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“You have no idea,” I said quietly.
Matty and I shared a look and burst out laughing.
It was going to be a great day.
40
MATTHIAS
By midmorning, after cleaning the yard, Ciaran and I donned full wetsuits and drove to Surfrider Beach near the Malibu Pier. I expected him to ridicule the fact that we used my old SUV, but when we loaded up the surfboards it became pretty clear why.
At the beach, the water was crisply cool and refreshing while the unobstructed sun washed the day in warm, sunny tones.
We’d smothered sunscreen on our faces and exposed skin, so the combined scents of zinc oxide, sand, sea foam, and the ever-present fragrance of fish from the nearby lagoon permeated the air.
Families set up tents on the beach while kids and adults alike ran in and out of the surf. People were setting up their fishing poles on the pier while couples grabbed breakfast or a cup of coffee from the Cafe at the end of the pier.
“Why can’t you teach me to surf at Point Dume?” Ciaran asked as we paddled farther out. “It’s closer to home.”
It pleased me to no end that Ciaran was referring to Vaulteneau estate as “home,” but I didn’t say it aloud. His blond hair was slicked back, and Ciaran’s black and red wetsuit accentuated his long, muscular body as he sat astride his longboard.
It was difficult to concentrate on anything but him. However, with so many surfers already out on the water, I had to pay attention to our surroundings so that we didn’t collide with others. Malibu’s beaches could get quite crowded and Surfrider was no different.
Ciaran’s question, however, was more about why were we at a beginner’s beach. I suppose watching toddlers jump up on their surfboards and coast to the pier could discourage even the most determined learner.
“Point Dume is better suited for advanced surfers,” I explained. “The waves can get powerful, which requires a better takeoff than what you’ve demonstrated thus far.” Ciaran’s first few attempts had been a fumbling mess each time he tried to stand on the board and catch a wave. Thankfully, the surf leash secured at his ankle kept his board from drifting away. “The riders there won’t be as tolerant as they are here.”
“So what you’re saying is they’re used to fuck-ups here?” Ciaran asked.
He was still coughing from his recent wipeout. Wiping out was, at best, disorienting. At worst, it felt like you were drowning. The good news was that Ciaran was used to being in the water, but that didn’t mean he didn’t swallow large gulps of water with each tumble.
Grinning, I said, “No, that’s at every beach. Here, though, they are used to swimmers learning to surf for the first time.”
Side by side, we paddled out beyond the break to give others a chance. Sitting on our boards, we watched the shore in silence for several long moments. The water gurgled and seagulls squawked overhead, while children yelled and laughed at the shoreline.
I just wanted to stare at Ciaran all day.
“We gonna sit here all day or…?” Ciaran teased when he caught me.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Thing was, I wasn’t exactly experienced in teaching others how to surf. I’d been on a board since before I could even walk, so it was almost like I’d learned to surf, walk, and swim all at the same time. Trying to explain to Ciaran that catching a wave was executed in one fluid movement while maintaining proper eye placement and body alignment was certainly easier said than done.
He watched me several times as I’d paddle in with a forming wave and then within a second or two, I’d fly upright onto the board. Without much thought, my back foot knew to make contact with the stomp pad while my front foot planted in the appropriate position to propel forward momentum to catch the base of the wave and surf toward the pier.
If Ciaran even made it upright, which he was getting better at, he’d almost always nosedive. Telling him not to look at his feet but instead to align his eyes on where he wanted to go seemed to go against his natural instincts.
“But I want to make sure my feet are in the right place,” Ciaran explained after cursing at himself.
“It’s a tough habit to break,” I said, “but at a minimum you need to look up to ensure you’re not crashing into someone else.”
“Solid point.” Ciaran studied me as we took a breather. Sitting side-by-side, our legs bumped into each other. The water lapped and gurgled around us. “How’s the shoulder?”
Thankfully the athletic tape on my shoulder was still securely in place and I was wearing it beneath the wetsuit. We’d need to replace the tape in a day or two, but at the moment it was good.
“Not bad,” I answered honestly. “A few twinges here and there, but your handiwork has been helpful.” I knew what he was really asking, so I added, “Baby waves are okay. I should probably refrain from doing anything more strenuous than that.”
“No aquatic back flips for you,” Ciaran said with a laugh. “What time will Joan and Filipe get here?”
