Breaker's Passion

Leaving a trail of broken hearts scattered across the islands, surf instructor Colby Taylor, aka Breaker, is running full speed away from her selfish actions years earlier. Hiding in the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean, the last thing she expects to encounter is Elizabeth Collins, a stuffy, judgmental college professor forced down her own escape path. Elizabeth is uncharacteristically drawn to the mysterious surfer but can’t picture herself having a vacation fling, or any other relationship with the enigamatic Breaker.

Set in the backdrop of Maui, one of Hawaii’s most beautiful islands, both women must overcome their doubts and apprehensions to discover the true beauty of life—each other.

Breaker’s Passion

© 2011 By Julie Cannon.

This is for my dad and Laura, both of whom loved the island of Maui.

The nightmare always began the same. Bodies bathed in sweat. Arms and legs twisted among wrinkled sheets damp from hours of passion. The only noise in the room came from the two figures bound together in pleasure. It wasn’t until the barest rays of dawn peeked over the horizon that silence engulfed the room. The next sound was the sick, piercing scream. Earsplitting at first, it started to diminish second after second, softer and softer until silence reigned again.

Colby woke with a start. The crushing weight in her chest, the room spinning, her face drenched in sweat were familiar. The pounding in her temples overwhelmed her, not letting up. She shook her head, running her fingers through her short black hair and squeezing tight, as if the pain that her action caused would stop the throbbing.

It took her a few moments to realize the pounding wasn’t inside her head, but outside her small apartment. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and walked naked across the room. Opening the curtain she looked down to see a group of seven or eight people by her front door, one of them knocking. It was her eight a.m. surfing class. Colby stepped back before any of the eager students noticed her bare breasts through the window above their head. Grabbing a T-shirt off the chair beside her, she pulled it over her head before she opened the window.

“Hey, sorry about that. Be down in a second.” Colby waved, then slid the window shut.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face in less than five minutes. Her hands had finally stopped shaking from the nightmare as she stepped outside into the new day. No matter how bright the sun, every morning transformed the nightmare into reality.

Elizabeth was ready to explode. She’d been waiting in baggage claim for the last ninety minutes with no sign of her luggage. She fumed again, though Elizabeth Collins never lost her temper. She was always calm and composed. Libra was her astrological sign—the scales. She was well-balanced in both her personal and professional life and rarely experienced the highs and lows that most people did. An ex-girlfriend had said she was inhibited. During one of their many ugly fights, another called her frigid. She didn’t care what people thought. She was comfortable with herself, except for right now.

Elizabeth looked around one more time. Another crowd of people eager to begin their dream vacations descended on baggage claim, grabbing their luggage as it tumbled off conveyor belt #4. For the past thirty minutes, eight such crowds had come and gone. To her left a single green bag circled clockwise around belt #2, going nowhere, obviously unclaimed. Elizabeth was too pissed off to wonder about its owner.

She seemed to have been going around in circles with the lone bag. First, no sign of her suitcases, then a trip to customer service, then back to baggage claim, and again back to the same woman at the customer-service counter, who this time assured her that her three suitcases were on the next inbound flight. Three flights later Elizabeth was still wondering which next she was referring to. This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

The warm Hawaiian air made a bead of sweat snake between her breasts, and she was glad she had put her shoulder-length blond hair up with a large clip. The humidity would make her curls even more unmanageable. The entire baggage-claim area was open, with no doors or windows, simply a dozen or more thick cement columns supporting a tall roof. Luggage carts, lined up at least sixty deep between carousels #1 and #2, were waiting to be loaded with tourist baggage. Two vending machines prepared to spit out Coke products and junk food stood on the far wall next to the entrance to the restrooms. Behind her was the required Starbucks stand and next to it a small magazine outlet. Apart from the open-air baggage-claim area and the sign on the ladies’ room door that said Wahine, the biggest surprise of island life so far was that the TSA security screeners wore shorts.

A steady breeze blew through the entrance, causing tourist brochures to flap in their holders. She had read just about every one while waiting for her AWOL bags to appear and learned that while she was on the island she could do everything from visiting an aquarium and sailing down a zip line to eating every kind of seafood imaginable.

She reached for her phone, but before she had a chance to flip it open, it rang. Recognizing the number displayed on the face, she didn’t mince words.

“What?”

“Jesus, Elizabeth, you’re in paradise, supposed to be relaxing with a fruity drink in your hand, not biting my head off.”

“Sorry, Diane. I’m still at the airport waiting for my luggage.”

“I thought you’d be on the beach by now.”

Elizabeth gave her best friend, Diane Tatum, the CliffsNotes version of her trip so far. “What’s up?” she finally asked.

“My mother broke her hip.” Diane’s New York accent echoed in her ear. Mother sounded more like muth-a.

“What?” Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she understood because another flock of tourists heading toward the baggage carousel had distracted her.

“I said my mother broke her hip. She tripped over that goddamn mutt of hers and fell. She was on the floor all night before she was able to get to the phone and call me.”

Elizabeth’s stomach knotted. She had spent so much time at Diane’s house when she was growing up, Lucille Tatum had been almost as much a constant in her life as her own mother.

“My God, Diane, how is she?”

“Not good.” Diane sighed into the phone, sounding weary. “The doctor said it’s practically shattered. She needs a hip replacement. She’s in a lot of pain and heavily sedated. Surgery is the day after tomorrow.”

Recovering from the shock, Elizabeth started walking toward the ticket counter. Maybe she could get a return flight to the mainland on the next US Airways flight. “Look, I’ll come back. You’ll need help with her when she’s recovering.”

“Don’t.” Diane’s voice was firm, and Elizabeth stopped as though Diane had reached through the cell-phone waves and grabbed her. “There’s nothing you can do here. She’ll be in the hospital for about a week, then off to a rehab facility for at least a month or two. I want you to stay. You need a vacation, Elizabeth. You promised me you’d relax.”

After months of needling, she had promised Diane she would do just that. She had been more keyed up lately, at least for her, and as much as she had dragged her feet on this trip, she knew it would be good for her.

“She won’t die. She’ll live another thirty years. That dog of hers might not make it through tomorrow, though, if I have to take care of it.” Diane was beginning to sound like her normal sarcastic self.

“Di—”

“No, Elizabeth,” Diane barked back at her. “If I find out you came back I’ll kick your butt.”

With relief she saw her bags pop out of the chute. A few more words with Diane, then she hung up. She glanced at her watch, furious. It was almost one thirty. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her luggage, and headed for the rental-car counter.

Elizabeth looked at her watch for the third time in almost as many minutes while the rental-car attendant demonstrated how the sleek sedan transformed into a sleeker convertible with just a click of a button. She knew how these things worked, but this guy probably had to follow rules and regulations and procedures to reduce their liability if she did something stupid like try to open the top while driving. Trying to exhibit more patience than she felt, Elizabeth listened to the safety instructions, where she could and couldn’t take the vehicle, blah, blah, blah.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he handed her the keys, wished her a good day, and she was on her way. She asked how to get to her hotel as she exited the rental-car lot. After a quick left turn, then a right, Elizabeth slid her Ray-Bans on her face, her Arizona Diamondbacks cap on her head, and stepped on the gas.

Traffic was light, at least in comparison to what she was used to, and she maneuvered the car in and out of the unimpressive vehicles on the road. The cars in the Enterprise lot were either Jeep Wranglers, convertibles like hers, or minivans. God forbid she would ever be caught driving a minivan. Even if by some strange luck she found herself with half a dozen kids she would never, ever own one. They were the pure symbol of white-middle-class heterosexuality. She was more the Cadillac Escalade kind of woman.

Passing the requisite Home Depot, Costco, and Kmart on her left, Elizabeth was soon enjoying the cool air as she made her way west out of town. After she turned left on the Honoapiilani Highway, traffic was almost nonexistent and she increased her speed. She was still pissed off about the luggage delay, but the green rolling hills on the right calmed her.

Even though the entire island was formed of lava rock, the sheer fortitude of Mother Nature created a lush, tropical landscape. In preparation for the trip, Elizabeth had kept a close eye on the weather forecast and knew Maui had received an unusually large amount of rainfall recently. The greenery along the highway confirmed it.

Three or four miles farther, the shoreline finally appeared to her left, as beautiful and breathtaking as Elizabeth had imagined. It was early afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky behind her, reflecting off the crystal-clear blue ocean and the crashing white waves. The sight of the cresting waves and the clear sky, with other islands off in the distance, affected her with surprising intensity.

She was not emotional. Far from it. She was analytical, looking for a reason and an explanation for just about everything. In fact, Diane often teased her, had tagged her emotional stability a flatline. At first she was amused, but the more she thought about the term the more she didn’t like it. She was pleased she didn’t suffer the emotional highs and lows of her friends, but the reference to flatline indicated no heartbeat, no pulse, and no life. She wasn’t dead. Far from it. She was alive and lived life fully. She was happy. At least she thought she was.

As she drove, she remembered a recent conversation when one of her friends called at ten p.m. sobbing because she had just broken up with her girlfriend. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. It was ridiculous. Her friend had known this woman all of six months and she was heartbroken, practically wailing into the telephone with words like “I’ll never love again,” “How could she do this to me,” and “We were perfect together.” How could she be so emotionally upset when their relationship ended? Elizabeth hadn’t acted even close to that bad when she had finally admitted her relationship with Sarah was over.

She had met Sarah eight years earlier in a public library, both of them reaching for the same copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s collected poems. Dozens of lunches, dinners, cups of coffee, and sleepovers later, Elizabeth finally admitted they were a couple. Sarah had wanted to live together, but Elizabeth had drawn the line at that point. She had watched far too many friends become typical lesbians and move in with each other after one or two months. No way would she humiliate herself by doing the same thing, only to find that after a few months the relationship fizzled and one of them was left trying to find a new place to live. With her luck she’d be stuck trying to throw Sarah out because they were living in her place.

She rarely thought about Sarah in the years since their relationship ended. It started out fun and exciting, even lustful, but after several years they discovered they were too much alike. Most people would consider that a good thing, she and Sarah being exactly alike in temperament. They weren’t particularly adventurous either inside or outside the bedroom, let alone anywhere else in their lives. In the beginning of any new relationship the atmosphere at the same old restaurant always brightened and the food tasted better. The same shops had a new look and feel, walks were more beautiful, and smells were more acute when you were holding hands with your new love. But after a while the excitement faded and one day simply melted into another, which melted into another. With Sarah it melted into four years.

Elizabeth hadn’t tried to analyze the growing discomfort in her sedate relationship. Instead of feeling relaxed and secure she was anxious, as if she was looking for something but didn’t know what. Like something might just show up and knock on her door.

Sarah had no idea their relationship was ending when she agreed to Elizabeth’s plans to have dinner at Sarah’s apartment. Elizabeth didn’t know when to break it to Sarah, but over coffee and dessert she started the conversation she had rehearsed earlier that day. Sarah took it surprisingly well, and since they didn’t live together Elizabeth merely had to collect some toiletries and a few clothes she had left in Sarah’s closet. Two grocery bags later Sarah was out of her life. Nice and neat.