Page 4 of This Is Who I Am

“It is,” I confirm. “She’s been to the restaurant three times in the past three weeks.”

“God, I haven’t seen her in decades,” Suzy says. “Her father died a few months ago. She must have come back.”

“You know her?”

Suzy nods. “Used to, at least. We went to school together. She’s my age.”

We’ve been planning Suzy’s big Five-Oh for months. Goodness, Friday Woman is close to fifty? She looks at least ten years younger. But that means she must also be going through what we’ve been discussing to Hunter’s growing annoyance—menopause. Maybe she’s keen to join other clubs as well as Sadie’s later-in-life surf club. Maybe she’d like to join Sadie’s sister’s menopause support group. But what do I even care?

I focus my gaze back on Suzy although, admittedly, it’s kind of hard to drag it away from the beach—and from Estelle. The other ladies don’t seem to draw my eye that much. It’s just that, once it was confirmed that Estelle Raymond wasn’t a weirdly often-returning restaurant critic, it became really hard to ignore how utterly gorgeous she is. Because she is. Those dark, lush curls, that sharp jawline, that intense gaze… and those lips.

What the hell?I haven’t felt this pull toward another woman—this raw, physical attraction—in years. As the estrogen levels in my bloodstream started their harrowing ups-and-downs, my libido has been near non-existent. Dead, really. Gone. Not that I care, not anymore. Although, and I don’t blame her for this for one single second, it’s one of two big reasons Sarah left me. At least it was just one out of two.

“Let’s do it,” I say, as I try to regroup. “Let’s have the support group meeting at Savor.”

“I suppose I’m banned.” Hunter grins at us. “Bottoms up, ladies. Next round’s on me.”

“I think he and Bobby are going through something,” Suzy whispers as soon as Hunter has disappeared inside The Bay. “We need to give him some time and grace.”

“Hunter doesn’t bother me,” I say. “Hot flashes do.”

“Have you had more?”

“Several times a day now,” I admit.

“Oh, Cass. Why won’t you see Doctor Gupta?”

“You know why.” It’s much easier to look at the beach and let my gaze wander to Estelle than to talk about this. Besides, Suzy and I have had this conversation a million times. I can’t believe she still expects it to have a different outcome than all the times before.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” Suzy says. “Why can’t you trust me on this?”

I have to be careful when I talk about mothers with Suzy. Despite a lifetime of therapy—she has even become a counselor herself—her mother leaving when Suzy was a young girl is something she’ll never fully get over. I respect that, but some things need to be said.

“I took care of my mom until her final breath. And I promised her.”

I can tell Suzy wants to say something, possibly an iteration of all the things she has said to me before, but she bites her lip and swallows her reply. But I’m not as stubborn as Suzy thinks I am. Every time I have a hot flash, especially when it happens in the middle of service, I want to talk to Doctor Gupta and beg her to prescribe me hormone therapy. But then the flash recedes and I invariably think of my mother and what she was convinced of when she died—the cause of her breast cancer she was so certain of, even though, in the end, it was more an obsession than anything else.

Hunter comes out with the drinks.

“Ooh.” He puts the wine glasses down. “Did I just walk into a menopausal spat?”

Suzy mock-slaps him around the ears while she shoots him a tension-diffusing grin.

As I take a sip of wine, I look at the small group of women huddled around Sadie. She’s taking them into the water. My gaze is, again, captured by Estelle as she tiptoes along the water’s edge. Her curls dance in the wind like they have a mind of their own.

If she grew up here with the likes of the Ireland family, she might not be a later-in-life surfer, but have some tricks up that tight wetsuit’s sleeve. Now I can’t look away if I wanted to. I have to see for myself.

CHAPTER4

ESTELLE

What in the holy fuck am I doing here? I’d been climbing the walls in Dad’s house, drowning in memories and dead-end calculations, when I remembered the flyer from The Bay:Later-in-life surf lessons, for women only. Forty-five and older.

The flyer didn’t mention Sadie Ireland would be the instructor, but here we are. What an unexpected perk.

My wetsuit clings too tightly to all the wrong places, like a second skin that knows all my secrets.

Sadie Ireland speaks, and just like that, she has everyone’s full attention. That smile, that voice, the way she moves—some people really do make it look easy. I’ve always known of the Irelands—they’re Clearwater Bay’s surfing royalty—but seeing Sadie now, I’m reminded that the universe doesn’t distribute charm and athleticism equally. Some people just get more than their fair share.

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