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As Taylor announces he’s ready to grill the steaks, we grab our drinks and plates of food and make our way to the patio. I push thoughts of Arden away and focus on being the host. Besides, it’s the holiday weekend in Hermosa Beach.
Time to party.
ChapterTwo
ARDEN
I wake up to the sound of the surf outside my window. There are other sounds, too, like the soft pounding of running shoes on the Strand or the clicking of bicycle gears, but on the whole, it’s peaceful for now.
The parties started last night, and I’m sure there’ll be more for the Memorial Day weekend. Not that I mind it. What are a few rowdy parties compared to the many nights I spent amid conflicts around the world?
I get up and lay my yoga mat on the balcony. Sun salutations, downward-facing dog, and whatever else I can remember from my morning yoga routine. I take a deep breath and exhale.Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold. Let go.
I’d done the same stretches inside my room during my last assignment. I remember the eerie calm before the blast, followed by the shockwave that sent me across the room. A wave of panic hits me, my muscles tightening.
I close my eyes.Relax, Arden.You’re here. You’re safe. You’re back at the starting line.
I let out a gentle exhale.Starting line.Now, that’s a great way to look at it.
After fourteen years of covering wars all over the world, sometimes embedded with the very men fighting them, one day, I woke up to find the hand holding my camera trembling. It would take me some time before I’d admit the inevitable, that I’d lost my nerve, something Barry had a ton of and probably the one reason I ended up doing what I did for so long. He’d been my mentor, and like a good mentee, I followed him everywhere. Hell, I even married him.
I should've known that his declaration of not wanting children “for now” was permanent. And back then, I agreed with him. I told myself I had no time for children. I was too busy disappearing into the stories I photographed to know what I truly wanted… until the day I did.
At 39, I realize I want kids after all. People can change their minds, right? Too bad I wasn’t the only one who had the same idea. Barry had been cheating on me for four straight years, and I had no clue. All those assignments that weren’t really assignments but time spent with her… and their child together. That hurt the most.
Well, that and believing for so long that my own needs weren’t as important as his. But no more. From this moment on, I’m putting my own needs first.
With my final stretches done, I change into a t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, lather on the sunscreen, and tie my hair in a ponytail. I can’t hole myself inside the house all day—time to go for a run and see what else has changed on the Strand.
“Good morning, Arden.”
I see Hudson standing by the door leading to his patio when I step out of the house. He looks like he just got up, his thick dark hair sticking up in all directions. As he yawns, I chuckle, my suspicions confirmed. “Good morning, Hudson. Hungover?”
He brings his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Just a little bit. You going for a run?”
I slip my ponytail through the hole at the back of my baseball cap. “Yup. Wanna keep me company?”
His face brightens. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“But only if you stretch first. I wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”
Five minutes later, Hudson emerges from the house wearing a gray t-shirt, a pair of black running shorts, and a baseball cap worn backward, making him look younger than his 28 years. A feeling of deja vu hits me as the memory of the eight-year-old version of him steps out the door, but I quickly push the vision away. I like this grown-up version much better, thank you very much.
“So, how far do you want to go?” he asks when we’re done stretching.
“I was thinking of running up to the tip of Manhattan Beach and back down,” I reply. “I want to see how much the area has changed.”
“Oh, it’s changed, alright,” he says. “I can give you an informal tour if you like.”
I grin. “That sounds great.”
As Hudson promised, he gives me an informal tour of the Strand throughout our run. He tells me which houses have changed hands or been demolished to make way for more prominent buildings and which haven’t. He jogs my memory of who among my friends that summer stayed behind and who left, many of whom belonged to the former camp.
An hour later, we end our run on the Hermosa Beach Pier. It feels good to feel the ocean breeze against my face and smell the salt in the air. Enjoying the view with a gorgeous young man beside me feels even better.
I just hope I don’t get used to this feeling too much.
HUDSON
