Page 196 of The Fall
“I think Tiger might still have you beat,” he teases. “But your learning curve is impressive.”
He sets up for his next shot. There’s something hypnotic about the fluid motion of his swing. “So what’s next for me to conquer? Synchronized swimming? Curling?” I twirl the club in my hands.
He laughs. “Your choice next. I think I know what you’ll pick.” He winks.
An attendant crosses the sand to us, a young guy in pressed khakis wearing mirrored sunglasses and an island-blue shirt. “Would you gentlemen care for a drink?”
Blair looks at me, then back at the attendant. “Two frozen virgin piña coladas, please.”
It’s stupid, it’s nothing, it’s two frozen virgin piña coladas, but my heart goes warm and soft. Even here on vacation, away from everything, he’s got my back.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him.
“Do what?” Blair asks, genuinely confused.
“Order virgin drinks for both of us.”
“I don’t need alcohol to enjoy this,” he says. “Or you.”
His choices seem effortless, as if ordering a non-alcoholic drink alongside me isn’t a sacrifice or even a consideration. I smile.
When the drinks arrive, icy yellow with fat wedges of pineapple cluttered on the rim, Blair takes both from the tray and hands one to me. I take a sip, the frozen sweetness coating my tongue. The cold rushes to my head for a second, but it’s worth it. “This is good.”
Blair settles his club against the golf bag and takes a long drink of his own. A small dot of white foam clings to his upper lip.
“Your turn,” he says, nodding toward the tee.
I set my drink down on the wooden table next to us and pick up my club. The weight feels more natural in my hands. I line up my shot, trying to remember everything Blair taught me about stance and grip and follow-through.
When I swing, I connect with a satisfying thwack. The ball arcs higher than my last, landing with a distant plop right next to his.
“Now that,” Blair says, “was beautiful.”
“Remember,” I say, “keep your core tight and your knees bent.”
“I’ve got it this time,” he insists. “My center of gravity was off before.”
This is attempt number four, and each time he’s managed to topple spectacularly.
“Sure,” I say, pushing my board into the shallow water and dropping to my knees. “Follow my lead.”
Blair mimics me, kneeling on his board as we paddle out. The water is crystal clear, the sun glinting off the surface, turning the soft waves into fields of glittering diamonds.
This is not what he thought I’d pick next for us today, but when he said he’d never been paddle boarding, well… How could I resist?
I rise to my feet, finding my balance. My board wobbles beneath me for a second before steadying. “See? Knees bent, core engaged,” I call back to Blair. I dip my paddle into the clear blue, pulling through with a smooth stroke that propels me forward. “You coming?”
Blair is still on his knees, watching me. “Yup,” he says. “Got it.”
I grin and face forward, giving him space to make his fourth attempt without an audience. I hear the scrape of Blair’s paddle against his board as he tries to stand up. My board slices through the water in a clean, quiet glide. It’s so beautiful out here.
A splash shatters the calm, followed by a string of curses. I wheel around, and there he is, thrashing in the water again.
On solid ground, he’s unstoppable. On water? He is a beautiful, hilarious disaster. All the powerful grace he owns on the ice—or on the tees—vanishes completely out here.
Blair breaks the surface sputtering, slicking his dark hair back.
I brace his board while he hauls himself back on as delicate as a hippo trying to climb a ladder. He finally gets a knee on the slick surface, then the other, and glares at me as if the whole thing is my fault.
