“This could be our day, Jordo.”
“I know. I was thinking the same thing.”
“Give me a call when you’re ready to send them.”
“I will.”
“And listen, if I don’t pick up my phone, call Mindy and let her know you’re sending them.”
“Okay. Got it.” Jordan headed for his truck in the parking lot and realized for the first time how cold his bare feet had become while standing for an hour in the wet sand.
A few months ago he had adopted a strategy from a fellow photographer who specialized in winning surfing shots. The idea was to turn his solid five-foot-ten-inch frame into a fixed stand. In lieu of a tripod, he became the bipod that kept the camera steady. The trick, he was told, was to create the bipod barefooted so that each toe could act as a stabilizer in the sand. Then, once he had the distant surfer in view, he could line up the shot without a wobble. The stance resulted in clearer, steadier shots.
As well as cold feet. An inconvenience he considered well worth the payoff.
Jordan cranked up the heater in his truck on the drive home. His feet warmed up in no time. Fifteen minutes later, he turned into a long driveway that led to a five-thousand-square-foot estate. Jordan gave a wave to the gardener and slowly edged around the side of the six-car garage.
His five-hundred-square-foot bungalow, as well as his assigned parking spot, were in the back of the mansion by the tangerine trees. When he first moved into the detached guesthouse more than a year ago, he was convinced it was all he needed. He had enough room for a bed, a refrigerator, a shower, and a corner to set up his computer and camera equipment. But lately Jordan was discovering that coming home to an empty space could be pretty lonely. He made sure he wasn’t home very often.
Turning on his computer monitor now, Jordan pulled out the cable needed to load his photos to the computer. While the shots uploaded, he made coffee and poured himself a bowl of cereal. Then, sitting in his torn office chair, Jordan clicked through that day’s catch, looking for the moneymaker.
There it was.
DS00547.
That was the one. Derek was in perfect position on his board. Across the crown of the silver wave, a glistening rooster tail sprayed. The inside curve bent just right in the belly of the curl to capture the crazy emerald and teal shades that came through when a wave was thin enough to let light in from both sides.
Jordan felt his heart pounding as he copied the file twice and sent a watermarked copy to Derek’s e-mail. He called Derek while he clicked through the remaining shots.
“We got it,” Jordan said the moment Derek answered. “I’m serious. We got it this time. I just sent it. Are you on your computer?”
“No. I can get on in five minutes. I’ll call you back. You sound pretty sure of this one.”
“Wait till you see it. I’m stoked, Derek. Seriously.” Jordan paused and looked closer at the picture that appeared on his screen just then. “Whoa. We might have more than one. I haven’t gone through all of them yet. This one is really nice too. Call me when you look at the one I sent.”
“I will. Send me the other keepers too.”
Jordan took his time going through the photos one by one. He saved to a separate file those that stood out. He had fourteen stellar shots. Fourteen. This was the best “catch” ever for him.
His cell phone buzzed. When he answered, Derek shouted, “Jordo, you did it, man. You did it!”
“I know, right?”
“Dude. Seriously. This is it. This is the one.”
Jordan felt his smile tightening the dried sea spray still on his face. “You want to send them to Bill or should I?”
“I just called him before I phoned you. He’s waiting for the file. You send ’em. All of ’em.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Derek asked.
“We’re going to be able to eat next month.”
“This isn’t just grocery money, Jordan. You know how much Surf Days Magazine pays for a cover shot? And if they go for a spread, we’re golden.”
Jordan leaned back and let the early taste of success awaken his salivary glands. “What do you think? Billabong? Red Bull? Local Motion? Which one are you going to sign with?”
“Highest bidder, of course. Mindy’s looking at the shots you just sent, and she says North Shore is a for sure now.”
Jordan sat up straight, and his unstable chair wobbled precariously. “When?”
“Soonest I think we could pull it all together would be late December, early January. Once we get paid for these shots, all three of us can buy first-class airline tickets for Oahu.”
“How about if we fly coach and use the rest of our funds to rent a place on the beach and to buy groceries while we’re there?”
Derek laughed. “You’re always thinking about your stomach, man. Oh, hey, Mindy says she’ll work out the tickets and book the place for us. She has some connections. Happy New Year’s to us, bro. Man, how many years have we been trying for this? At least six. We’re finally going to do it. Have you sent the file to Bill yet?”
“No, I’ll do it right now.”
“I’m calling him,” Derek said. “I want to be on the phone with him when he goes through these. I’ll call you right back.”
Jordan pressed SEND on his computer. The fourteen exceptional shots flung their way through cyberspace, headed for the desk computer of Derek and Jordan’s mutual friend Bill Kempler, who had recently taken over as the editor of Surf Days Magazine. Bill’s advice to the two of them during the surfing competition at Lower Trestles had been, “You get one exceptional photo, and I’ll print it. After that, if you’re willing to become your own publicists, I guarantee you’ll see sponsorship offers coming your way. You bring me the best—you bring me ‘the one’—and it’ll all unfold from there.”
Jordan had taken those words as a personal challenge. He wanted to capture the elusive photo for his friend. Since high school, Jordan’s photography hobby had grown into a small side business. By the time he was twenty-one, he had shot three large weddings and had put up a photography website. His goal was to build his business in Santa Barbara and garner enough paying events to support him in his final year of college. To his parents’ surprise and his, he met his goal.
In the four years since graduation, Jordan had lived out all the stereotypes associated with being a starving artist. He stocked shelves at the grocery store during the wee hours of the morning to pay for electricity and rent. He volunteered at his church with a mentoring program for young boys who didn’t have fathers. And every chance he got, Jordan took pictures. Surfing shots were becoming his specialty, thanks to Derek’s persistence.
The wind outside had picked up some muscle and was rattling the slatted shades in the bathroom. Jordan went to close the window and saw that it was raining. The drops were coming in at an angle, and the inside windowsill was dripping with the gathering intruders.
Jordan mopped up the moisture with a towel. He paused and thought about what Derek had said. Sunset Beach in January. Waimea, Pipeline. If Bill bought Derek’s photo and liked the others, Bill might send Jordan to the North Shore on assignment for the magazine. It was too cool of a dream to dare to believe. And yet, Jordan knew he had captured “the one” for Bill today.
Jordan’s cell phone rang. He rushed to grab it, feeling in his gut that his life was about to change.
Chapter Three
Mariana’s choice for dinner was for the two of them to drive across town to her favorite churrascaria. As she and Sierra left the school, Mariana said, “And I’m paying, so don’t give me any complaints.”
“No complaints,” Sierra promised, even though she still didn’t have much of an appetite. She knew she couldn’t turn down the chance to eat at one of the nicer Brazilian steakhouses. Mariana grew up enjoying a lot of the finer things in life, and she knew all the best places to eat.
As soon as they had gone through the salad
buffet line and sat at their table, Mariana said, “We need a vacation.”
“You said that earlier today. In Senhora’s office.”
“I know. And you said you had plans for January. Only now, you—we—don’t have any plans. So I think we should make some plans. We need to go somewhere exotic.”
“Where do you want to go?”
By the way her friend narrowed her dark eyes and leaned forward, Sierra knew Mariana had already thought of some place, and Sierra had just stepped into Mariana’s carefully laid net.
“Sunset Beach,” Mariana answered confidently.
Sierra tried to remember where Sunset Beach was located. She had been to Copacabana and Ipanema, two popular Brazilian beaches near Rio de Janiero. She had never been to Sunset Beach. “Where is it? Near Rio?”
“No. Sunset Beach is in your country, not mine. It’s in Hawaii.”
“Hawaii?”
“Yes. Rodrigo went there last year, remember?”
Sierra vaguely remembered hearing about Mariana’s cousin who had been in a surfing competition on the North Shore of Hawaii. “Is he surfing again this year?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want to go?”
Mariana put down her fork. “Sierra, don’t play sassy with me. You know I always win. I, or rather we, want to go to the surfing competition in Hawaii so we can see how beautiful it is there, and we can relax and learn about the wildlife.”
Sierra speared a piece of cucumber with her fork.“I know what kind of wildlife you like to research on your trips.” She bit into the cucumber with a crunch.
Mariana responded with an equally snappy crunch on a carrot stick. “What would be so terrible about meeting a good-looking surfer, falling in love, and spending the rest of our lives living on the beach?”
“In a little grass shack?”
“No, in a big mansion. See, this is your problem, Sierra. You don’t dream. You have to dream, and when you dream, you have to dream big.”
Sierra stayed focused on her salad, chewing slowly and not responding.
“What? What is it? I made you sad, didn’t I?”
Sierra was thinking about the big dream that had brought her to Brazil. So much had changed since she had arrived as an energetic college student ready to change the world. Over the past four years, among other roles, she had been a soup kitchen cook, daycare assistant, construction worker, office administrator, medical clinic assistant, after-school program director, and craft instructor with the impoverished women who made and sold beaded bracelets. Even that work was winding down since all the distribution avenues were now in place, and the women were creating the bracelets without further help from Sierra.
“My dream was to come here and to make a difference.”
“Well, you did, and you have. So now you need a new dream.”
Just then a server appeared next to their table. He held a long skewer of sizzling hot beef from the fire pit where dozens of skewers of meat rotated over the flame. Pushing the half-finished salad aside, Sierra nodded, and the server used his carving knife to thinly slice the delicacy onto her waiting dinner plate.
“Here’s what I think,” Mariana said as the waiter served her next. “I think you need time away from here to think about what you’re supposed to do next. Just a week. That’s all I ask. We’ll go to Hawaii, have some fun, break some hearts, and come home with ukuleles.”
“Ukuleles?”
“You know, those tiny little guitars. Or we could bring home pineapples. Or hula skirts. I don’t care. The point is, what good is it for me to have a father who works for an airline if I can’t share his free airfare passes with my friends and go to interesting places every year?”
Sierra remembered how last year she had turned down Mariana’s invitation to join her and two of her other friends for a six-day trip to Paris. The year before that the same trio had gone to New York.
“Why don’t you go to Hawaii with your usual travel companions?” Sierra asked.
“Because I know I would have more fun with you.”
Her answer surprised Sierra. It also touched her.
“And here is the important part. If I don’t book a trip by December, the passes will expire. Don’t you think that would be a terrible waste? We have free airfare waiting for us and probably a free place to stay, since my dad gets lots of discounts and he loves to spoil me.”
Sierra slowly chewed her tender piece of flavorful beef. Another waiter came by with another long skewer and sliced roasted lamb onto their plates.
“You’re not protesting,” Mariana observed.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s good.” Mariana raised her eyebrows. “Wait. You wouldn’t be thinking unless you were thinking of saying yes. You’re going to say yes, aren’t you? You’re going to go to Hawaii with me. Say it.”
Sierra nodded once and then kept nodding. “Yes. I’d love to go with you.”
“I don’t believe it! Okay, I’ll start making all the plans as soon as I get home. This is going to be so fun, Sierra. You wait. You’ll see.”
After Sierra was back at her apartment and preparing for bed, she wondered if she had made a wise decision. She needed to let Mark and Sara know. They were the couple at the mission organization Sierra checked in with each month. With things being in such upheaval due to the reorganization process, she couldn’t imagine that her leaving for a week in January would be a problem.
She pulled out her laptop and typed an e-mail to Mark and Sara. Part of her update was about the program at the school being terminated. She also let them know that the women in the favela were self-sustaining and that she was ready to be put to work in a new area wherever she was needed. At the end she added a note about going on vacation in January with Mariana.
Sierra sent the e-mail and then clicked over to her social media page to see how her friends in the US were doing. As soon as her profile page loaded, she saw a posting from her brother Wes.
“Happy Thanksgiving! Remember the year you almost burned down Granna Mae’s house when you forgot about the marshmallows on top of the yams in the oven? We miss you. Hope you can find someplace that will serve you some turkey and pumpkin pie for dinner.”
Sierra leaned back. She had forgotten that today was Thanksgiving. In Brazil, it was just Thursday. At home, it was her favorite holiday, and she hadn’t thought about it once until now.
Clicking on her Internet phone service, Sierra put in her earpiece and dialed her parents’ phone. Calculating the time difference, she guessed they would just about be sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner.
Her dad answered, and Sierra visited with him as if she had remembered all along that it was Thanksgiving and had planned to call them. She stayed upbeat and bright and didn’t tell anyone about the unhappy news she had received from the school that afternoon. She could update the family later in an e-mail so her dad wouldn’t offer her advice over the phone. She loved her dad, but sometimes she felt as if he had too much advice to share.
Three of her four brothers took their turns saying hello. Her oldest brother and her sister were both married, but they and their families weren’t with the rest of the crew this year. Only three of the six Jensen children would be sliding their feet under the family table. Sierra wished she could make it four children. She would love to see them all again. Especially Wes.
Her mom was the last one to come on the phone. Sierra wasn’t sure why, but she choked up as she talked to her mom. Her voice was so comforting Sierra wanted to tell her everything she was processing. That, she knew, would be better to save for a more private conversation later.
“How are you doing, honey?” her mom asked.
Sierra put on the same brave demeanor she had worn for the girls that afternoon in the cafeteria and focused on the positive. “I’m good. I have some great news. Mariana invited me to go with her to Hawaii in January on her father’s airline passes, and I told her I would go.”
“That is bi
g news. When are you going to be there? Will it be over New Year’s?”
“I don’t know the dates yet. It could be.”
“Did you know that Tawni and Jeremy will be there over New Year’s?”
“They are?”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful if you could see each other? Baby Ben is a year old already. He is the cutest little guy.”
Sierra loved the thought of seeing her nephew for the first time. She and her sister had never been super close, but at this moment, she felt a deep longing to be with Tawni. “Where are they going to be? Which island?”
“I don’t know. I can ask her. They’re going for the wedding.”
“Whose wedding?” Sierra asked.
“Paul’s.”
For the second time that day Sierra felt as if the chair she was sitting in was about to swallow her.
“Sierra, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I heard you. Paul’s getting married.” Sierra swallowed. “That’s great.”
“I’ll tell Tawni to e-mail you with the details of where the wedding will be. I hope you can see each other.”
“I do too.” Sierra didn’t think she wanted to see Tawni under those circumstances, but she didn’t know what else to say. No one, not even her mother, knew that she still carried this single lit candle in her heart for Paul.
“We’re about to sit down to dinner so I’ll say good-bye for everyone. Happy Thanksgiving, honey. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Sierra ended the phone connection and let out a big sigh. Staring at the stock photo image of bright yellow daffodils on her screen saver, she tried to accept the news her mom had so blithely told her.
Paul Mackenzie was getting married.
Chapter Four
The uniformed security personnel at the Los Angeles airport singled Jordan out of the stream of post-Christmas travelers and motioned for him to step to the side.
“Is this your bag, sir?”
“Yes, that’s mine.” Jordan watched as the heavy case was moved to a separate table.