Surfing is a solitary sport, one in which long stretches

of boredom are interspersed with frantic activity, and it teaches you to flow with nature, instead of fighting i t ... it's about getting in the zone. That's what the surfing magazines say, anyway, and I mostly agree. There's nothing quite as exciting as catching a wave and living within a wall of water as it rolls toward shore. But I'm

not like a lot of those dudes with freeze-dried skin and stringy hair who do it all day, every day, because they think it's the be-all and end-all of existence. It isn't. For me, it's more about the fact that the world is crazy noisy almost all the time, and when you're out there, it's not. You're able to hear yourself think."

This is what I was telling Savannah, anyway, as we made our way toward the ocean early Sunday morning. At least, that's what I thought I was saying. For the most part, I was just sort of rambling, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that I really liked the way she looked in a bikini.

“Like horseback riding,” she said. “Huh?”

“Hearing yourself think. That's why I like riding, too.”

I'd shown up a few minutes earlier. The best waves were usually early in the morning, and it was one of those clear, blue-sky days portending heat that meant the beach would be packed again. Savannah had been sitting on the steps out back, wrapped in a towel, the remains of the bonfire before her. Despite the fact that the party had no doubt gone on for hours after I'd left, there wasn't a single empty can or piece of trash anywhere. My impression of the group improved a bit.

Despite the hour, the air was already warm. We spent a few minutes in the sand near the water's edge going over the basics of surfing, and I explained how to pop up on the board. When Savannah thought she was ready, I waded in carrying the board, walking beside

her.

There were only a few surfers out, the same ones I'd seen the

day before. I was trying to figure out the best place to bring Savannah so she'd have enough room when I realized I could no

longer see her.

“Hold on, hold on!” she shouted from behind me. “Stop, stop ...” I turned. Savannah was on her tiptoes as the first splashes of water hit her belly, and her upper body was immediately covered in gooseflesh. She appeared to be trying to lift herself from the water.

“Let me get used to this....” She gave a few quick, audible

gasps and crossed her arms. “Wow. This is really cold. Holy cow!” Ho/31 cow? It wasn't exactly something my buddies would say. “You'll get used to it,” I said, smirking.

“I don't like being cold. I hate being cold.” “You live in the mountains where it snows.”

“Yeah, but we have these things called jackets and gloves and hats that we wear to keep warm. And we don't thrust ourselves into arctic waters first thing in the morning.”

“Funny,” I said.

She continued to hop up and down. “Yeah, real funny. I mean, geez!”

Geez? I grinned. Her breathing gradually began to even out, but the gooseflesh was still there. She took another tiny step forward. “It works best if you just jump right in and go under instead of torturing yourself in stages,” I suggested.

“You do it your way, I'll do it mine,” she said, unimpressed with my wisdom. “I can't believe you wanted to come out now. I was thinking sometime in the afternoon, when the temperature was above freezing.”

“It's almost eighty degrees.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, finally acclimating. Uncrossing her arms, she took another series of breaths, then dipped maybe an inch. Steeling herself, she slapped a bit of water on her arms. “Okay, I think I'm getting there.”

“Don't rush for me. Really. Take your time.”

“I will, thank you,” she said, ignoring the teasing tone. “Okay,”

she said again, more to herself than me. She took a small step forward, then another. As she moved, her face was a mask of concentration, and I liked the way it looked. So serious, so intense. So

ridiculous.

“Quit laughing at me,” she said, noting my expression. “I'm not laughing.”

“I can see it in your face. You're laughing on the inside.” “All right, I'll stop.”

Eventually she waded out to join me, and when the water was up

to my shoulders, Savannah climbed on the board. I held it in place, trying again not to stare at her figure, which wasn't easy, considering it was right in front of me. I forced myself to monitor the swells behind us.

“Now what?”

“Do you remember what to do? Paddle hard, grab the board on both sides near the front, then pop up to your feet?”

“Got it.”

“It's kind of tough at first. Don't be surprised if you fall, but if you do, just roll with it. It usually takes a few times to get it.” “Okay,” she said, and I saw a small swell approaching.

“Get ready ..., ” I said, timing it. “Okay, start paddling....”

As the wave hit us, I pushed the board, giving it some momentum, and Savannah caught the wave. I don't know what I expected, except that it wasn't to see her pop straight up, keep her

balance, and ride the wave all the way back to shore, where it finally petered out. In the shallow water, she jumped off the board as it slowed and turned with dramatic flair toward me.

“How was that?” she called out.

Despite the distance between us, I couldn't look away. Oh man, I suddenly thought, I'm in real trouble.

“I did gymnastics for years,” she admitted. “I've always had a good sense of balance. I suppose I should have said something about that while you were telling me I was going to wipe out.”

We spent more than an hour in the water. She popped up every time and rode the waves to shore with ease; though she couldn't steer the board, I had no doubt that if she wanted to, she would be able to master that in no time.

Afterward, we returned to the house. I waited out back while

she went upstairs. While a few people had risen—three girls were on the deck staring at the ocean—most were still recovering from the night before and nowhere to be seen. Savannah emerged a couple of minutes later in shorts and a T-shirt, holding two cups of coffee. She sat beside me on the steps as we faced the water.

“I didn't say you'd wipe out,” I clarified. “I just said that if you did, you should roll with it.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her expression mischievous. She pointed to my cup. “Is your coffee okay?”

“Tastes great,” I said.

“I have to start my day with coffee. It's my one vice.” “Everyone's got to have one.”

She glanced at me. “What's yours?”

“I don't have any,” I answered, and she surprised me by giving me a playful nudge.

"Did you know that last night was the first night of the full

moon?"

I did but thought it best not to admit it. “Really?” I said.

“I've always loved full moons. Ever since I was a kid. I liked to think that they were an omen of sorts. I wanted to believe they always portended good things. Like if I was making a mistake, 1 would have the chance to start over.”

She said nothing else about it. Instead she brought the cup to her lips, and I watched as the steam wreathed her face. “What's on your agenda today?” I asked.

“We're supposed to have a meeting sometime today, but other than that, nothing. Well, except for church. For me, I mean. And, well, whoever else wants to go. Which reminds me—what time is it?”

I checked my watch. “A little after nine.”

“Already? I guess that doesn't give me much time. Service is at ten.”

I nodded, knowing our time together was almost up. “Do you want to go with me?” I heard her ask.

“To church?”

“Yeah. To church,” she said. “Don't you go?”

I wasn't sure what to say. It was obviously important to her, and though I got the impression that my answer would disappoint, I didn't want to lie. “Not really,” I admitted. "I haven't been to

church in years. I mean, I used to go as a kid, b u t ... “ I trailed off. ”I don't know why," I finished.

She stretched her legs out, waiting to see if I would add more. When I didn't, she arched an eyebrow. “So?”

“What?”

“Do you want to go with me or not?”

“I don't have any clothes. I mean, this is all I have, and I doubt if I have enough time to go home, shower, and get back in time. Otherwise I would.”

She gave me the once-over. “Good.” She patted my knee, the second .time she'd touched me. “I'll get you some clothes.”

“You look great,” Tim assured me. “The collar's a little snug, but I don't think anyone will be able to tell.”

In the mirror, I saw a stranger dressed in khakis and a pressed shirt and tie. I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn a tie. I wasn't sure I was happy about any of this or not. Tim, meanwhile, was way too chipper about the whole thing.

“How'd she talk you into this?” he asked. “I have no idea.”

He laughed and, leaning over to tie his shoes, winked. “I told you she likes you.”

We've got chaplains in the army, and most of them are pretty good guys. On base, I got to know a couple of them fairly well, and one

of them—Ted Jenkins—was the kind of guy you trusted on the spot. He didn't drink, and I'm not saying he was one of us, but he was always welcome when he showed up. He had a wife and a couple of rugrats, and he'd been in the service for fifteen years. He had personal experience when it came to struggles with family and military

life in general, and if you ever sat down to talk with him, he really listened. You couldn't tell him everything—he was an officer, after all—and he ended up coming down fairly hard on a couple of guys in my platoon who admitted their escapades a bit too freely, but the thing was, he had this kind of presence that made you want to tell him anyway. I don't know what it was other than the fact that he was a good man and a hell of an army chaplain. He talked about God just as naturally as you might talk about your friend, not in that preachy, irritating way that generally turns me off. Nor did he

press you to attend services on Sundays. He sort of left it up to you, and depending what was going on or how dangerous things got, he might find himself talking to either one or two people or a hundred. Before my platoon was sent to the Balkans, he probably baptized fifty people.

I'd been baptized as a kid, so I didn't go that route, but like I said,

it had been a long time since I'd been to service. I'd stopped going with my dad a long time ago, and I didn't know what to expect. Nor can I honestly say I was looking forward to it, but in the end, the service wasn't that bad. The pastor was low-key, the music was all right, and time didn't drag by the way it always seemed to when I was little. I'm not saying I got much out of it, but even so, I was glad I went, if only so I could talk about something new with my dad. And also because it gave me just a bit more time with Savannah. Savannah ended up sitting between Tim and me, and I watched

her from the corner of my eye as she sang. She had a quiet, low-key singing voice but was always in tune, and I liked the way it sounded. Tim stayed focused on the scriptures, and on the way out, he

stopped to visit with the pastor while Savannah and I waited in the shade of a dogwood tree out front. Tim looked animated as he chatted with the pastor.

. “Old friends?” I asked, nodding toward Tim. Despite the shade, I was getting hot and could feel trails of perspiration beginning to form.

“No. I think his dad was the one who told him about this pastor. He had to use MapQuest last night to find this place.” She fanned herself; in her sundress, she reminded me of a proper southern belle. “I'm glad you came.”

“So am I,” I agreed. “Are you hungry?” “Getting there.”

"We have some food back at the house, if you want some. And

you can give Tim his clothes back. I can tell you're hot and uncomfortable.“ ”It's not half as hot as helmets, boots, and body armor, trust

me."

She tilted her head up at me. “I like hearing you talk about body armor. Not a lot of guys in my classes talk like you. I find it interesting.”

“You teasing me?”

“Just noting for the record.” She leaned gracefully against the tree. “I think Tim's finishing up.”

I followed her gaze, noticing nothing different. “How can you tell?”

“See how he brought his hands together? That means he's getting ready to say good-bye. In just a second, he's going to put his hand out, he'll smile and nod, and then he'll be on his way.”

I watched Tim do exactly as she predicted and amble toward us. I noted her amused expression. She shrugged. “When you live in a small town like mine, there's not much to do other than watch people. You begin to see patterns after a while.”

There'd probably been too much Tim-watching in my humble opinion, but I wasn't about to admit it.

“Hey there ...” Tim raised a hand. “You two ready to head back?”

“We've been waiting for you,” she pointed out. “Sorry,” he said. “We just got to talking.”

“You just get to talking with anyone and everyone.”

“I know,” he said. “I'm working on being more standoffish.”

She laughed, and while their familiar banter put me momentarily outside their circle of intimacy, all was forgotten when Savannah looped her arm through mine on our way back toward the car. Everyone was up by the time we got back, and most were already in their bathing suits and working on their tans. Some were lounging on the upper deck; most were clustered together on the beach out back. Music blasted from a stereo inside the house, coolers of beer stood refilled and ready, and more than a few were drinking: the age-old cure for the hangover headache. I passed no judgment; a beer sounded good, actually, but given that I'd just been to church,

I figured I should pass.

I changed my clothes, folding Tim's the way I'd learned in the army, then returned to the kitchen. Tim had made a plate of sandwiches.

“Help yourself,” he said, gesturing. "We have tons of food. 1

should know—I'm the one who spent three hours shopping yesterday.“ He rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel. ”All

right. Now it's my turn to change. Savannah will be out in a minute."

He left the kitchen. Alone, I looked around. The house was

decorated in that traditional beachy way: lots of bright-colored

wicker furniture, lamps made with seashells, small statues of lighthouses above the mantel, pastel paintings of the coast.

Lucy's parents had owned a place like this. Not here, but on

Bald Head Island. They never rented it out, preferring to spend their summers there. Of course, the old man still had to work in Winston-Salem, and he and the wife would head back for a couple of days a week, leaving poor Lucy all alone. Except for me, of course. Had they known what was happening on those days, they probably wouldn't have left us alone.

“Hey there,” Savannah said. She'd donned her bikini again,

though she was wearing shorts over the bottoms. “I see you're back to normal.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your eyes aren't bulging because your collar's too tight.” I smiled. “Tim made some sandwiches.”

“Great. I'm starved,” she said, moving around the kitchen. “Did you grab one?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Well, dig in. I hate to eat alone.”

We stood in the kitchen as we ate. The girls lying on the deck hadn't realized we were there, and I could hear one of them talking about what she did with one of the guys last night, and none

of it sounded as though she were in town on a goodwill mission for the poor. Savannah wrinkled her nose as if to say, Way too much information, then turned to the fridge. “I need a drink. Do you want something?”

“Water's fine.”

She bent over to grab a couple of bottles. I tried not to stare but

did so anyway and, frankly, enjoyed it. I wondered whether she knew I was staring and assumed she did, for when she stood up and turned around, she had that amused look again. She set the bottles on the counter. “After this, you want to go surfing again?”

How could I resist?

We spent the afternoon in the water. As much as I enjoyed the up-close-Savannah-lying-on-the-board view I was treated to, I enjoyed the sight of her surfing even more. To make things even better,

she asked to watch me while she warmed up on the beach, and I was treated to my own private viewing while enjoying the waves.

By midafternoon we were lying on towels near, but not too

near, the rest of the group behind the house. A few curious glances drifted in our direction, but for the most part, no one seemed to care that I was there, except for Randy and Susan. Susan frowned pointedly at Savannah; Randy, meanwhile, was content to hang out with Brad and Susan as the third wheel, licking his wounds. Tim was nowhere to be seen.

Savannah was lying on her stomach, a tempting sight. I was on

my back beside her, trying to doze in the lazy heat but too distracted by her presence to fully relax.

“Hey,” she murmured. “Tell me about your tattoos.” I rolled my head in the sand. “What about them?” “I don't know. Why you got them, what they mean.”

I propped myself on one elbow. I pointed to my left arm, which had an eagle and banner. “Okay, this is the infantry insignia, and this”—I pointed to the words and letters—“is how we're identified: company, battalion, regiment. Everyone in my squad has one. We got it just after basic training at Fort Benning in Georgia when we were celebrating.”

“Why does it say 'Jump-start' underneath it?”

"That's my nickname. I got it during basic training, courtesy of

our beloved drill sergeant. I wasn't putting my gun together fast enough, and he basically said that he was going to jump-start a certain body part if I didn't get my act in gear. The nickname stuck."

“He sounds pleasant,” she joked.

“Oh yeah. We called him Lucifer behind his back.” She smiled. “What's the barbed wire above it for?”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I had that one done before I joined.”

“And the other arm?”

A Chinese character. I didn't want to go into it, so I shook my head. “It's from back in my 'I'm lost and don't give a damn' stage. It doesn't mean anything.”

“Isn't it a Chinese character?” “Yes.”

“Then what does it mean? It's got to mean something. Like bravery or honor or something?”

“It's a profanity.”

“Oh,” she said with a blink.

“Like I said, it doesn't mean anything to me now.” “Except that maybe you shouldn't flash it if you ever go to China.”

I laughed. “Yeah, except that,” 1 agreed.

She was quiet for a moment. “You were a rebel, huh?”

I nodded. “A long time ago. Well, not really that long ago. But it seems like it.”

“That's what you meant when you said the army was something you needed at the time?”

“It's been good for me.”

She thought about it. “Tell me—would you have jumped for my bag back then?”

“No. I probably would have laughed at what happened.”

She evaluated my answer, as if wondering whether to believe me.

Finally, she drew a long breath. “I'm glad you joined, then. I really needed that bag.”

“Good.” .

“What else?” “What else what?”

“What else can you tell me about yourself?” “I don't know. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me something no one else knows about you.”

I considered the question. “I can tell you how many ten-dollar Indians with a rolled edge were minted in 1907.”

“How many?”

“Forty-two. They were never intended for the public. Some men at the mint made them for themselves and some friends.” “You like coins?”

“I'm not sure. It's a long story.” “We've got time.”

I hesitated while Savannah reached for her bag. “Hold on,” she said, rummaging through it. She pulled out a tube of Coppertone. “You can tell me after you put some lotion on my back. I feel like I'm getting burned.”

“Oh, I can, huh?”

She winked. “It's part of the deal.”

I applied the lotion to her back and shoulders and probably went

a bit overboard, but I convinced myself that she was turning pink and that having a sunburn of any sort would make her work the next day miserable. After that, 1 spent the next few minutes telling her about my grandfather and dad, about the coin shows and good old Eliasberg. What I didn't do was specifically answer her question, for the simple reason that 1 wasn't quite sure what the answer

was. When I finished she turned to me. “And your father still collects coins?”

“All the time. At least, 1 think so. We don't talk about coins anymore.”

“Why not?”

I told her that story, too. Don't ask me why. I knew I should

have been putting my best foot forward and tossing out crap to impress her, but with Savannah that wasn't possible. For whatever reason, she made me want to tell the truth, even though I barely knew her. When I finished she was wearing a curious expression. “Yeah, I was a jerk,” I offered, knowing there were other, probably more accurate words to describe me back then, all of which were profane enough to offend her.

“It sounds like it,” she said, "but that's not what I was thinking.

I was trying to imagine you back then, because you seem nothing like that person now."

What could I say that wouldn't sound bogus, even if it was true?

Unsure, I opted for Dad's approach and said nothing. “What's your dad like?”

I gave her a quick recap. As I spoke, she scooped sand and let it trail through her fingers, as if concentrating on my choice of words. In the end, surprising myself again, I admitted that we were almost strangers.

“You are,” she said, using that nonjudgmental, matter-of-fact

tone. “You've been gone for a couple of years, and even you admit that you've changed. How could he know you?”

I sat up. The beach was packed; it was the time of day when everyone who planned to come was already here, and no one was quite ready to leave. Randy and Brad were playing Frisbee by the water's edge, running and shouting. A few others wandered over to join them.

“I know,” I said. “But it's not just that. We've always been strangers. I mean, it's just so hard to talk to him.”

As soon as I said it, I realized she was the first person I'd ever admitted it to. Strange. But then, most of what I was saying to her sounded strange.

“Most people our age say that about their parents.”

Maybe, I thought. But this was different. It wasn't a generational difference, it was the fact that for my dad, normal chitchat was all

but impossible, unless it dealt with coins. I said nothing more, however, and Savannah smoothed the sand in front of her. When she

spoke, her voice was soft. “I'd like to meet him.” I turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“He sounds interesting. I've always loved people who have this ... passion for life.”

“It's a passion for coins, not life,” I corrected her.

“It's the same thing. Passion is passion. It's the excitement between the tedious spaces, and it doesn't matter where it's directed.”

She shuffled her feet in the sand. “Well, most of the time, anyway. I'm not talking vices here.”

“Like you and caffeine.”

She smiled, flashing the small gap between her two front teeth. “Exactly. It can be coins or sports or politics or horses or music or faith ... the saddest people I've ever met in life are the ones who don't care deeply about anything at all. Passion and satisfaction go hand in hand, and without them, any happiness is only temporary, because there's nothing to make it last. I'd love to hear your dad talk about coins, because that's when you see a person at his best, and I've found that someone else's happiness is usually infectious.”

I was struck by her words. Despite Tim's opinion that she was naive, she seemed far more mature than most people our age. Then again, considering the way she looked in her bikini, she probably could have recited the phone book and I would have

been impressed.

Savannah sat up beside me, and her gaze followed mine. The game of Frisbee was in full swing; as Brad zipped the disk, a couple of others went running for it. They both dove for it simultaneously, splashing in the shallows as their heads collided. The one in red shorts came up empty, swearing and holding his head, his shorts covered in sand. The others laughed, and I found myself smiling and wincing simultaneously.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“Hold on,” she said instead. “I'll be right back.” She trotted over

to red shorts. He saw her approaching and froze, as did the guy next to him. Savannah, I realized, had pretty much the same effect on every guy, not just me. I could see her talking and smiling, turning that earnest gaze on the guy, who nodded as she spoke, looking like a chastised adolescent. She returned to my side and sat again. I

didn't ask, knowing it wasn't my business, but I knew I was telegraphing my curiosity.

"Normally, I wouldn't have said anything, but I asked him to

keep his language in check because of all the families out here,“ she explained. ”There are lots of little kids around. He said he would."

1 should have guessed. “Did you suggest he use 'Holy cow' or 'Geez' instead?”

She squinted at me mischievously. “You liked those expressions, didn't you.”

“I'm thinking of passing them on to my squad. They'll add to our intimidation factor when we're busting down doors and launching RPGs.”

She giggled. “Definitely scarier than swearing, even if I don't know what an RPG is.”

“Rocket-propelled grenade.” Despite myself, I liked her more with every passing minute. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I don't have any plans. Well, except for the meeting. Why? Did you want to bring me to meet your father?”

“No. Well, not tonight, anyway. Later. Tonight, I wanted to show you around Wilmington.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I'll have you back whenever you want. I know you've got to work tomorrow, but there's this great place that I want to show you.”

“What kind of place?”

“A local place. Specializes in seafood. But it's more of an experience.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I usually don't date strangers,” she finally said, "and we only met yesterday. You think

1 can trust you?“ ”I wouldn't," I said.

She laughed. "Well, in that case, I suppose I can make an

exception.“ ”Yeah?"

“Yeah,” she said. “I'm a sucker for honest guys with crew cuts. What time?”