The Burnout(50)

“Of course he was.” I smile, recalling those days, hugging my knees. “D’you remember how he used to finish every warm-up session? He used to point out to the ocean and say, ‘Go get it.’ ”

“Of course I remember,” says Finn. “It was like his blessing. ‘Go get it.’ ”

“ ‘Infinite waves, infinite chances,’ ” I say, remembering another of Terry’s sayings, and Finn nods.

“ ‘You don’t catch a wave by staring at the sky.’ ”

“ ‘No one remembers the wipeouts.’ ”

“ ‘Don’t doubt around all day.’ ” Finn imitates Terry’s hoarse voice. “ ‘Seize that wave.’ ”

“ ‘Why are you worrying about the sea?’ ” I do my own imitation of Terry. “ ‘The sea sure as hell isn’t worrying about you.’ ”

“ ‘The sea sure as hell isn’t worrying about you.’ ” Finn repeats, laughing.

“And ‘The ride is it.’ ” I turn my head toward Finn. “Remember that? ‘Kids, you have to enjoy the ride. The ride is it.’ ”

“ ‘The ride is it.’ ”

“ ‘The ride is it.’ ”

I lift my glass to Finn, who smiles back and raises his own. As we both sip, with the dark waves crashing onto the sand in front of us, it’s like a little tribute to Terry.

“So, tell me,” says Finn, as we both lower our glasses. “How did you mortify yourself at work?”

“Oh no!” I give a defensive laugh. “You’re not getting me to reveal that.”

“Fair enough.” He pauses, then adds, “But I still can’t believe it was worse than what I did.”

I hear again some of the words he dictated in the dunes. I should not have raised my voice to you in the departmental meeting … slammed my coffee cup down on the boardroom table, causing spillage and damage to papers … punched the coffee vending machine … exhibited frustration with the office ficus plant …

“Can I be honest?” I say.

“Go ahead.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would slam his coffee cup down, causing spillage and damage to papers. Or threaten to massacre a ficus.”

“Oh, I am,” says Finn, a bit grimly. “I have. I did.”

“You haven’t slammed down a single cup since you’ve been here.”

“That’s because I haven’t been angry. I haven’t been stressed. When I get in a certain state—it’s like a fog comes over my brain.” He exhales deeply, almost despairingly. “I’m not proud. I used to be in control of myself.”

“What happened?”

“I was … in a …” He pauses, his eyes flickering darkly. “I found myself in a difficult situation. I was overdoing it. Not sleeping. I guess I wasn’t the invincible guy I’d kidded myself I was. You know you’re in trouble when your secretary stages an intervention.” He shuts his eyes and rubs his forehead with his fist. “And you start punching vending machines. Not my finest moment.”

“I have always wanted to punch a vending machine,” I say, and he laughs.

“Believe me, it’s not all that.”

“So, what do you do?”

“Management consultant. You?”

“I do marketing for Zoose.”

“I’ve heard of it.” He nods. “I work at Forpower Consulting, which you definitely won’t have heard of. We’re niche. We pretty much just advise green-energy companies.”

“And why did you … What happened to tip you over the edge?”

There’s silence, and something bleak ripples across his face.

“Hard to say,” he says at last, as though speaking with difficulty. “I guess it was a bunch of stuff.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I realize that’s where he’s drawing his line.

“Well, at least you didn’t run away from your office and try to join a convent,” I say, trying to cheer him up.

“A convent?” He looks truly astonished.

“I know!” I bury my face in my hands briefly. “I lost my mind for a moment. My workload got to me and I couldn’t see a way out. Becoming a nun seemed the obvious solution.”

“Becoming a nun.” He gives a short, sharp laugh. “Interesting choice. What about … ?” From the upswing in his voice, I know exactly what he’s referring to.

“Sex?” I turn my head briefly. “I’m off sex. Not a problem.”

“Right,” he says after a long-ish pause. “Got it.”

Of course he’s got it. He read my “song lyrics.”

There’s another weird-feeling pause, in which I digest the fact that I have revealed to this guy the most intimate details of my life. On a beach. When I hardly know him.

But somehow I’m not freaked out. Finn feels safe and trustworthy. And most important, he gets it. He knows how I feel. Just to meet someone who’s been through something similar is such a relief.

“So the nun thing didn’t work out?” he inquires.

“They wouldn’t have me.” Suddenly I see the funny side of it and start laughing. “Our empowerment and well-being officer came to fetch me, and I was running away from her when I bumped my head on a brick wall and ended up in hospital.”