Sunset Island - Sunset Secrets Part 5

Some incredible vacation, she thought mo- rosely. Here I am in a seedy little hotel that smells of roach spray, sitting next to a pa.s.sed-out friend and thinking about Goofy!

"Sam?"

Sam heard the voice through a dream in which she was back at Big Al's, waiting on Mr. Chris- topher. She had turned from the table after apologizing for bringing the wrong order. Then he said, "Can't you do anything right?" The voice was different, and looking back, she saw not Mr.

Christopher but Danny, his expression full of reproach. Now someone at the next table was calling her name again, and Sam spun around to see that the party of twelve was her dance troupe from Disney World.

"I'm sorry!" she cried out to their questioning faces. Her words seemed to be struggling up through layers of Jell-0.

"Don't be sorry, just get up!"

The laughing voice was Emma's, and a second later Sam's dream receded into white light as Emma opened the drapes, flooding the motel room with suns.h.i.+ne.

Sam pulled herself to a sitting position, and rubbed her face. "Aargh! Thanks for waking me. I was having the worst dream."

"About what?" Emma was bustling around the room in a sh.e.l.l-pink mini s.h.i.+rtdress, drinking coffee and looking like she'd been awake for hours.

"The details aren't too clear," lied Sam, "but I was feeling sort of lost and ashamed at the same time." She stood and stretched luxuriously. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Quarter past seven."

"In the morning? I didn't know there was a seven-fifteen in the morning!" With both the dance revue and the restaurant s.h.i.+fts, Sam had become accustomed to working at night and sleeping late in the morning.

"You were the one who wanted to check out spring break in Daytona Beach, remember?"

"As I seem to recall, you were the one who slept through our only Sat.u.r.day night here,"

rejoined Sam.

Ducking her head guiltily, Emma said, "I'm really sorry about that, Sam. I guess I was just stressed out from dealing with my family. They exhaust me sometimes."

Sam interjected, "Funny, but I would have blamed the wine, myself."

"Oh, that," breezed Emma. "Well, I'm defi- nitely not drinking any alcohol today." She dis- missed the subject with a wave of her hand and continued, "I've already signed for the room, and they recommended a good place for breakfast.

Why don't you take a shower? I'll be reading my book out by the pool."

Sam did, and felt much more alive by the time they were strolling the few blocks to the water- front. The refuse of the previous night's revelry still littered the streets, but the town looked harmless enough in the morning light. With the last remnants of her nightmare fading thankfully into oblivion, Sam found a renewed enthusiasm for life in general and their road trip in particular.

She was carrying the road atlas, which she'd asked Emma to get from the car. She'd been so anxious to get out of Orlando that she hadn't really paid attention when Emma had described their route.

She glanced through it as they ate breakfast.

Mopping up the last of her huevos rancheros with a crust of toast, Sam asked the waitress for a refill on her coffee. Emma had ordered whole- grain m.u.f.fins with fresh fruit and yogurt, and was still mincing through her meal.

"Don't you ever just want to wolf down a really greasy burger and a double order of cheese fries?" Sam asked her.

Emma gave Sam a horrified look. "Why would I want to do a thing like that?"

Sam shook her head and buried her head back in the atlas. "I swear, you are missing the gene for junk food," she mumbled. "Okay, the way I see it, we hang on the beach this morning, break a few hearts, and then head for Savannah after lunch, right?" Sam asked.

"Right," answered Emma. "We stay on Inter- state 95 all the way to New Haven, and since we left ahead of schedule we have plenty of time to spend an entire day somewhere along the way.

Just so we're in New York by Thursday night.

We have to meet Carrie in New Haven by lunchtime Friday."

"Ooh! Let's spend a day in the mountains!"

"There aren't any mountains along 1-95."

"C'mon, Em," wheedled Sam, "I've never seen mountains except from the air. The highest point in Kansas is a corn ta.s.sel."

Emma thought of the Alps, which she'd had the privilege of enjoying a number of times since her childhood. It was hard for her to imagine anyone her age who had never been to the mountains.

"Let's think about it when we get to Savan- nah," she suggested. "I don't want us driving more than six hours a day, and I'm not sure we can stick to that if we change our route."

"Hey, it's your wheels and your credit card!"

Sam said with a shrug.

Emma paid the check and left a tip, then turned to see Sam slip an extra dollar onto the table.

Looking a little chagrined, Sam explained, "I always tip twenty percent for good service. No- body can live very well on fifteen, and it's a rough job, anyway."

"How would you know?" laughed Emma.

"I guess if I'd been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I wouldn't," Sam snapped.

"What was that for?" Emma asked, hurt.

Sam sighed. "Ignore me," she said, linking her arm in Emma's. "I'm a product of unbalanced hormones."

Once they were out of the restaurant and on their way back to the motel, Sam took on a boisterous good cheer. By now there were more people to be seen on the streets, and almost everyone nodded or smiled as they walked by.

Sam sprouted a running commentary on all sight- ings of the opposite s.e.x as they went.

"Oh baby oh baby oh baby!" Sam murmured as a dark-haired guy who looked like a model for tanning products walked by.

"Help you wax your board, dude?" she mouthed as they pa.s.sed a long-haired blond surfer.

Sam made a pouty face and said, "Poor baby, let me put some sunscreen on those shoulders,"

when she spotted a fair-skinned, redheaded guy who looked like he'd stayed on the beach too long the day before.

At one point, the girls pa.s.sed one of the previous night's casualties, a bleary-eyed guy who left an aroma of stale beer in his wake and looked like he'd slept in a gutter.

"Sorry, but I don't date outside my species,"

Sam stage-whispered in Emma's direction.

Sam and Emma were still laughing as they reached the motel and changed into their bathing suits. They threw on coverups and hurriedly packed their belongings into the car. There had still been parking places at the public beach when they finished breakfast, but those would go quickly now that the sun was getting high.

They had just found a spot, parked, and were loading books, towels, and lotion into Emma's canvas beachbag when a car horn honked and a deep voice called, "Hey, look who's here!"

Emma glanced up and was surprised to see the guys with the surfboards from the breakfast stop the day before. Suddenly remembering the show of appreciation she'd received from the dark-haired guy, Emma blushed furiously and pretended to be looking for something still in the car.

"Those guys are waving at us," said Sam. "Do you know them?"

"Not really. They honked at me when I stopped for breakfast yesterday. They must have been on their way up here, too."

"So wave back, for cryin' out loud! They're adorable and they have surfboards!"

"Oh, I don't know ..." Emma started.

Sam reached over and took Emma's elbow, propelling it upward until the hand at the end appeared to wave awkwardly. Sam performed a more controlled version with her free hand, calling, "Hi, guys. Need some help with those boards?"

"We can manage the boards, but if you'll find us a spot on the beach, we'll share our cooler with you," returned the driver, a freckle-faced blonde whom Sam thought resembled Michael J. Fox.

But taller, she noted with satisfaction.

The other guy was not much taller than Emma, and had jet-black hair, almond-shaped brown eyes with long black lashes, and a creamy brown complexion. His compact body rippled with mus- cles as he helped unfasten the cords that secured the surfboards.

"I'm Buddy," he said as Sam and Emma pa.s.sed by the station wagon, "and that's Jack."

"Hi, Jack," said Sam over the roof of the car.

She turned to include Buddy in the introduction.

"I'm Sam, and this is Emma."

Jack nodded and smiled as Buddy reached out to shake hands. Sam got a firm grip and a h.e.l.lo, but she noted that Buddy's hand lingered for a moment around Emma's, and his voice had a melodic, reverent tone as he said, "Emma."

"He likes you," she whispered, nudging Emma as they walked through the sand.

"Sam, really! He doesn't even know me."

"He doesn't have to know you to like you the way I'm talking about," said Sam.

The girls spread their towels and removed their coverups. Emma had on a hot pink two- piece, shot through with metallic gold; the bot- tom had a fas.h.i.+onably high waist that hid her navel. Sam's vivid deep purple suit was solid- colored and one piece, but was more revealing than Emma's: it was cut-extremely high in the leg, low in the bust, and slashed out on both sides to show most of Sam's long torso.

Emma opened her book, but Sam pulled on her baseball cap and studied Buddy and Jack as they made for the water with their boards.

"Wanna go for a swim?" she asked Emma.

"We just got here."

"So? The waves won't be this good again until late afternoon. I think we've got a chance for some free surfing lessons."

"You go ahead. I'll just read awhile."

"Suit yourself," said Sam. The next moment she was racing for the water and splas.h.i.+ng in with a flourish of her long arms.

Emma spent the next half-hour immersed in her book, G Is for Gumshoe. The story involved a female private investigator who drove a beat-up old Volkswagen bug, was confidently independent, and had all kinds of adventures. Though she knew the investigator was a fict.i.tious character, Emma suspected there really were women like her. The thought of spending three more years majoring in French at Goucher College was stifling.

"Yahoo! Hey, Emma!"

Emma looked up just in time to see Sam wobbling atop a surfboard before a wave caught her from behind and tumbled her into the water.

The board drifted toward sh.o.r.e as Emma shaded her eyes and searched for a glimpse of Sam.

Within seconds she spotted Sam's sleek red head bobbing along the surface, and recognized Jack swimming over to join her.

A shadow crossed Emma's towel. Looking up, she saw it was Buddy. As he shook the salt water from his hair, the beads of water picked up the sun and created a twinkling arc.

"So what do you say, Emma?" he said with a smile. "Ready to try it yourself?"

"I-I don't know how," Emma stammered.

"You can swim, can't you?"

"Well, sure."

"If you can swim, and you can stand up, you can surf." Buddy rea.s.sured her. "The waves are too small to be a challenge, but I'd have fun teaching you. That is, if you want me to."

Emma was about to demur when her eye fell on her book, which she'd tossed aside when on the lookout for Sam. Why not? she thought. If I'm ever going to have any real adventures, I'll have to try some things I've never done before.

"Sure, okay," she told Buddy.

"Attagirl!" he cheered, and placed his hand lightly on the small of her back as he guided her toward the water.

Surfing turned out to be harder than it looked.

Emma was cautious not to let the board slip out from under her, but she didn't trust herself to rise above an awkward crouch. Sam, with her dance training, had excellent balance but was a hotdogger-always trying for a faster, more ex- citing ride. Her physical control let her fall harmlessly when she wiped out, which she did predictably. Emma noticed that Jack was always nearby to encourage her when she surfaced.

Laughing and winded, the foursome took a break, and the girls were astounded to find it was almost noon.

"No sense in rus.h.i.+ng," Sam said. "Savannah will still be there."

They brought sandwiches from a stand down the beach, and the boys went to their car for the cooler.

"Let's stay, Emma!" entreated Sam when the boys were out of earshot. "This could be the night!"

"For what?" Emma asked.

"You know ..." said Sam.

"Sam! You just met this guy!"