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I sat there staring at it with wide eyes, because I didn’t want to forget what it was like to see the ocean for the first time—the way the white waves rushed out of the fog like they were in a hurry. Or how the jagged cliffs loomed over the water like some kind of guardian.
“Brooks!” I shook her. “Check it out!”
She blinked awake, nodded, then closed her eyes again like the ocean was an inconvenience. Whatever.
Where were we? Out the window, a wooden sign read solana beach. I reached for the road atlas, and my eyes roved over it until I saw we were in San Diego. Just a couple hours south of LA.
I got down from the truck. The air was cool and wet and salty.
I spotted Hondo over at a food truck on the other end of the parking lot. He waved at me and I motioned that I was going to check out the beach. A couple surfer guys were sitting on the back bumper of their van, pulling on their wetsuits. A golden Lab danced in place, whining.
It made me miss Rosie even worse.
I stepped onto the sand, trying to balance on my walking stick. But it was mushy and uneven, impossible to get a foothold on. The waves were only thirty or so yards away. Seeing the sea wasn’t enough. I had to touch it.
I kicked off my sneakers and socks. The coarse sand was chilly and damp. Sharp bits of white shell poked out. After a few steps, I realized the stick was worthless. This is no different from balancing on the edge of the volcano, I told myself. One foot in front of the other, placing just the right amount of weight on each foot. I’d come face-to-face with the god of death and killed a demon runner. Surely I could walk across the sand.
I was worried Hondo would call me back any second, because once he’d had his breakfast and coffee, he’d want to get on the road. But no way was I going to waste this moment.
A seagull circled overhead as I took the last few steps between piles of brownish-green seaweed. Ha-ha-ha, it cried.
The cold waves touched my toes and I couldn’t help but smile a huge goofy smile. Wow! The ocean was seriously a lot bigger close-up. I tossed my stick onto the beach and inched farther into the water. It was like ice, but I didn’t care. I went in up to my ankles, then to my knees. My jeans were soaked and felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. A small white wave rushed toward me, knocking me over. I came up laughing, shaking the water out of my hair.
“You’re not what I expected,” a female voice said.
(I guess I should stop here and warn you gods that you are seriously not going to like this part of the story. So prepare yourselves.)
I turned, peering through the morning fog, but there was no one on the shore, and I couldn’t see past the waves because the mist was too thick.
“Hello?” I called out.
No answer.
“Anyone there?” I shuffled backward toward the shore, shivering.
I suddenly felt like I was being watched. A tingle ran through me, and I didn’t know if it was because I was freezing or something else. Maybe I’d imagined the voice. Yeah, I know, but a guy can hope, can’t he?
Grabbing my stick, I dragged it through the thick wet sand. zane was here.
Then came the weird thing—in the empty space next to my name, new letters materialized slowly, as if invisible fingers were writing in the sand.
look
What the…? I scanned the empty beach, did a one-eighty to search the water, but I was alone. I dropped to my knees and wrote furiously with my finger: who are you?
Holding my breath, I waited. Then…
look
I stared hard at the letters until a wave washed them away. Then the wall of mist vanished, and beyond the waves a woman sat on a surfboard, bobbing gently. She had shockingly white blond hair but was too far away for me to see any other details.
“Come out,” she said, and strangely, I could hear her as if she were standing right next to me.
Was she delusional? No way was I going to dive under those waves and swim up to some stranger who could write in the sand like a ghost.
“You must hurry….We only have minutes,” she said.
