A muffled mmff sounded by her side and a bit of sand was thrown onto her thigh. She opened her eyes in alarm just in time to spot the tan mutt grab one of her shoes and take off joyfully down the beach at full speed.
"Hey!" she screamed, but of course this merely made the dog toss his head and run faster.
Down the beach, he veered off to the right, into the trees. By the time she had risen to her own feet to give chase, it was hopeless. "Hey," she screamed again. There was no answer.
Without much hope, she picked up her other shoe and began following the dog's footprints. At least she hoped it was the dog's footprints. The sand was dry and loose, so it was hard to tell what was dog and what was other. But she had a good idea how far away he'd entered the treeline. God, it was an effort to walk on the loose sand, much more exhausting than she'd expected, having always had sidewalks to travel back in Boulder. She was more out of shape than she'd realized. Sure, she was a little overweight. Well, all right, a lot overweight at 150 lbs, but still, young enough at 27 to not be exhausted just by a walk in the sand.
She'd thought that choosing a beach off the main drag she'd be alone, quiet, able to sort through the breakup with Tron, latest in a long line of failed… No, not failure. Learning curve. Must remember it's all just learning how to choose men who fit her personality.
Near where the dog had disappeared, there lay a red towel and rubber sandals on the beach. No, here those sandals were called thongs. In Boulder, of course, thongs were something else entirely. Not something she would wear, of course.
"Hello?" She waited a few seconds before calling again, but there was no answer. She turned toward the treeline, the so-called highway merely a hundred feet away, and saw a small brown pickup parked just the other side of the trees. The dog's tail beat happily upon the open tailgate, the rest of him hidden by the truck side. So much for her shoe. Still,…
Em sighed and shook her head, then walked barefoot into the trees to retrieve whatever might be left of her shoe. About five steps in, her left foot stepped on a two inch thorn, and as she plucked it out, she cursed. It was the most painful thorn she'd ever encountered, and once out, the pain continued to grow, not diminish. She hobbled back to the beach, collapsing onto the red towel there, and grabbed her foot to inspect the damage. A small drop of blood lay over the throbbing spot, and as she wiped it away, she couldn't see any damage that justified the intensity of the pain.
"Great. Now what?" How was she to get her other shoe? And where in the heck was the dog's owner? And what should she do about the stab wound? And why did it have to be sunset time, dark soon? And why did she have to come out here into the boonies anyway? She could have done her soul searching in a nice comfortable room at the hotel, or in the lobby, surrounded by all the exotic romance of a fairy-tale Maui.
Tears formed in her hot eyes and her chest hurt as she struggled to be the grown-up she was. What the heck. No one was around to see. She let herself cry. It felt good, and didn't last very long after all. She made a plan. She'd put on her one shoe and hop through the trees to get her other shoe. Then she'd walk back to her car from the truck alongside the road.
Her hand flew to her pocket in alarm. Ah, yes, the car keys were still there. Relief washed through her and she was glad she'd left her purse in the car under a sweater. She put her shoe on, the left one, of course, and stood up. It was even more painful than before. She tried to hop on that and found the sand just sucked her shoe right off the foot, scattering particles of grit into the shoe too. It was no good. Once again she hobbled back to the towel.
She'd wait. Someone owned that truck, that dog, this towel. They'd show up soon. Hopefully.
The dog returned. Without her shoe.
"Go away, you bad dog."
He lay down about ten feet to the side of her, grinned with his tongue hanging out to the side, and thumped his tail several times to show how much he appreciated her attention.
By the time the edge of the sun touched the ocean, she'd planned out the rest of the week's vacation. All of it would be done on cement and hotel beaches. She would still have fun, but in safe places. Malls, galleries, pools, restaurants, the Ocean Center, hotel lobbies. Safe. No sharks, no thorns, no hiking into bamboo forests where wild boars lived. She'd read about those.
A shadow fell across her legs. In her daydreaming she hadn't noticed the man approach, but here he was, backlit by the sunset, dripping onto the sand, holding a surfboard under one arm well shaped with muscle.
"Can I have my towel?"
"Oh. Yes, of course," she said, scrambling to her feet. She grabbed the towel just as he also took hold, and it took a moment for her to realize and let go. He dropped his board gently onto the sand and dried his face and chest, then his arms. The dog was there, beating the man's leg with his tail, grinning up at him.
"Your dog ran off with my shoe, and I stepped on a thorn, and so I had to sit here until you came back and the sand sucked my shoe off when I hopped and can you please just get my other shoe." It all ran out of her mouth like a waterfall. It seemed rather surreal, as she couldn't see him very well, just his shape. Was he smiling? Nice shape. But a surfer.
Oh. Her friend Beverly had warned her not to take up with surfers. They all were dope bums, no money, living in their vans, taking advantage of women tourists to get free meals. Handsome, usually, but only good for temporary fun. Beverly had been to Kauai three times already.
