On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Nine - "Climacteric"

Sarah

“Miss Parks, your martini,” a waiter in a waistcoat and trousers said, placing a tray with a single dry martini next to my chair.

I pulled down my sunglasses and smiled, “Keep them coming, would you?”

“Of course.”

I lay back on the chair and stared back across the expanse of beautiful white sand and to the clear blue water. A surfer was ripping back and forth through the waves with such ease that it could have been as natural a bird flitting back and forth through the clouds.

The sun was beginning to set, and I knew I should start getting ready to head back to New York, but the happiness that came with doing nothing was making me a little woozy. Or maybe it was the martinis. Either way, for the first time in what felt like decades – which it almost was – I felt more like myself.

The surfer settled on the shore and stuck his board in the ground as he pulled off his suit and let it hang at his hips.

The beach was practically empty, except for the odd couple frolicking in the sand, and the occasional loner, myself included. I pushed my glasses off my face and stared at the surfer, who now had his board under his arm and was walking in the direction of the bar and me.

He looked over at me and smiled a slow smile like, Hey! Look what we have here.

I mean, normally I am appalled at the complete objectification of women, but at this juncture in my life, I needed the distraction of being objectified.

I wouldn’t think of him.

I couldn’t.

I would do anything not to think of him.

I sat up slightly as he came closer. Mr. Surfer held the sun behind his head like a halo as his face came into view. It was just as I expected; perfectly sculpted face, nicely toned arms and body, and a beam that threw me off for a second. I wondered for a second if I might be cutting into some modeling photo shoot.

“Hi there,” he said, sticking his board into the ground.

“Hi,” I said, shielding my eyes from the sun.

“Can I buy you a . . . well, another drink?” he asked, still beaming.

Why couldn't people just get to the point?

I smiled to myself and stood up, picking up my sarong. “Let’s make it room service,” I said, picking up my half-empty martini glass and walking back towards the hotel.

I didn’t look back; I knew he’d follow.

They always did.

I’d been travelling around the world for the last couple of weeks. It was leading up to three weeks by the time I got to San Francisco. I knew I was going to have to go home at some point, but for as long as I could stall, I would. I’d started in Majorca, made my way to the Maldives, then to Dubai and a couple other places on that side of the world, and then finally, I’d ended up back in America, with California as a spur-of-the-moment pit stop.

It hadn’t helped much, but I sometimes found myself trying to picture Jake’s face and failing, even though I knew it was ingrained in my mind forever.

I’d stayed out of touch with the rest of the world during my trips, avoiding any news, phone calls or anything else that might hint at a world beyond my own.

I was taking everything much harder than I probably needed to. But I was starting to think maybe it ran a little deeper than Jake and Addison. I’d needed to get away from the revelation of my past for a while, and the minute I’d gotten an out, I’d taken it.