Wish (12 page)

“I think it’s great.”

“Sky surfing,” Little Brew said. “That’s what Ty calls it.
I don’t sleep all that great so I need something to do at night. Do you want to take a look? I think I’ve got it now.”

My eyes had adjusted, but it was still dark on the platform. Little Brew gave me his hand and I stepped across and bent to the eyepiece. It took me a second to get my vision to work through the telescope. I saw a large white dot with three dashes near the center.

“That’s Jupiter,” he said, “and some of the moons.”

“Amazing.”

“It’s not much through a small telescope like this. This is just a low-end Meade. The one at my dad’s friend’s is amazing.”

“I’m happy with this,” I said, pulling back from the telescope, glancing at him, then looking through the lens again. “Thank you for showing me the stars.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “I thought you might like this.”

“You make me want to look skyward more.”

“The Hubble telescope is sending back unbelievable stuff,” he said when I straightened. He bent past me to look at Jupiter again. “You can see it online. It’s weird, because I don’t think most people care. It’s like living at a time of exploration and you get to go along with the explorers, and some people can’t even be bothered to look.”

“Guilty,” I said.

“I didn’t mean you,” he said quickly and looked up. “Honestly, I didn’t. I meant all the media and all the stupid
reports about movie stars and reality show junk. You have this incredible thing going on and all anyone reads about or watches on television is whether some star is getting a divorce or a belly tuck.”

“I see what you mean.”

He looked at me and smiled. Then he kissed me. Just like that. It happened so suddenly I didn’t quite believe it. I didn’t even have time to lift my arms up toward him. Just our lips touched and I felt ready to tip over and fall out of the trees.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, pulling back. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

He kissed me again. Then I kissed him. Jupiter threw whiteness through the eyepiece, like the tiniest light in the world trying to find someplace to rest.

“Your mom keeps calling me,” Ty said, pouring me orange juice into a glass. “She kept it up half the night. She’s like a stalker woman. The thing kept buzzing on my dresser.”

For two guys living together, the kitchen was remarkably clean. Little Brew had gone upstairs and Tommy was still asleep. A few cars started outside and a blue jay screeched at something, probably a cat. Someone drove by with rap music going, the bass pounding.

“Sorry about my mom,” I said. “She’s just trying to reach Tommy.”

“I don’t answer but she doesn’t stop.”

“She’s angry and hurt and she’s trying to prove she’s a concerned mom. It’ll stop when we meet up with her. I’ll call her after the surfing, anyway.”

“That’s a relief,” Ty said.

We had bagels and butter and strawberry jelly. We also had tea with sugar and plenty of cream. I felt sleep slowly peeling off me, but I wasn’t ready to think about Little Brew and our star watching. Not yet. Besides, the sun looked bright and ready. Ty had already made a couple calls to check on conditions. The surf shoot was on. The waves, he said, had been clocked at about thirty feet. The camera crew planned to be there at noon for the best shooting light.

“So what about you, Bee?” Ty asked, sitting across from me. “We haven’t really talked about anyone but Tommy. You keep your cards pretty close to your chest.”

“I don’t mean to,” I said. “It’s just the way it goes.”

“You want to go to college and all that?”

“Dartmouth,” I said. “That’s my goal. If not Dartmouth, then another Ivy. But Dartmouth is my first choice.”

“That means you’re a good student,” Ty said, biting into his bagel. “Honor roll?”

“Pretty much. I’m a bit obsessive about details. If a teacher assigns something, I get it done. I usually get it finished a few days early. I can’t help it.”

“And going to Dartmouth will keep you close to Tommy.”

“That, too,” I said. It was true that I didn’t want to be far from my brother. But this trip was making me see that possibilities existed.

“What else do you like to do? For fun, I mean.”

“Hang with friends, mostly,” I said. “I like movies a lot. Old black-and-white movies from the thirties and forties. Film noir. IMDb is my favorite Web site. I’m always on it. I know, it’s odd.”

“No it isn’t,” Ty said. “It’s actually pretty cool.”

“I like the styles. The women’s dresses and things. And the guys all wear suits. It’s kind of like a fantasy, only better because it existed. People really did wear those clothes. So that’s my dirty little secret.”

“How about career stuff?”

“I thought of being a veterinarian for a while. But now I’m thinking of being a doctor. I like the sciences.”

“I like the sciences, too,” Ty said. “I went to UCLA for marine biology, but then I switched to film. It’s a cliché to go to UCLA for film, but that’s what I did.”

“And this filming today? Is that what you do professionally?”

“Yeah, I have a company called Break Dog,” he said,
taking a sip of tea and wiping his mouth. “We make loops of extreme outdoor activities. Boarding, skiing, surfing, motocross, and trick riding. That kind of stuff. We sell subscriptions to places that want a young crowd. They play the loop until it becomes stale or the season changes, then we send them a new one. Eventually I want to do full-length feature films, but this pays the rent right now.”

“It’s a cool concept.”

“Not a real moneymaker, though, but it gives me clips to show people. A way to build the résumé. I like the editing process. Maybe I’ll end up being a film editor. Hard to say.”

“Things have a way of working out,” I said.

He leaned forward a little. And when he spoke, he lowered his voice.

“You think Tommy made you want to be a doctor?” he asked.

“Probably. But maybe I’ll change my mind. Do something unexpected.”

“You’ll be a doctor,” Ty said. “Or not. But you’ll excel at whatever you choose to do.”

I liked Ty, and he was awfully good-looking, but he felt like a big brother. Someone who could mow the grass in front of you without getting into your face. Someone who could also bring over about a thousand good-looking friends. I knew my girlfriends, Jill and Marcie and Maggie, would go nuts over California guys. Cali boys weren’t
like the ones in New Hampshire. They seemed a lot more relaxed and didn’t show off as much. Plus, a lot of them had athletic bodies. I figured it was because they were outside doing things all the time.

“You okay with Tommy going out in the surf today?” Ty asked when he had finished half his bagel. “You don’t think it’ll be too much, do you?”

“If he goes under, he won’t be able to catch his breath.”

“I know,” Ty said. “We’re going to take an easy wave and he’s going to ride on my back. We’ll have the Jet Ski at the ready to scoop him up.”

“It scares me,” I said. “I’ll be honest. But it’s the biggest thing to ever happen to him.”

He nodded.

“I’d never deliberately put him at risk,” Ty said. “I love that kid.”

“I know you do,” I said, lowering my voice a little in case Tommy was awake in the next room. “Getting to meet you has meant everything. You don’t even know.”

“He didn’t like that boat trip, did he?” he said, matching the level of my voice. “He didn’t say much when I asked him about it, but I could tell. When he e-mailed that his wish was to dive with great whites, I got worried. I figured it would be kind of touristy. Nothing wrong with diving with great whites, but it’s not what he’s about, exactly. It just didn’t seem a match.”

“He needed
this
,” I said, gesturing around me. “He needed you guys, the way you are. He needed that.”

“I like hanging with him. He never complains.”

“Never,” I confirmed, feeling my throat tighten.

Ty nodded. He finished his bagel before I had finished half of mine. He tidied up and stacked some dishes in the dishwasher. Little Brew came into the kitchen as Ty sat down to sip more tea. Ty glanced at both of us, nodded at something he observed, then lifted his mug. Little Brew passed behind me on the way to the stove, and his hand trailed softly across my shoulders.

After he woke up and had a bagel, Tommy spent an hour with the vest, and this time the guys let him sit quietly. They understood he needed to be in the best shape possible for surfing. Tommy sat and watched television, his arms out, his chest sounding gummy and loose. Ty made last-minute phone calls, lining up elements of the shoot and confirming which friends would be surfing. Little Brew grabbed me and brought me outside to pack the van.

“It was nice last night,” he said, lifting a surfboard onto the roof rack. I held the back end while he pushed it forward. “Are you cool with Tommy knowing we like each other?”

“Sure. I think he already knows.”

“I like you, Bee. I wish you lived closer.”

“So do I.”

He climbed up on the bumper and used ratchet straps to tie down the board. Then we grabbed another board and carried it over to the back of the van. This one felt heavier and denser.

“Lots of girls around here are into the malls and all that ridiculous stuff,” he said. “You’re not like that.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t even have a mall in my part of New Hampshire.”

“That’s what I mean,” he said. “I’ve never met an Eastern girl before.”

Then he asked me to push the back of the surfboard harder while he guided it into place. He climbed onto the bumper and used a second ratchet strap to tie it down. We had four boards piled on top and a bunch of gear—wet suits, cameras, life jackets, and so on—jumbled in the back of the van. He had to wrestle the last board into place twice before he was finally satisfied with it. By the time he jumped down, Ty came out and joined us.

“We’ve got it set,” Ty said. “We have to get moving, though. Tommy says he’s done.”

“He’s good to go, then,” I said.

“You should bring your things, so that I can run you up to San Francisco after. Either the hotel or the airport.”

“How long does the shoot take?”

“A couple hours, maybe. It depends on the light and what the waves are doing. We do mostly handheld shots, so we can film in all conditions. We’ll see.”

“I’ll get Tommy,” I said.

Ty and Little Brew did one last check of the gear while I rounded up Tommy. His color looked bad. Part of it might have been the television light, but he looked jaundiced and thin and it took him a second to find his voice after I unstrapped the vest. I pushed back his hair and looked at his eyes. He felt warm. He jerked his head to one side to get my hand off. He tried to get up, but the couch cushions were too deep.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked Tommy. “You feel warm.”

“Yes, Bee’s Knees,” he said. “I’m fine.”

I got him onto his feet. He clicked the remote at the television. He had to click a couple times before it finally hissed closed. He tossed the remote onto the couch.

“I’m doing this,” he said. “Nothing’s stopping me.”

“No one is saying you can’t. We just have to be smart.”

He shrugged. And because he’s Tommy, he slowly nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I know you’re a little worried.”

“You have to promise you’ll be honest and tell me if it feels like too much, okay? No one’s going to judge you. These guys like you just the way you are.”

He nodded again. I told him Ty had promised to drive us back to San Francisco later. Then he helped me collect our things. We didn’t have much. By the time we had shoved everything into our backpacks, Little Brew and Ty had finished with the equipment check. The sun threw hard shadows straight down at us.

“Thirty-footers!” Little Brew said when he saw Tommy. “The surfing Snow Pony.”

Tommy struck a pose as if he were surfing. It looked ridiculous.

“We’re ready,” Ty said, closing the rear doors to the van. “You guys all set?”

“We’re set,” I said.

I helped Tommy inside. Watching him climb into the shot gun spot—lift the leg, organize his weight, rock for ward, miss, rock forward again, then semicollapse inside—I had a moment of doubt. The whole idea seemed crazy. I pictured him out in the waves, or worse, below, down in the swirl of water and sand, his frail body beaten and turned every which way. I wondered if I wasn’t being irresponsible.
Of course
Tommy wanted to surf.
Of course
he thought it would be cool and fun and only a little dangerous. But I was supposed to keep an eye on him.

“Let’s roll,” Ty yelled.

Little Brew hopped in, his skin already coated with
sunblock. He reached forward and tapped Tommy’s head. Tommy turned and tried to fight back, but his movement was impossibly slow, a frog tongue after an insect that had already darted off.

“Perfect day,” Ty said, pulling things out of the back as I helped Tommy down from the shotgun seat. Ty used a small plastic wagon to carry stuff. He filled it quickly.

Water sparkled blue and sharp everywhere to our west. The sand on Half Moon Bay State Beach looked dry and crisp. A clutter of people had erected their umbrellas a little farther down the beach. Now and then, depending on the wind, we heard them yell and scream. Someone hit a baseball with an aluminum bat and the odd
plink
carried better than anything else. The sea and waves rolled in, rinsing back through the sand.

A sign next to the parking lot warned surfers.

“Mark Foo drowned here,” Tommy said, spotting the sign and walking over to inspect it. “He was a world-class big-wave rider from Hawaii. He got trapped underneath, they think, but no one really knows. He might have been knocked unconscious by his board.”

“Don’t be putting any mumbo jumbo on us,” Little Brew said, loud enough for Tommy to hear. “Get over here and give us a hand. You two need to put on some wet suits.”