So when Sunny came to her and explained that she didn't want to go to college, and tearfully apologized for letting her down, Eleanor said that it was her fault for introducing Emily to the ocean.

“So what do you intend to do?” Eleanor asked.

“I want to be a professional surfer.”

Eleanor didn't raise an eyebrow. Or laugh, or argue, or scoff. She simply said, “Well, be a great one.”

Bea great surfer, not marry one.

Not like the options were mutually exclusive, but neither Sunny nor Boone was interested in getting married, or even living together. Life was just fine the way it was-surfing, hanging out, making love, and surfing. It was all one and the same thing, one long, unbroken rhythm.

Good days.

Sunny waited tables in PB while she worked on her surfing career; Boone was happy being a cop, a uniformed patrolman with the SDPD.

What busted it up was a girl named Rain Sweeny.

Things changed after Rain Sweeny. After she was gone, Boone never really came back. It was like there was this distance between Boone and Sunny now, like a deep, slow current pulling them apart.

And now this big swell is coming, and they both sense that it's bringing a bigger change.

They stand outside Boone's office.

“So… late,” Sunny says.

“Late.”

Walking away, Sunny wonders if it's too late.

Like she's already lost something she didn't even know she wanted.

9

Boone walks into Pacific Surf.

Hang Twelve looks up from Grand Theft Auto 3 and says, “There's an inland betty upstairs looking for you. And Cheerful's way aggro.”