“What’s it like surfing here in January? The waves are bigger then, huh?”
Matt nods. “Oh yeah, they’re really something. Just you wait. If we get one of those sweet Northwest swells coming down the coast, you’re in for a treat.”
I nod, smiling at the way Matt assumes I’ll still be here come January.
“Did you get a nice swell this winter?” I ask.
“Pretty good. It hit the coast up north a lot harder than it hit us here.”
I know.
“We still got some pretty wicked waves,” Matt continues. “I got hella worked out there.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It can be. But Pete always makes us come in when it’s looking too gnarly.”
“He does?”
Matt shrugs. “I’m not the best surfer here, you know? Pete knows it. He keeps me out of the worst shit.”
“Nice the way he looks out for everybody.”
Matt nods.
“Were there a lot of people around here in January? I mean, when those swells pick up, people must show up sometimes, right?”
Matt shrugs. “Well, this place is pretty far off the beaten path. But yeah, we get some people passing through from time to time. Belle calls ’em tourists.”
I’m sure she does, I think, though I’m pretty sure she calls me something a lot less mild. I can see her through the flames on the other side of the fire, her blond hair waving around her face.
“Where do the tourists usually crash?” I ask. “Something tells me you don’t have any hotels in Kensington.”
“Some of ’em stay in the empty houses up there,” he says, gesturing toward the cliffs. “Most of ’em camp out down here. Or in the parking lot, waiting on the tides, you know?”
“Right,” I answer, nodding.
“Course some of them end up at Jas’s house, though they pretty much stay on the other side of the beach. Pete does what he can to keep it that way. Dusters on one side, us on the other.”
“Dusters,” I echo. I’m about to ask what that means when something clicks, and I remember the drug Pete told me about—fairy dust.
I picture Pete building an enormous fence slicing its way down the beach and into the ocean, Pete’s crew on one side and Jas’s spaced-out customers on the other.
“And sometimes a few kids end up on our living room floor, but only when Pete likes them.”
“Should I consider myself privileged that I didn’t end up on the living room floor?”
I laugh and so does Matt. “Yeah, well. We’ve had some trouble with strangers staying over in the past. You can’t blame us for being wary. Sometimes, they’re just not the right crowd, you know? We had a few kids staying with us last winter, man—I thought they were cool, but Pete ended up having to throw them out, right?”
“Really?” I ask. I try to imagine Pete throwing anyone out of the house.
“Yeah, they just got caught up on the wrong side of things, you know?”
I nod. I’m getting used to the cadence of Matt’s chitchat, the way he ends almost every sentence as a question. But he doesn’t seem to mind my questions, so I keep going.
“I guess it’s inevitable,” I agree. “But what about the kids who are just passing through—the tourists? Do you ever get to know them?” Just because Pete never met my brothers doesn’t mean that Matt didn’t. Maybe he was down here some morning when Pete was sleeping late.
But before Matt can answer, I feel the heat of someone’s body sitting down close on my other side.
“What are you two chatting about?” Pete asks, and I swivel around to face him. The goose bumps vanish from my skin.
“Nothing important,” Matt answers before I can say anything, standing up and brushing the sand from his shorts. He gives Pete a short little nod and a small grin, ceding his spot beside me.
“He didn’t have to get up,” I protest.
“He was just being polite,” Pete says. His hazel eyes study my face intently, the crinkles of a smile playing at their corners.
I shake my head, trying to avoid his gaze. I don’t want Pete to get the wrong idea, even though sitting this close to him reminds me of our night on the cliffs, of the way his arms felt around me. Those are the last things I want to be thinking about right now.
“So,” Pete says, “did you have fun tonight?”
“You mean did I have fun robbing the house of a family of innocent strangers?” I say, trying to make my voice sound steady, harsh, disapproving. Trying to mask that fact that I did, in fact, have fun.
“Well,” Pete says, “you certainly won the boys over, that’s for sure. Hughie over there can’t stop singing your praises.”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, but I’m smiling. What a strange thing to be so proud of. “Anyway,” I add, “I don’t think it helped me earn any extra points with Belle.”
“Give her some time,” Pete says, shrugging. “Pretty soon she’ll love you just as much as the rest of us do.”
I laugh. “I think it’s a little early to say that anybody loves me,” I say.
Pete cocks his head to the side. “All right, maybe,” he agrees. “But it’s not too early for a pretty serious crush.”
“Oh really?” I say, gesturing at the crew around us. “The whole gang has a crush on me?”
“Well,” Pete says, pausing as though he’s thinking hard. “Maybe not the whole gang.”
I look at my lap. I don’t want Pete to see the smile overtaking my face, no matter how hard I try to will my mouth into a straight line. You’re not here for him, I remind myself.
But before I have a chance to look up, Pete’s lips brush gently across my cheek, warm and soft as morning sunshine through the fog. Without saying anything, he gets up and heads over toward the cooler they filled with beer, even though there’s no ice to keep it cold.
I stand up and inch a few steps closer to the fire, reaching my hands out in front of me until they feel hot. Just a few more millimeters and I’d be burning myself, but I don’t back away. On the other side of the flames, Belle is doing the same thing. Suddenly, she takes off her necklace and throws it into the center of the fire, sending sparks flying everywhere. Instinctively, I take a few steps hurriedly back, but Belle holds her ground. She’s laughing, but I’m not smiling anymore.
14
It’s still dark when I wake up in the morning, too early for even Pete and Belle to be on the water yet. I tiptoe down the stairs, shivering in my bikini, walk out the front door, and get one of my brothers’ boards from my car.
The board I grab this morning is John’s; it’s the smaller of the two, dark blue with bright yellow stripes running up the sides. I carry it down to the beach like I think it might break, careful not to let it bang against the wooden railing along the stairs. By the time I reach the water the sun has made its first appearance on the horizon, casting a gentle pink light on the ocean. I breathe in deeply, watching the waves crash against the sand one after another. Each time one wave recedes and another builds, it looks as though the ocean is taking in a deep breath, then blowing it out.
I’m standing at the edge of the water, my toes soaked by the waves, the board propped up beside me, when a deep voice says, “Thought you said you weren’t a surfer.”
Startled, I turn to see the guy who gave me directions when I first got to Kensie.
“You scared me,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says. “You okay?”
“I just didn’t expect anyone else to be awake at this hour,” I say, but the truth is, I don’t even know how long I’ve been standing here. The sun has grown higher, its light on the water more yellow than pink now.