Lorelie Brown - Riding the Wave

“Oh.” The disappointment was audible in one tiny syllable. “You’ve put so much stock in that career of yours. It’s about time it started to take off. What’s the commission?”

There, that was almost the validation she needed. If she didn’t see her mother’s face, she could pretend that there wouldn’t be a tiny sneer of disgust knotted on her forehead. “I’m following Tanner Wright for the month leading up to the Sebastian Pro. Documentary-style. He’s got a good chance at winning the WCT, exactly ten years after his first championship. It’s a huge opportunity for me. Guaranteed spread in SURFING magazine. This could be my big break.”

She had to explain these little details because her mother made absolutely no pretense of following either Avalon’s surrogate family or the world in which Avalon had built her life. Surfing was nothing to her mother except that thing Avalon did.

“Tanner Wright?” Candy laughed and then the wineglass clinked against the tile counter. “I knew I made the right call all those years ago.”

“What call?” Avalon said, almost against her will. She winced as soon as it came out of her mouth.

“Why, letting you spend all that time with the Wrights. I knew they’d set you up well, and just look.”

Avalon ran out of things to put away. She shut the fridge and carefully laid the brown bag out on the counter. Her hands worked at folding the sack as she looked up from under her lashes.

The expression on her mother’s delicate features was a little difficult to interpret. Or maybe, difficult to understand. Her collagen-plumped mouth seemed set in a self-satisfied smile and Avalon couldn’t understand what she thought she’d done that was so great.

She’d let Avalon spend time with Sage under Eileen’s guidance because it was easier. It had taken less time out of her dating schedule. Explaining the sullen thirteen-year-old girl sitting on the couch was a little bit difficult when she’d led her boyfriend to believe she was only twenty-nine.

Though lately she’d given up twenty-nine for thirty-nine. She couldn’t keep that gig up forever, much to her chagrin.

“Mom, repeat after me: Congratulations, Avalon.”

She lifted the glass of wine and took a healthy swallow. “What? I already said congratulations.”

That was her mom, exactly. Not abusive or intentionally cruel. Just . . . absent. Even when she was there. Avalon held down the soft wash of familiar pain.

Candy did her best. That was what counted.

And for those times when Candy hadn’t done what was best for Avalon, Eileen had always been there to pick up the slack. Hence, why Avalon would slice a vein open for Eileen if she ever asked. The fact that Eileen wouldn’t ask for that level of sacrifice was one more reason for her devotion.

Candy twiddled her fingers. “Anyway, that’s done with. Why don’t you get a drink? Sit down and chat awhile.”

Done with. How neatly and tidily Candy glossed over the most important development in Avalon’s career since she’d left school.

Of course, if she were to tell Candy about flirting with Tanner, that’d be a different story. Candy would be all over that and provide intricately detailed advice.

Putting a finger on what, exactly, Candy was became difficult. Though she liked drugs now and then, she wasn’t exactly an addict. When a man came along who didn’t like her pot habit, she easily put it aside. And though she adored her afternoon wine, she wasn’t an alcoholic. She was . . . a wanderer. Someone without purpose beyond what a steady string of boyfriends and husbands gave her.

Avalon thanked her lucky stars constantly for the gift of photography. For having a goal and a life. She was going to be a professional surf photographer. Eventually being a stringer for a major magazine wasn’t unfeasible. Everything else could follow along eventually, if it worked out.

She declined the offer of a drink. White wine wasn’t her favorite, as she’d told her mom time and time again, and Candy didn’t seem to have anything else in the house.

Avalon folded her arms across the counter and leaned on them. “So, Mom. How much do you need?”

Candy widened her eyes. “What makes you think I need money?”

Avalon rolled her lips in, the better to hold back the smile. It was either laugh at the situation or cry way too often. Her mom played the same games over and over. That Avalon played along was her cross to bear. “Hmm, dunno. Maybe because you only invite me over ‘to hang out’ when you need cash?”

Candy’s mane of blond hair tossed back over her shoulder. “That’s not true!”

It was absolutely and totally true. Candy was nothing if not predictable. Hanging out meant a request for money. An invitation to the spa meant maternal guilt over her failings. A dinner meant a new boyfriend that she wanted to introduce. Strata and deposits, everyone had their place. Avalon knew hers by now. “How much?”

Candy huffed, looking out toward the tiny living room. But she slanted a glance back at Avalon out the corner of her eyes. “If you’re going to insist on money, I wouldn’t turn away five hundred.”

“Five?” Avalon asked on a fast jolt of surprise. Her hands spread flat over the cool tile. She did a couple fast calculations in her head, most of them revolving around the time of the month. “Your mortgage is due in three days. Are you going to be short?”

Candy’s manicured fingernails drummed along the edge of the counter. She wiggled a tiny bit. “It’s not my fault, Avalon. Really.”

She sighed. “What was it this time?”

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that. Teddy wanted to take me on a cruise, and my boss approved the days. It’s not my fault that bitch in human resources didn’t tell me that I’d be in the hole on vacation days.”

A sharp pain lanced down Avalon’s neck. All tension—she knew that—but even the careful application of breathing techniques Eileen had taught her couldn’t put a dent in the mom-headache. Avalon dropped her head against the sudden pressure inside her skull. “Most people keep track of their own vacation days.”

Candy huffed. “I’m sure it must be easy for you, since your job is running around the world to beaches. But some of us are working stiffs. My paycheck was three-fifty light!”

“Where’s the other one-fifty, Mom?”

“What?”

Avalon shook her head. Another helpless laugh built. “Your mortgage is five hundred short. But your paycheck was only missing three fifty. Where’d the other one-fifty go?”

A hot pink blush scored Candy’s cheeks, even under the layer of bronzer. At least she had the grace to be embarrassed. “This really beautiful pair of shoes. They were on sale and I figured . . .”

She’d figured she might as well since she was already going to have to call Avalon. That was an easy one.

Avalon nodded anyway. She had the money, no hardship out of her budget. Especially since she’d had to slink back to the Wrights’ house after she and Matthew, her postcollege boyfriend, had split, so she wasn’t paying rent. “I’ll call the bank and pay it direct.”

And honestly, it was worth it when Candy bounced up and darted around the island to toss her arms around Avalon. She shut her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of perfume.

No matter her faults, no matter how much Avalon dreaded becoming rudderless like Candy . . . she still loved her mom. She was still going to help.

Considering the lengths she’d go to for the Wrights, it’d be criminal not to pay her mom’s mortgage once in a while.

Two days later, Tanner had already had enough of Avalon. For being such a cutie, she could be hella annoying when she got something between her teeth. For now she seemed to be following him like Little Bo Peep’s lost sheep.

It might be okay if she talked now and then. But she’d gotten that stuck in her craw too. “Pretend I’m not here,” was the most she said as a periodic reminder.

So he’d snuck out. It was nothing more than he’d done to any other photographer a time or two.

Besides, it was practically a requirement. He needed a chance to get hold of the surf. To make it behave under his board in a way he’d be able to channel come competition time. Not like it was working, though. Not yet.

Board under his arm, he trudged up the beach, sand sticking to his bare feet and flicking up onto the back of his calves.

All he’d needed was one good set on his own. In peace. How the hell was he supposed to nail the World Championship if he wasn’t given enough time to fucking surf?

The points were too damn close to let this one go. Jack Crews was five hundred behind him. If Crews won, he and Tanner could go neck and neck for the last two events of the season. If Tanner won, he’d be so much ahead of the rest of the pack that no number of Crews’s wins could take the title away from him. He’d have it completely sewn up.

“Nice to see you too.” The unspoken “asshole” didn’t go by unheard.

Avalon perched on the back railing of his deck, the ubiquitous camera bag slung across her chest.

Christ, her shorts were tiny. Or, more important, her legs looked amazingly long beneath them, her toes tucked into the vertical slats of the railing. The slim, hugging T-shirt she wore had some sort of bear monster on it and her hair had been scooped up into a messy ponytail again. Tendrils skimmed along her slender neck.

“I woke up earlier than I meant to,” he lied. “Headed out before dawn.”

“‘I’m going to sleep in, probably hit the gym later in the morning.’” She even mocked his facial expression, putting on a pseudoserious mien.