Page 63 of Catch a Wave

Her face softens. “Okay. I know. You won’t. Sorry.”

I put my hands on her biceps and stare down into her eyes. “I get it. I’ve been right where you are, only I dragged my feet a heck of a lot longer, and I couldn’t get a foothold strong enough to move forward. You’re already rocking this stage of your recovery. And I’m not rushing you. I know how it feels. If you really don’t want me to take Shaka out into the water, I’ll just go out myself. I can try this with him another day—or never.”

“No. You’re right. This isn’t the same.”

Mavs’ unspoken meaning hangs between us. The ocean still feels universally dangerous and unpredictable to her. It’s gone from playground to death trap in her eyes. And she’s not sureshe can ever trust it again. Trust is a delicate thing—so easily shattered, and painstaking to repair. I should know.

I ache to lean in and hold Mavs—to comfort her and let her know she’s not as stuck as she feels. I smile at her and step back so I don’t follow through with my urge to place a reassuring kiss on her forehead. As if I could keep it at that. Even the thought of kissing her forehead makes me think of kissing her lips.

“Okay, then. Let’s go have some fun in the shorepound.”

We stop at the watersports shack and grab my board. I throw on a wetsuit, and then we head down the wooden steps off the dock onto the sand. Mavs leads the way to the same spot where I usually put in, dropping our bag onto the sand. She’s walking as if she never injured her leg now that the boot is off. Summer’s even planning a celebration of some sort for Mavs this weekend down here on the beach. We don’t have as many bonfires in the winter months out here, but her healing definitely calls for one.

I’m about to head into the water when I am stopped in my tracks. Mavs is slipping off her flip-flops and setting them by the pile of our towels. I stand stock still like a statue titled,Man Holding His Breath. Even if I wanted to move forward, I wouldn’t be able. This moment feels sacred and precarious.

Mavs walks toward the edge of the water and stares out at the ocean as if she’s looking for Mavericks in the distance. A smaller wave comes up, folds, and sloshes onto shore, spreading out in a curved, foamy tide only less than an inch deep. One of Mavs’ feet is enveloped by the gentle uprush of saltwater. She glances down, watching the sand sink just the slightest in the shape of her footprint on the water’s edge.

She always made her mark in the ocean, then the ocean left its mark in her. And now, together they are marking off a new beginning. It may seem like nothing. To any passerby, this would be a surfer and his girl, waiting for the early break. She’s just another woman with her foot in the swash.

A tear forms in the corner of my eye as she steps forward, putting both feet in until she’s ankle deep. Shaka must sense the potent meaning of her decision because he walks up right next to her, getting all four of his paws wet a third of the way up his legs, and then he just stands there with her in this canine show of solidarity.

Not a surf dog? He’s definitely a surf dog. I’m half wondering if he’s an angel.

Mavs looks over at me, her face a combination of wonder and pride. My smile breaks free and I drop my board and stride toward her.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Mavs! You did this!”

“I put my feet in some slush, Bodhi. Let’s not get carried away here.”

“Right. No big. You’re just wetting your toes. Gotcha.”

I look down at her and she smiles up at me.

I pick her up by the waist and spin her around.

Her hands grasp my shoulders and she squeals. I’ll never forget the look of unbounded joy in her eyes. I know I’m smiling from ear to ear. Shaka jumps around at our feet barking and leaping.

“Bodhi! What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” I set Mavs down. “Nothing at all. Just getting super carried away over absolutely nothing.”

Mavs dips her head down, looking at her feet—where they are both covered in the incoming low waves. Then she looks back up at me.

“Why was I making this into such a big deal? What’s so big about this?” Her brows bunch together.

“Everything.” I pin her with my gaze. “Everything.”

I pick up my board and head into the waves, needing to work out this adrenaline, and to put some space between me and Mavs. She feels like she’s mine again. My schedule, my thoughts,my heart all rotate around her now. I don’t have any right to make that claim. I told her I’d build a friendship—that I’d repair what I’d broken. She’s making strides, but she’s not finished. She’s barely taking her first baby steps. I need to keep myself in check—for her sake.

When I finish about an hour’s worth of riding, I take a wave in. Mavs and Shaka sit on the beach. He’s wet from head to toe, and she’s got a towel around her shoulders and another underneath her to keep the sand away.

I place my board in the shorepound, far enough onto the sand that it won’t get tugged out to sea. Then I call Shaka over. He comes right away. I sit cross-legged on the back of the board and slap the nose.

“Come on, boy. Come on up here.”

Mavs smiles over at us. The fear from this morning evidently washed away in the saltwater.

Shaka steps onto the board, standing right in front of me and licking my face while his tail wags. He thinks he’s just greeting me after I’ve been gone out on the waves. I know better. I’m getting him used to the board. Everything worth having is worth the incremental steps of getting there. I’m learning exactly how patient I can be these days.

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