The Endless Summer

The sun had been bright all morning, but now it started to beat down with the savage intensity that you only get near the tropics. Maxine lay prone on her surfboard as the hot sun warmed her back, and relaxed into the gentle surge of the waves, allowing her arms and legs to trail languidly in the cool, green water. She could see the sandy sea floor about four metres below her, the odd fish darting across her field of vision. She looked up to get her bearings and saw a ripple on the horizon. Straddling her surfboard, she sat up and brought her hand to her eyes, peering out to sea. A large wave powered toward her. “Great,” she thought “one last wave” She paddled out to meet it and, when she was in the sweet spot, turned around and waited for it to get close. As the wave neared, she paddled hard, straining against its pull and when it kicked up behind her, she stood up on her board in a single fluid movement and she was off, board slicing through the translucent sea. She rode that wave all the way into shore. Perfect. Today was going to be perfect.

            While she trudged up the beach with her surfboard wedged under her arm, her stomach grumbled and she mused about what she’d buy for lunch “Burritos or bust, baby.” she thought, smirking. But when she fished around in her backpack, her purse wasn’t there. No burritos. She sighed and headed for the car. Hopefully she’d left the purse in her room.

            Maxine drove home and parked out front. She got out, squinting in the harsh sunlight, and walked up the concrete path to the door, thongs slapping against her heels. At the door now, she noticed it was open a crack and her heart skipped a beat. Not good. She pushed it halfway open and poked her head through, craning to see inside.

A voice rang out of the darkness. “Hello, Maxine.” She jumped, hitting her head on the door frame with an audible thwack.

“Jesus!” she said, rubbing her head and stepping inside, “Is that you, Joan? You scared the shit out of me!”

“Surprised to see me?” Joan stood in the kitchen, arms crossed.

“You’re not due back ‘till tonight.”

“I’m early.” Joan’s eyes glinted, hard as glass. Maxine’s heart started to thud. Something was wrong.

“Yeah, well, I see that.” A dark expression came over Joan’s face and she gave Maxine a hard look.

“What have you been up to, Max? Got something to tell me?”

“I was at the beach, what the hell’s going on?”

“And you’ve touched nothing?”

“No.”

“But isn’t that your purse on the table?”

Maxine felt the blood drain from her face. “Yeah. So what?” Her voice was beginning to shake, and Joan knew it. Her mouth curled into a sneer.

“So, you’ve been out all this time.”

Maxine stiffened. “Look, whatever this is about…”

“Shane’s dead. He’s in the bathroom. The stash is gone. How much did you get for it?”

As Maxine opened her mouth to speak, Joan pulled out a gun. It seemed to hover in midair, levelled at her chest. Maxine flinched and splayed her hands in mute appeal.

Time slowed and Maxine saw Joan’s finger tighten on the trigger. It was supposed to be easy, she thought. Shane was supposed to hide the stash, make it look like they’d been robbed. They’d leg it to Melbourne in Shane’s kombi, sell the gear and go surf off-grid. Maybe the west coast, maybe Indonesia. It didn’t matter. They’d be together. That was all that mattered.

But it was all wrong. Shane was dead and Joan thought she’d done it. Joan the loose cannon. Joan the fucking psycho. Maxine was crying now; fat, silent tears rolled down her face and her eyes pleaded. She took a step forward and the words tumbled out, hot and urgent. “Listen, Joan, I don’t know what the f…”

“Shhhhhhh,” said Joan, a finger to her lips. “Its ok. It’s going to be ok.”

There was a loud noise and Maxine was on her back. Her chest was burning and she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes scanned the room in desperation and landed on Joan holding the gun, smoke curling lazily upward from the barrel. Maxine looked at her chest, and saw a flower of blood spreading fast. Joan smiled thinly in response, and everything went black.

Maxine was floating. She was on a surfboard, her limbs dangling in the smooth, velvet sea. A cool breeze moved across her skin, but there was no sound. Lifting her head, she could make out a dark shoreline, not too far off. Out to sea, the horizon bucked against the grey sky, and she knew a wave was coming. Soon, it resolved, its looming bulk lumbering toward shore. When it neared, she paddled hard and caught the wave neatly. It took her all the way to shore, on a smooth and oddly muted ride. Stepping off the board, the dark, volcanic, sand felt cold and gritty between her toes. The beach stretched to the horizon on either side. Ahead, a tall figure stood atop a dune. It was Shane, his hair tousled by the inaudible wind. He was smiling, and in his hands he held the stash.