usual day to surf together. The time I had once carved out for my best friend in my youth now belonged solely to my brother. Fate had capriciously taken one away, but it had given me another, one who would never leave.
My heart swelled with gratitude for my brother. He might need me, but emotionally, I needed him every bit as much.
“Mine.” Cork lifted his arm in the air to call dibs on an incoming wave.
Paddling into it, he turned his board toward the shore at just the right time. He popped up into his stance, mesmerizing to watch as the energy of the wave propelled him along. When Cork surfed, it seemed like he danced on water. Dipping beneath the canopy of his wave as it curled, he emerged like a merman from the other side right before it collapsed.
Even when he’d hit his head, he’d still risen from the depths. That incident had transformed Cork, but he would always be one with the ocean he loved.
As his ride petered out, he stepped off his board and dropped back into the water’s embrace. His laughter drifted to me, and I smiled, so glad I’d gotten back early enough to spend time with him in the ocean today.
“It’s late, Cork. We’d better go in,” I said when he paddled near enough to hear me.
“All right.” His shoulders fell, and so did his expression.
“We should have gone in thirty minutes ago. I let you have more time, but I’m going to have to skip a shower and hurry to make it to Outside on time.”
“That last wave was a good one.”
“I saw that. You were amazing.”
“Thanks, Lotus.”
“You’re welcome, squirt.”
Cork rolled his eyes. I rarely called him that anymore. He was too big for the childish nickname, as he often reminded me.
“What kind of vehicle is that?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“There.” He pointed to a spot at the top of the sheer rust-colored cliffs four hundred feet above us.
As I looked up, I froze. It looked like Journey’s Scout, but of course it couldn’t be. “I think it’s an International Harvester Scout.”
“Cool. Those are old. They don’t make them anymore. I like the roll bars on that one. Practical for a surfboard.”
“Not getting you a car, Cork,” I said. “Even if you had a license, we can’t afford it.”
“I know. It’s just a cool vehicle. And I hate that you have to walk everywhere.”
“I don’t mind.” I swirled my legs in the water. “It’s good exercise, and I never have to worry about finding a parking space.”
“I know you don’t mind, but I wondered if you knew the guy who owns that vehicle.”
“Why do you ask?” I tilted my head.
“He was standing there nearly the entire time we’ve been out here surfing.”
“What did he look like?” I asked, even though I knew it wasn’t Journey.
He knew what town I lived in, sure, but he and I were a one-and-done deal. And even if we weren’t, how could he possibly know that I was here surfing at the cliffs in this spot today?
“Longish hair. He seemed tall. Couldn’t tell much about his features, really. He was too far away.”
“He was probably just looking at the view.”
“Maybe. I dunno. It seemed odd to me. He was there a long time, but now he’s gone.”
I considered that as we paddled in, dried off, and I changed clothes in the same little shallow cave I’d used as a dressing room back when it was just Storm and me. I braided my wet hair again and reemerged. Cork remained in his wet suit, though it was unzipped now and turned down at the waist.
“Can I go with you to the meeting?” he asked, not for the first time.
“No.” I shook my head. “Band members only, plus Ash and me. Sorry.”
“Okay.” Cork’s crestfallen expression made his disappointment evident.
“But I’ll watch a couple of episodes of What We Do in the Shadows with you later.”
“Promise?” Cork gave me a skeptical look.
He loved that farcical vampire show. I liked it okay, but in limited doses.
“Absolutely.” I patted him on the back. “Anything for you.”
“Anything for you too,” he said.
“Even wash off my board and wet suit for me while I head on into the studio?”
“Even that,” he said, grinning. “And I’ll carry your board for you up the stairs right now.”
I let him. I could do it, but my brother was being sweet, and our dad always insisted that the joy for the giver was in the act