Page 42 of Grift

“They’re open for you.”

She ducks her head, and then gives me a quick smile. Making this woman smile that could become an addiction if I’m not careful.

She pulls her coat closer around her, but doesn’t seem to mind the cold. I like that she looks delicate, but that she’s tough.

“You seem to like to be outside,” she says as we start to walk. It’s a question, an invitation to share more.

“Yeah, I always feel more myself when I’m outside,” I don’t know how else to explain it.

“Do you always just walk? I know you used to play football.”

How can I explain this to another person?

“When I was a kid, I’d take long walks just to get out of the house, you know? Get my head on straight. I’ve always been physical. I’m not as good with thoughts or feelings. When I discovered sports, it was good to channel all that energy somewhere.”

She gives me a kind of side-eye when I say “I’ve always been physical” that makes me laugh out loud.

“What other sports do you play?”

“I played them all when I was really young. Soccer, baseball, even hockey. Man, I loved hockey. But football stuck, mostly because of my size. And because my father was willing to pay for it. A son playing football sends the right kind of message in the circles he was trying to break into. But honestly, in better weather, what I really love to do is surf.”

Her step falters. “Surf? In Boston?”

The raised eyebrow in a subtle challenge is very attractive, and I swallow hard, willing my body to relax.

“There’s not a big culture like on the west coast or Hawai’i, sure. But you can learn to surf here. The waves aren’t as big or as rough, but if you’re not going pro, that’s not what it’s about anyways.”

“So if it’s not about the thrill of constantly chasing a bigger wave, what is it that speaks to you then?”

I jam a hand in my hair, frustrated at my inability to articulate myself. I’ve never thought about it. Or no one has ever asked in a way that forced me to put it into words. That’s more accurate.

“The thing about surfing is you’re there, between the safety of the shore and this force that wants to dominate you,” I try. “The ocean is always going to be stronger than you. I don’t care how big you are, how strong you get, how mentally tough you think you are. In man versus nature, man loses every time.”

She makes an mmmm sound that tells me she wants me to keep talking and reminds me of other delightful sounds that she makes. The path is a little icy, and when her boot starts to slide, I grab her arm instinctively to keep her upright. Her eyes come up to mine, surprised, but when she straightens, she doesn’t pull her arm away. I leave my hands there enjoying the contact.

She glances up at me, so I try to get to the essence of what she’s asking. “Surfing is all about learning how to withstand bigger forces than you. If you’re not constantly watching it, respecting it, and knowing that it’s a changing balance, you’re going under. Or worse, you’ll get thrown up against the rocks.”

“It helps you keep your focus when everything around you is chaos,” she says, understanding.

That’s it, exactly. And it gives me a way to say the next thing.

“I’ve had to find ways to get my aggression under control,” my voice is quiet in the icy cold air.

“I’d guess that your aggression as you call it has mostly been an asset, though. A quick temper, a physical bent, the ability to defend yourself. Those are valuable things in the world that you grew up in, right?” she asks.

“It’s complicated,” I hedge. She’s not wrong, but she’s not totally right.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Patrick.” The pressure of her fingers on my arm intensifies, just for a second. She won’t push, but she’s not letting me off the hook either.

Honesty.

“It’s the difference between Callan and me. He’s all stuck in his head. Everything is a calculation, a risk benefit analysis. But sometimes, when the shit hits the fan, he’s still trying to sort it out and doesn’t act fast enough. You can miss an opportunity or end up in danger that way. I’m the opposite. When I see something that needs doing, I do it. But the flipside of that is if you act first and think later, sometimes you fuck up. Make mistakes. I’m trying to think through things more. Do them the right way.”

“It is a little difficult to imagine the two of you as brothers,” she admits.

I shrug. “He’s doing better, trusting his instincts more.”

“And it sounds like you’re working on developing better self-control,” her voice is curious.

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