Page 6 of This Is Who I Am

And then I see her.

Cass sits perched at one of the tables, her chef’s hat nowhere in sight. Even at this distance, there’s no mistaking that blond bob. She’s with two others and I can’t help but wonder whether I might know them.

“Estelle,” Sadie’s voice snaps me back. A wave is rising behind me. “Paddle!”

I throw myself into the motion, digging my arms into the water with every ounce of strength I have left. The wave catches me, and for a split second, I feel it—the lift, the rush, the undeniable pull of something bigger than myself.

I don’t stand. Not quite yet. But I ride the wave on my knees, grinning like a fool as I glide toward the shore. It’s clumsy and far from perfect, but it’s progress. As the wave fades beneath me, I glance toward the bar again. Cass is still there, and she’s looking in my direction. For a moment, I wonder if she saw me catch the wave, if she noticed my ungainly triumph.

By the time Sadie calls the lesson over, I feel every single one of my forty-nine years—and then some. My arms ache with a bone-deep fatigue, my legs have turned to jelly, and there’s sand in places I don’t want to think about. But I also feel different. As if the saltwater has rinsed away more than just the sweat of exertion.

We trudge toward the row of weathered changing cabins at the edge of the beach. Sadie still looks camera-ready, her wetsuit unzipped in that perfect I-didn’t-even-try way. The rest of us resemble a pack of bedraggled seals hauling our boards up the sand.

“Anyone else feel like their body might mutiny tomorrow morning?” Linda groans, tossing her towel onto the bench inside a cabin.

“All part of the fun,” Sadie calls back with a grin that makes it almost believable.

The cabins are small but functional, with hooks for wetsuits and just enough space to maneuver. I peel off my wetsuit carefully, grimacing as the tight neoprene clings stubbornly to my damp skin.

By the time I emerge in a loose pair of linen pants and a T-shirt that’s seen better days, most of the group has already gathered by the picnic tables near the cabins. The air smells of sunscreen and sea spray, carried in on the breeze that rolls off the water.

Sadie slings her board into the rack and wipes her hands on her towel. “All right, ladies,” she says. “Who’s up for post-surf drinks at The Bay?”

Everyone easily agrees, so I do too, ignoring the flutter of anticipation in my stomach.

We walk up the path from the beach, the group’s chatter light and buoyant, a shared sense of accomplishment buzzing among us. The Bay glows ahead, a beacon for tired limbs and parched throats.

Sadie waves toward the deck. “Looks like my sister’s already beat us to it.”

“It still feels strange seeing The Bay without Sam running the show,” Linda says, shaking her head.

“Sam traded bar life for babies and bedtime stories,” Sadie replies, earning a ripple of laughter.

As we draw closer, I can see Cass more clearly, leaning back slightly in her chair, one hand curled around a glass of white wine. The evening light does something to her—makes it impossible to look away.

“Let’s grab a seat,” Sadie says as we step onto the deck. “And have ourselves a well-earned drink.”

For some reason I’m not ready to examine, my heart hammers in my throat as I follow her.

CHAPTER5

CASS

Suzy rises from her chair, beaming. “This couldn’t be more perfect.” She welcomes Sadie and her surfers to the deck of The Bay with her trademark authority. “Cass and I were just discussing holding a support group for menopausal women at Savor and in walks my target group.”

Suzy is the Ireland with the least qualms about anything.

“Hear, hear,” one of the ladies says. “I’m in.” She’s standing next to Estelle, who is shuffling around awkwardly, as though, out of the water and surrounded by so many people, she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself.

“No doubt there, Linda,” Suzy says to the woman. She’s probably one of her clients and if not, Suzy knows just about everyone in Clearwater Bay. She’s our town’s unofficial mayor.

“I’m going to leave you ladies to it.” Hunter rises as well, freeing up the chair next to mine. “Let you discuss your hormones in peace.”

He kisses me goodbye and offers his empty chair to Estelle.

Suddenly, Friday Woman is sitting next to me. She looks a little forlorn without her little notebook, as well as tired from that surfing lesson. From what I could see, she didn’t have any surprising board tricks up her sleeve at all. I only saw her go under spectacularly a few times, always to loud cheers from her companions.

“Hi,” Estelle says, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t surf?”

---