Waves - Book #2 [completed]

42 ~ Anacampserote

In the kitchen there's a neon pink post-it sticking to the fridge with a feminine scribble on it as well as a sketch depicting how to get to the beach.

Good morning sleepy head,

I woke up early and couldn't fall back asleep. Got up and went surfing because I didn't want to disturb you with my tossing around. You looked so peaceful. I took Baby to the beach with me. Come find me when you're well rested.

R-

PS: Don't bother with locking the door.

Being in her house alone is weird. I feel like an intruder in the small space that's far from luxurious. But on the other hand, it feels homey here. Her cabin is cozy and lived in. Though being older and used, her appliances are in a good condition. Her breakfast table wobbles a little. There's a ding in her tiles in the bathroom, the pipes groan and squeak and a piece of the kitchen backsplash is chipped off.

It's a complete contrast to the shiny, pristine, and glass and metal high rises I used to set up camp in during my previous life. But I actually like this more. I like that you can hear the outside world and the birds and the rain on the roof when there's a storm outside. I like that you don't have to run a half-marathon every time you need to use the bathroom. I like the more rural style.

The only thing I don't like is the fact that I'm risking encountering spiders of the size of a plate. I don't need that shit. I don't know why, but ever since Riley said they're there even when I can't see them, I'm pissing my pants. Figuratively that is.

How she and the other Australians deal with this is a miracle to me.

With my shoes in hand, I pull the door closed behind me, making a mental note that I need to get Riley to lock her door because that girl is living outside of town in a forest. Yes, she has a big dog, but I have yet to see Baby do something other than wag her tail at everybody she meets. I doubt this dog can even snarl.

Riley's sketch is easy enough to follow and soon I find the strip of beige sand she mentioned. The waves are high today, building smoothly, rolling over the wide stretch of sea and flopping over before crashing with noisy whooshes at the shore. The sky is grey and there's a good blow going. Despite all that, it's still warm and humid.

I spot Riley sitting cross-legged and with her back to me in the sand between her surfboard and Baby, staring at the roaring waves. She's got her t-shirt tied up around her waist, giving view to her midriff, the stem of the flower tattoo on her back peeking out. Her hair is in a high ponytail, wet and plastered to her neck and arms. And she's wearing the cheekiest bikini bottoms ever with sand sticking to her tanned bum. The tan lines tell me she's not usually wearing this scant bottom piece.

Wait! Does she have tan lines on her upper body? I try to remember, but my memory is instantly covered by images of her sunbathing in nothing but these cheeky orange bikini bottoms.

I shake my head to shove them away and call out her name. Both her and Baby's eyes snap to me when they lift their heads in synchrony.

Riley quickly wipes the back of her hand over her face, averting her gaze when she does and thinking that I didn't see the wetness tracking down her reddened cheeks.

Baby jumps up and runs toward me, but for the first time ever, I ignore her and rush to Riley, as fast as the sand allows me to. "Hey, hey, what's the matter?"

It's a stupid question. Raw feelings and grief don't disappear overnight. She's still emotional. Her swimming eyes confirm my thoughts.

"It's nothing," Riley sniffs, her lips twitching when she tries to smile. It doesn't work and the result looks more like a grimace.