The Surfer

  And

  The Virgin

  The Surfer and the Virgin by Kendall Duke Published by Amazon Digital Services, LLC

  www.KendallDukeAuthor.com

  © 2019 Kendall Duke

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Cover by designacover on Fiverr.com.

  Brody

  A final wave crashed over my head as I dashed out of the surf, dragging my board behind me. My head wasn’t right today. I shook dry and slapped my clothes on, peeling off my suit behind a towel, then tucked my board under my arm and started hauling ass down the beach. Maybell and Leno yelled at me as I went by, and four more surfers waved and shot me a shaka; all the other old-timers, like me, loved our beach. The waves were just right. Perfect. I had nothing to prove, I just liked a good ride—you could take that as my general philosophy in life, actually—but I’d hung back, waiting for the perfect swell this morning, taking a chance I shouldn’t have.

  But the chops were right. And I was in a prime location--and all the youngbloods were up at Moon Bay, showing off for each other. The perfect wave was coming in, and it was all mine, I thought, looking out over my scattered compatriots as they bobbed in the water all around me. I was further out, in the best spot to catch a big one.

  And I caught it, alright… Or rather, it caught me.

  Don’t surf hung-over, I heard Tommy say in my head as I swallowed another gulp of salt water. My nostrils burned as I continued jogging up the beach, my board under my arm and my flip-flops in the other. Don’t be like me, he told me, and laughed, going under again as he waited for his last big wave.

  That lump in my throat wasn’t just from eating sand.

  But anyway.

  I was late. Very fucking late. Shit, I thought, wondering if the new owners were going to be on time. I hoped not. When Tommy died I knew I was going to be in for it, no matter which one of them took over; the old man gave me a sweet deal, and I expected a fight to keep it. I adored Tommy, and honestly… Maybe I was a little late opening the shop because the damn place just wasn’t the same without him.

  And also: fuck ‘em. Why did I even care about whether or not they were waiting? I slowed my jog down and took deep, steadying breaths, dispelling the remaining feeling of nausea and sticky salt in my lungs.

  Maybe I should’ve just caught one wave and come in. Maybe I lost the big one because I waited on the swells for too long, trying not to puke--which I didn’t, so let’s not dwell.

  Guys like Tommy and I weren’t supposed to be so cut up about someone’s death, let alone say the words out loud, but now that he was gone I guessed it was okay to be a little sentimental. By myself, at three in the morning with a bottle of Jack, and again, when I wandered down to the water and made some questionable choices as I paddled out on my board, alone.

  He wouldn’t have approved. Tommy would’ve told me to sleep like a normal goddamn human being and hit the waves in the morning, fresh and ready. I guess it was good I took half of that advice.

  He was full of words of wisdom—which he never listened to himself until way too late, and now here we were. He was dead, and I was hung-over, lost a decent wave, and was late to my meeting with a pair of asshats.

  I was in an especially crap mood by the time I made it down to the boardwalk, the crowds already starting to gather in clusters around the unopened restaurants and cafes. Our little shop was smack-dab in the middle of everything, facing the street on one side and the waves on the other; it was prime real estate, a beautiful location. Tommy’s apartment on the top floor had a balcony that wrapped all the way around the second story, looking down on the busy little beach side-street full of visitors and locals going about their business on one side, and the ocean on the other. The coffee joint next door belonged to Tia, and we let her use the giant lanai attached to the back of our shop for her tables, the cute little umbrellas already open and the fairy lights twinkling crystal in the bright morning sun. I must be really late. As I started jogging faster across the sand towards the shop, the dusty blue paint and neon lit ‘Kailoa’ sign grew larger. A couple of years ago the city gave all of us old-timers money to renovate this stretch of the boardwalk, and for the most part it turned out really nice; they were all historic buildings like ours, if not quite as old. Palm trees were planted and sprang up, beautiful hanging baskets and bougainvillea shadowed the boardwalk, some more cafes opened, and then, on the other side of our shop, glaringly different from all the rest, was Berkley’s two story tourist trap. He’d snapped up the property during the renovation frenzy and no one was the wiser until everything was getting built, permits in place. The entire building was stuffed with cheap crap imported from overseas and lovingly re-labled ‘Locally Made.’ Berkley and I did not get along, in spite of the fact that we were both the only surfers left that actually worked on the Boardwalk. He’d been surfing at Moon Bay for the last couple of weeks, since Tommy got really sick, but I doubted it was a gesture of courtesy. I jogged a little faster when my eyes sharpened, zeroing in on the small crowd clustered behind my shop. I realized Berkley was on our lanai, in what looked like a heated argument with Tia… And two newcomers.

  The guy looked like a prick. Point blank. He also looked like Tommy, which told me right away that his kids were indeed here, on-time, and sadly, his hope that they would follow in his footsteps as beach-loving wanderers was definitely in vain. The woman’s back was turned toward me, her arms out in a gesture that told me she was trying to placate everyone else. Fat chance, sis, I thought, and got ready to join the fray, throwing my board down in the sand and slipping my flip-flops on in a practiced gesture as I strolled up to the lanai. I got my game face on and chose my first target.

  “Howzit, Berkley?”

  “I told you not to call me that,” he snapped. He wasn’t wrong; Berkley was where he went to college, which he repeatedly told everyone that would listen once the furor over his awful shop died down to a dull roar and we realized we were stuck with him—thus the nick-name. Berkley wagged a finger at me and scrunched up his nose. “You’re late.”

  “So? You’re trespassing,” I said, walking up to the small circle and leaning on the table behind Tia. Someone had closed the umbrella, and it looked odd in the daylight. She gave me a grateful glance, her mouth a thin line.

  “No,” the prick said, and I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring Berkley for now. “She is.” He pointed at Tia. I couldn’t keep myself from bristling.

  “And who the fuck are you?”

  I knew who he was, and there was a good chance he knew who I was, too. But he was exactly the kind of guy that would be really pissed off that I didn’t act like the world was spinning in the direction of his gravitational pull. That’s when the girl turned around, her hands still outstretched, leaving the engaging business of giving an imploring look at her brother and Berkley so she could give me the exact same one.

  I halted. The words withered in my throat when I saw her face.

  It wasn’t just imploring, it was a beseeching expression, as if she was a schoolteacher asking a bunch of particularly unruly little boys to calm down. And other than that first impression… Well, it’s hard to say.

  Was she the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? Yes. Definitely. No question about it. But I couldn’t tell you why—her eyes were hazel, a mix of honey and green, with thick dark lashes; her hair was very dark brown and wavy and her skin was far too pale. No beach rat, this one. She was wearing a blue sundress that must’ve been on sale at Berkley’s or something because it was far too long yet still managed to squeeze her bust; she was bursting out of the top and swimming in the bottom. No warm weather clothes. And she needed a pedicure.

  …And also yes. She was absolutely, positively the most beautiful woman in the world. Hands down. Exasperated, already tired of a day that had just begun, and in desperate need of some caffeine, but…

  There was just something about those eyes. And that mouth—it was talking at me now, in fact, but I wasn’t listening. Full lips. They were the color of the inside of a shell, a beautiful, bright coral, a color that would deepen with any strong emotion into purest red—

  Oof. Tia elbowed me in the stomach and I blinked down at her. “What?”

  “They’re talking to you, Brody,” she hissed. “Pick up your jaw and listen.”

  “Brody?” The prick whirled at the beautiful woman and glared at her like this was somehow her fault. “This is the wonderful Brody?”

  “I didn’t say he was wonderful,” she scowled, and gave me a scathing look to prove it. “I said Dad thought he was wonderful.”

  “Because I am,” I put in, but Berkley practically howled his protest beside me.

  “This is the biggest pain in the ass on the boardwalk,” he started, but I just nonchalantly brushed him aside and smiled down at the lovely creature in front of me. “He’s such a—”

  “Nice, decent, kind human being that it’s totally okay with me that you seem to have brought a giant bag of smoking garbage into my place of business,” I told her, smiling even wider when Berkley howled again behind me. I jerked my thumb his way to indicate the exact location of her trash. “Would you be a dear, and get your rubbish out of here? But don’t dump it on the beach, please. We’re friends of nature here at Kailoa’s.”

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “Brody, they’re Tommy’s kids,” Tia said, and when I turned towards her, my chipper demeanor dampened pretty damn fast because she was getting ready to cry. “They told me to take down the umbrellas,” she said, already beginning to sniffle.

  I don’t care how much of a prick you are, when Tia starts to sniffle, you feel bad. And you should. I pulled her protectively against my chest and gave the prick a stern look. “Why, exactly, are you giving directions to this woman about what she can do on my lanai?”

  “You mean my lanai,” the prick said, but he was watching Tia now, and starting to backpedal. “Well, technically, our lanai—whatever the hell lanai means—” He was gesturing towards the beautiful woman, who’d silently stepped back when I tried to charm her with a watchful look and was now frowning precipitously at the prick. He clearly thought she should be backing him up. “Oh, come on, Mila, you know that—”

  “Let’s start over,” she said firmly, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. “My name,” she said, coming over to shake my hand, “is Mila Davidson. This is my brother, Rhodes O’Donnell. And this is—”

  “Berkley,” I interrupted. “Yeah, I know.” She turned to him with a puzzled look on her face.

  “I thought you said your name was Andrew?”

  “It is,” he sniffed, giving me a brutal sneer. Tia cut him off, her more customary demeanor returning for the moment.

  “He likes to brag about all these degrees he got in whatever-the-hell, when he went to school back in hippie heaven,” she mumbled. “So Brody started calling him Berkley and it stuck.” Tia shot him a dark look. “You ask around for Andrew and nobody’ll know who the hell you’re talking about.”

  “But the real question would be why the hell are you asking around for him in the first place?” I said, and Berkley scoffed and crossed his arms. The prick chewed on this for a minute and then leaned over to shake my hand.

  “Rhodes,” he said. I decided not to tell him what nickname I’d blessed him with.

  “Brody,” I said, trying for a semblance of courtesy, but only because the pretty one was still watching me closely, like she was reading a hand of cards or something. “So. What brings you guys down here?”

  “Our father’s death,” she said, and I gave her another broad smile; unfortunately, this one was insincere, and she seemed to realize it right away. Mila took another step back from me in anticipation. The prick didn’t realize it was a set-up, though, and opened his mouth just in time for me to cut him off.

  “Oh, that’s cute,” I said. “You’re a little late, though. That was last week. He’s been buried for three days.”

  She turned scarlet. Good. I wish it didn’t make her eyes suddenly appear teal, as if the ocean were blinking back at me. Little distracting. I needed to appear righteous and indignant right now, not intrigued and aroused. “So?” This came from the prick, and I turned my smile on him instead.

  “So you’re late. If you want to change things, you should’ve talked to your father before he croaked. Now you’re stuck with what he decided before he died.”

  “I thought he left everything to us. Well, everything that mattered—that’s what the email said,” Rhodes protested, but I smiled even more broadly. I’d expected to get to the punchline a little later, but hey. You work with what you got.

  “He did,” I said, smiling down at him. “Including me.”

  ~~~

  Mila

  Tommy O’Donnell was an asshole.

  My mother made sure to tell me that thirty times a day, every day, for the first five years after we left him. I missed him terribly; they married when I was eight years old, and divorced when I was thirteen. By the time I was eighteen she’d successfully pointed out to me that Tommy was an alcoholic, an unambitious drunk who never paid a bill on time and couldn’t stand to work an honest job. This was all true. I didn’t have a single doubt about it. I was also absolutely sure she still loved him, and didn’t understand why she bothered with the divorce; the one tragedy in the situation, as I saw it, was that she thought leaving would somehow cure him of his congenital laziness—as if chasing after her would inspire him to be a different man. A different man, I might add, than the one she fell in love with. It made no sense to me. When she died last year right after my twenty sixth birthday, the great sadness in her life, in my opinion, was that she didn’t spend the last decade drinking decadently with the man she adored down at the beach where he lived. Instead, she refused, and drank decadently alone in the house I bought for us in Santa Fe, no water for miles. It seemed a bitter end.

  I really loved my mom. She was not always easy to love, but that’s not what love requires, especially when it comes to your own mother. So she might not have been able to keep a job (just like Tommy, although, importantly, for very different reasons). So she might’ve had a serious drinking problem (just like Tommy, for pretty much, I suspect, the same reasons). So she lacked the practicality and discipline to take care of herself like most other adults… A problem, in the end, that Tommy did not share. No matter. She was my mother, and I tried desperately to do the best I could for her.

  Maybe I failed? I don’t know. I tried very hard. I gave it literally everything I had, because I felt I had no choice.

  Not after we left Tommy.

  My mother would’ve loved me no matter what; she was not a cruel drunk, or deliberately unkind, even under the most extreme duress. She did not expect much of me beyond taking care of myself, and her sweetness was the real issue when it came to leaving her behind. I just couldn’t. If she’d been the things so many other alcoholics were… But she wasn’t. She was just sad, and she couldn’t stop drinking. She couldn’t even feed herself if I left her alone for too long. But she wasn’t ever mean, or anything other than supportive of me.

  It was like being shackled to a velvet covered anchor. I mean that in the least awful way, but I still mean it.

  Tommy wasn’t like that. Maybe that’s another reason why I was so sad when we left him—maybe, even at that age, I knew she would be my responsibility from then on. Her expectations for him might’ve been ridiculous, but she clung to them anyway; she had no such standards for me, but I inherited his job regardless. But I would’ve been sad even if my mom had it all together, because the other awful thing about leaving Tommy was that I really loved him, and he really loved me. He was a great father, if not a provider. He was funny and kind and protective and serious when you needed him to be; Tommy was wonderful, in short. And my mom knew it, and when she made up her mind to leave him and he didn’t come after her—no surprise there, on either side—she just clung to the idea that he was terrible, and that’s why it all fell apart. A perfectly reasonable motive for self-destruction, that.

  So I spent my teens and twenties taking care of her.

  I did it without realizing it. I did it because I was trained to do it when I was too young to understand the indoctrination, and then I did it out of habit, and finally, at the very end, I did it because I hoped it was the right thing to do. I still don’t know. But after the separation from Tommy, I didn’t believe in leaving family behind. Period. That’s not what family was supposed to do.

  So Mr. Brody Boudreaux’s accusatory smile—wickedly sexy, painfully charming though it was—was especially cruel. I hadn’t meant to miss Tommy’s funeral. I was very sad when I heard about it, the day after it happened. The lawyer in charge of contacting me was apparently a little lax, I suppose because I wasn’t a blood relative—I was an heir, of course, which I would’ve imaged meant something important, but apparently not. I was very sad not to get to say good-bye. It was just the latest time I’d missed him.

  Rhodes didn’t have the same sentimental feelings. He was Tommy’s only child by blood, from his first marriage (Tommy had four wives, I believe), and he’d heard a lot of the same stuff I did growing up. Unfortunately, in my opinion, he’d never gotten to meet Tommy himself and have all that blown to hell. I knew my mom was right about a lot of it, and wrong about what it all meant; Rhodes didn’t understand the difference. He wasn’t a bad guy at all, though, if a bit quick-tempered and completely out of his element in the cool West Coast air. Philadelphia clung to every inch of him. But he didn’t mind splitting his inheritance with some former step-daughter who hadn’t seen his father in fourteen years one bit, and I think that says good things about a guy.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7