Her Last Flight(42)

She swung her legs out of bed and staggered toward the window that overlooked the beach. When she drew open the curtains and raised the window sash, she saw that dawn hadn’t yet arrived, wasn’t even a promise, and the old familiar moon still spilled its light across Waikiki Beach and the ocean beyond.

Not so deserted. Irene rested her forearms on the ledge and allowed the breeze to whisk along her skin, and when she opened her eyes again she saw a man on a surfboard atop a ridge of phosphorescent foam, soaring toward shore.



As Irene hurried down the empty stairs and corridors, out the doors to the terrace and beach, she told herself that this surfer was probably not Sam. This was Waikiki, there were plenty of surfers, and Sam ought to be asleep after a day like yesterday. But that was just logic. She knew it was Sam; of course it was Sam. She’d recognized his figure from four stories up. She knew his hair, and the way he moved his board, and the way he positioned his arms. She also knew that he liked to surf early, before the sun came up and the people with it.

She reached the sand just as he came out of the waves, carrying the massive board under his arm like a piece of kindling. His hair was wet; his arms and shoulders ran with salt water. He shook his head and noticed her, and to her relief he grinned.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she called out.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I just woke up. Anyway, I’m not the one flying the airplane.”

Sam walked right up to her, and for a second or two Irene thought he might drop a kiss on her cheek or even her lips. Instead he planted the end of the board in the sand and flung himself down.

“You can, if you like,” he said.

She sat down next to him. “Can what?”

“Fly the airplane. I’ve been thinking. Staying awake so long, it’s not safe. We should take turns flying the bird, so the other man can catch a few winks.” He turned his head to the side to look at her. “What do you think?”

“I’m game.”

“I know you’re game. That’s why I asked you along. Say.” Now he rolled the rest of his body on his side so he was facing her, up on one elbow, his wet head propped up on his hand, a yard of pale, moonlit sand between them. “That was some show last night. You were terrific.”

“At the dinner, you mean?”

“When you gave that speech. That was something else. I didn’t know you could put on a show like that.”

“Baloney. I couldn’t even hear my own words.”

“Honest Injun. You socked it to them. I’ll tell you, they loved your act a hell of a lot more than they loved my sorry efforts.”

Irene held up her hand. “Wait a second.”

“What’s that?”

She closed her eyes and fell back on the sand. “I can hear you!”

He laughed and rolled on his back again. “Same thing happened to me when I woke up. Realized I could hear the waves outside the window. Then I figured I might as well ride a few of them, since I wasn’t going back to sleep.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to bring any extra weight.”

“Nah, I borrowed the board from the bellhop. You want to take a turn?”

“I can’t. I’ve got my pajamas on under this thing.” She fingered the sash of her dressing gown.

“So what? I won’t look.”

“Sure you won’t.”

“Well, I might. But it’s only me, right? Your old pal Sam.”

To the left, an indigo light had begun to outline the shape of Diamond Head. The waves thundered quietly toward Irene’s feet. The stars, which had spilled across the black sky so generously a moment ago, were dying off. Irene untied the belt of her dressing gown and sat up.

“All right,” she said.

She’d lied about the pajamas. Pajamas were so much unnecessary weight! Under the robe, which had been provided by the hotel itself, she wore only her drawers and her camisole. She didn’t look back to see if Sam was watching, not because she didn’t want to know but because she didn’t want to care. The surfboard stood at his feet, stuck in the sand. She lifted it with some effort.

“Watch for the sharks,” Sam called out behind her.

Oh! It was good to plunge in the salt sea again, good to feel the muscles of the ocean tossing her about. The same current, the same water she and Sam had crossed yesterday, thousands of miles of it. She attempted two waves and foundered on both of them, filling her nose with salt, but she just grabbed the board and swam out again, a little farther this time. The sky grew lighter by the minute; now she could make out the buildings lined up along Waikiki, the great gray Moana smack in the middle. To the right, Diamond Head made a crisp silhouette against the golds and pinks of the rising sun. Another wave surged up beneath her. She lay on the board and paddled her arms, looked over her shoulder to judge this thing, monstrous, all the world’s energy thrumming inside. The glow of the sunrise blinded her. She closed her eyes and felt the wave instead, discovered its rhythm, paddled to keep up with it, right on the sweet spot, higher and higher, oh it was a beauty, wait and wait and now! Scramble to your feet, perfectly balanced, knees bent, soaring forever along a diagonal line to the beach until you skimmed straight into the foam, you sucked every ounce of momentum from the water and then jumped overboard and laughed for joy. Hauled up your surfboard and scrambled up the sand, looking for the fellow who waited on the beach for you.