwen observed, was a quick convert to Dan. He planted himself at Dan’s feet and gazed up adoringly until he got a ferocious back rub.

Gwen sat back, relaxed. She would forget, then every so often, she would remember.

“What’s on your mind, Boudy?”

She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“It comes and goes, likes clouds across the sun.”

“You’re a romantic, Dan.”

“I know trouble when I see it. Am I wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. You’re right. I just can’t talk about it.”

“If you need to, I can listen well enough.”

Gwen smiled. “Thanks, I reckon you can.”

Daniel got to his feet, cleared the dishes, washed them and stacked them in the drainer.

“I’d best be going,” he said.

Gwen nodded. “I think that’s wise.”

“Maybe this isn’t. “He pulled her in, eye to eye, bent his lips to hers, kissed her slowly at first, and as she responded, faster and deeper. Their bodies pressed together and Gwen could feel his muscles hard against hers.

To her intense frustration, he was the first to pull away.

“Hell of an afternoon and evening, Boudy.”

She nodded, catching her breath.

“I do believe I have left you speechless!”

“With outrage! Not awe.”

“Felt like it,” he said, with his infuriatingly cocky grin.

He grabbed his keys off the table, and with a jaunty wave, he was gone.

*   *   *

Long after she’d heard his car fade away into the night, Gwen stood on the deck, her dog standing sentry at her side. The cool air was moist against her skin, raising goose bumps. The moon shone palely above her, haloed by a shimmering meniscus. She gazed out over the mass of the ocean, wondering what was there, what was coming her way. An ARk Storm? A murderous boss? The long arm of the Peruvians. Paparuda? Whatever the hell that was.… She had the feeling she sometimes got in the barrel, when her exit was closing.