The Burnout(60)

“I know.” I nod, smiling, even though my eyes are wet. “The ride is it.”

“Exactly.” He nods, looking satisfied, then points at the forbidding gray surf. “All right. Enough talk. Go get it!”

“That’s right,” says Deirdre comfortably. “She’ll go and get that sea. And we’ll go and have some cake. Bye, love.” She smiles at me. “Nice to meet another pupil of Terry’s. There are so many of you, turning up here and there! He must have taught a lot of lessons.”

“Yes,” I say simply. “He did.”

Terry gives me a sweet smile over his shoulder, then walks away with Deirdre, and I sink down onto the deck of the Surf Shack, lost in a mishmash of thoughts and memories.





Fourteen



As I meet Finn that evening for drinks on the beach, I’m brimming over with all my news.

“I saw Terry,” I blurt out as soon as I catch sight of him sitting on the deck with the champagne bottle and glasses ready.

“Terry?” Finn’s face lights up, just as mine did, and I already know he’ll take the news about him as hard as I did. Sure enough, he listens in somber silence as I describe Terry’s frail appearance and confused mind.

“I guess we had to expect …” he says at last. “Terry’s had some wipeouts of his own. We didn’t think he ever would, but he did.”

“You know what he said to me this afternoon?” I raise a flicker of a smile. “ ‘No one remembers the wipeouts. Everyone remembers the triumphs.’ ”

“Well, that sounds like the old Terry.” Finn grins. “Did he end with ‘Go get it’?”

“Yes!” I sit down next to him. “That’s the weird thing! He was the old Terry some of the time. He was saying all the old Terry stuff, he was practically giving me a surfing lesson, only … it wasn’t real.”

“I guess that’s his happy place.” Finn’s eyes soften. “On the beach, teaching kids the thing he loves best.”

“I guess.” I nod. “And lucky us that we got to have him as our teacher.”

“Amen to that.” Finn’s face creases in a smile. “I remember there was a kid in my group one year. After the first day of lessons, his mum decides he’s going to pull out and do crazy golf instead.” Finn suddenly starts laughing. “Terry went ballistic. Not because he couldn’t fill the spot, but because he thought it was morally wrong. As if the first commandment was, ‘Thou shalt surf.’ ”

“I’m sure I’ve heard him say that.” I grin at Finn.

“I was signing my board back into the shop at the time,” continues Finn, “so I was inside the Surf Shack, and I could hear Terry having a go at this woman in the back office. He was saying, ‘I am offering your child heaven. Learning to ride these waves is getting the gates to heaven. Do you understand me? Literally heaven. And you’re choosing crazy golf?’ ”

“What did the kid say?” I ask, agog.

“Just stood there, embarrassed. Probably had a wipeout, got water up his nose, and didn’t like it. Probably never wanted to surf in the first place.”

“He’s probably winning the Masters now,” I say, and Finn laughs.

“Fair enough.” He sips his drink, then stands up. “Oh, I forgot! Wait there.”

He heads along the boardwalk to his own lodge, then returns with something crinkling in his hands. “I bought snacks.”

“Beetroot crisps?” I read the label wonderingly.

“Healthy!” says Finn, sounding pleased with himself. “Possibly also inedible,” he adds as an afterthought. “But it’s a start, right?” He opens the packet and offers me one, then takes one himself.

We both chew silently, eyeing each other.

“Not bad,” I say, after a bit.

“Not great,” says Finn.

“Well, no. Not great either.”

“Life’s too short for beetroot-flavored cardboard,” says Finn decisively. “If you’re going to eat crisps, eat crisps.”

“You sound like Terry,” I say, laughing.

“Excellent,” says Finn. “If in doubt, think, ‘What would Terry say?’ He’d say, ‘Eat the damn crisps and enjoy them.’ ” Finn folds over the beetroot-crisp packet and puts it aside, then adds, “As I said before, pretty much everything I’ve learned about life, I learned from Terry Connolly.”

I gaze curiously at Finn over my glass. At first, I thought this guy was the most obnoxious monster in the world. But the more we talk, the more we chime. The more I relate to him. The more I recognize. I want to know his opinion on things, I realize. I feel like they might be wise opinions. There aren’t too many people I can say that about. We’re both quiet for a bit, and I stare up into the dark, star-speckled sky. Maybe all this time I just needed a friend.


An hour later, the champagne bottle is empty and I’m shivering. It’s time to go inside.

“I can’t face room service again,” I say as we walk back up to the hotel. “I’m going to eat in the dining room.”

“Me too,” says Finn. “I actually booked a table.”

“You booked a table?” I can’t help giggling. “What, to beat the crowds?”