Page 40 of The Surfer

No wonder no one else knows where this secret beach is, you have to be Tarzan to find it.

But guide me through the dense foliage Cove does, over slippery rocks and twisted branches all the way downhill. I don’t know where we are going, but Cove certainly seems to. He’s calm all the way down, just like he’d been in the car earlier. He’s collected and cool, a solid fixture I can rely on. He holds my hand tight and leads me with a tough composure that makes me feel secure. I don’t doubt his abilities or knowledge of where we are going for a moment and I like him being in charge. He’s so protective of me.

We reach the bottom of the hill and Cove pushes back a tree branch. The leaves part and then suddenly, I see it.

A beach.

Just like Cove had said.

Totally empty.

Pristine. Untouched.

Cove’s secret beach.

Wow.

So, it’s actually real. And Cove’s never shown this to anyone else, my heart started beating faster at that thought.

“No one’s been here since I was seventeen,” Cove says, taking a step on to the white sand. The place looks like the kind of tropical paradise you’d see on a computer desktop wallpaper. Clear water, green trees, white smooth sand, and sunshine. Literally perfect.

This is paradise.

A week ago, I was sitting in my cramped apartment in Queens pouring over a nursing textbook, and now I’m standing on a remote beach untouched by humans for years on the other side of the world alone with a man ripped from the pages of a model catalog. How crazy’sthat?

I can’t believe this.

“You used to come here as a teenager?” I ask the hunk of a man standing next to me.

“All the time.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Oh,” Cove says with a wink. “You should be.”

“I was surrounded by tall buildings, but you were surrounded by tall waves.”

“Well,” Cove replies, taking my hand and guiding me across the sand. “Now you can see how I lived.”

He takes me to the edge of the sand where the beach meets the ocean. Strong waves tumble down and crash on the shore. My toes touch the cool ocean water as it drifts up to my feet. I look back to see my footprints leading from the tree line, a set of footprints right next to Cove’s.

“Is the water safe to swim in?” I ask him as we look out across the roaring ocean.

He smiles at me and lets go of my hand. “As long as I’m here,” he replies.

* * *

Don’t fall off. Don’t fall off. Don’t fall off.

My teeth chatter from the cold. Sandy’s old wetsuit clung to me, wet from the ocean. Sandy’s height, much more considerable than mine, means that her wetsuit fits me like an oversized glove. So, basically, it doesn’t fit me at all.

The ocean water’s cold. Freezing, in fact. Thoughts of hypothermia bubbled in the back of my mind.

Don’t want to freeze to death.

But the main thing I’m worried about is falling off the surfboard.

Don’t fall off.