something," he said helpfully. "It can get pretty
windy."
"Right," I said tentatively, my head
beginning to spin. I appreciated the concern—at some level—but if Zane didn’t
cut out the disembodied-voice thing, this was going to be a very long
afternoon. I grabbed my mother’s jacket, since my own fleece hoody was still
clammy from last night’s adventure, and hurried back toward the door. Zane was
still nowhere to be seen, but just in case, I mouthed a silent plea backwards
down the hall: "No interference!"
We descended the steps to the driveway and hopped
into Matt’s car—a modest sedan that probably belonged to his dad. He put his
keys in the ignition, then turned to face me. "Anything in particular you
want to see? I hear you’ve already done the base and the North Shore, which is
good, because the base is boring and I totally suck at surfing."
I laughed. "Well, I can’t even swim, so no
problem, there. But I would like to see more of the coast. Or maybe we could
drive by some of the high schools around the base? I don’t know where I’ll be
going yet."
He considered a moment. "Okay. We’ll drive up
to Turtle Bay and down the windward side. You’ll like that. Then the high
schools. Mine’s the best, of course."
"Of course. What do you like about it?"
Our initial awkwardness eased up as I coaxed Matt
into talking about what were obviously his favorite topics: football,
wrestling, and water polo. He enjoyed talking about them so much I had little
opportunity to ask some of the questions that popped into my head as we drove
northeast, like why such a huge stretch of beachfront property was devoted to
placidly grazing sheep, where the famous Banyan trees from Lost were located,
and whether it was really safe to buy shrimp out of a van on the side of the
road. But I didn’t mind. Though a tad self absorbed, Matt was also refreshingly
humble, talking more about his screw-ups than his successes. I was soon so at
ease with the normalness of it all that I managed to forget about Zane
altogether.
"We’ll get out here for a minute," Matt
announced, turning off the main road into a residential area. "It’s called
La'ie Point; you’ll like it."
I wasn’t worried about Matt being a serial killer.
Not really. But as he proceeded to drive through a tight maze of small houses
and tiny residential alleys that looked like they couldn’t possibly lead
anywhere, I felt just enough of a flicker of apprehension to let my eyes stray
behind me.
Zane lounged casually across the back of the sedan,
his hands locked behind his head, his feet stretched out on the seat cushion.
Dressed impeccably in a tailored black business suit, crisp white shirt, and
polished shoes—complete with opulent watch, mirror-lensed sunglasses, and the
unmistakable bulge of a shoulder holster—he was the perfect image of a secret
service agent. Or at least the Hollywood version of one.
His expressionless face swiveled my direction. He
nodded.
I turned quickly back around.
"Rain’s coming," Matt announced, bringing
the car to a halt in a parking area by the vast ocean that had appeared out of
nowhere. "That’s one thing you’ll get used to out here—blue sky one
minute, pouring rain the next. Makes life interesting, I guess. You want to
walk around?"
I opened my door and stepped out.
The weather had indeed changed dramatically. The sun
was gone, occluded by one of the many clumps of low-hanging purplish clouds
that drifted rapidly across the sky. A wicked wind blew in off the water, which
had turned from azure blue to a smoky gray. There were no giant waves here,
just a vast, heaving soup of whitecaps that broke and splashed as far out as
the eye could see.
I grabbed my jacket as I shut the door, cutting off
what was possibly a wind-muffled "I told you so," coming from the
back seat. My chivalrous escort—the live one—came quickly around the car to
help me get the jacket over my shoulders.
"I’ve always loved this place," Matt
windy."
"Right," I said tentatively, my head
beginning to spin. I appreciated the concern—at some level—but if Zane didn’t
cut out the disembodied-voice thing, this was going to be a very long
afternoon. I grabbed my mother’s jacket, since my own fleece hoody was still
clammy from last night’s adventure, and hurried back toward the door. Zane was
still nowhere to be seen, but just in case, I mouthed a silent plea backwards
down the hall: "No interference!"
We descended the steps to the driveway and hopped
into Matt’s car—a modest sedan that probably belonged to his dad. He put his
keys in the ignition, then turned to face me. "Anything in particular you
want to see? I hear you’ve already done the base and the North Shore, which is
good, because the base is boring and I totally suck at surfing."
I laughed. "Well, I can’t even swim, so no
problem, there. But I would like to see more of the coast. Or maybe we could
drive by some of the high schools around the base? I don’t know where I’ll be
going yet."
He considered a moment. "Okay. We’ll drive up
to Turtle Bay and down the windward side. You’ll like that. Then the high
schools. Mine’s the best, of course."
"Of course. What do you like about it?"
Our initial awkwardness eased up as I coaxed Matt
into talking about what were obviously his favorite topics: football,
wrestling, and water polo. He enjoyed talking about them so much I had little
opportunity to ask some of the questions that popped into my head as we drove
northeast, like why such a huge stretch of beachfront property was devoted to
placidly grazing sheep, where the famous Banyan trees from Lost were located,
and whether it was really safe to buy shrimp out of a van on the side of the
road. But I didn’t mind. Though a tad self absorbed, Matt was also refreshingly
humble, talking more about his screw-ups than his successes. I was soon so at
ease with the normalness of it all that I managed to forget about Zane
altogether.
"We’ll get out here for a minute," Matt
announced, turning off the main road into a residential area. "It’s called
La'ie Point; you’ll like it."
I wasn’t worried about Matt being a serial killer.
Not really. But as he proceeded to drive through a tight maze of small houses
and tiny residential alleys that looked like they couldn’t possibly lead
anywhere, I felt just enough of a flicker of apprehension to let my eyes stray
behind me.
Zane lounged casually across the back of the sedan,
his hands locked behind his head, his feet stretched out on the seat cushion.
Dressed impeccably in a tailored black business suit, crisp white shirt, and
polished shoes—complete with opulent watch, mirror-lensed sunglasses, and the
unmistakable bulge of a shoulder holster—he was the perfect image of a secret
service agent. Or at least the Hollywood version of one.
His expressionless face swiveled my direction. He
nodded.
I turned quickly back around.
"Rain’s coming," Matt announced, bringing
the car to a halt in a parking area by the vast ocean that had appeared out of
nowhere. "That’s one thing you’ll get used to out here—blue sky one
minute, pouring rain the next. Makes life interesting, I guess. You want to
walk around?"
I opened my door and stepped out.
The weather had indeed changed dramatically. The sun
was gone, occluded by one of the many clumps of low-hanging purplish clouds
that drifted rapidly across the sky. A wicked wind blew in off the water, which
had turned from azure blue to a smoky gray. There were no giant waves here,
just a vast, heaving soup of whitecaps that broke and splashed as far out as
the eye could see.
I grabbed my jacket as I shut the door, cutting off
what was possibly a wind-muffled "I told you so," coming from the
back seat. My chivalrous escort—the live one—came quickly around the car to
help me get the jacket over my shoulders.
"I’ve always loved this place," Matt
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