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She shook her head. Long hair clung with static to the tent around her, making her look like the Medusa. He smiled, feeling that odd pulling sensation when his thoughts abruptly turned to other topics. He had to reign that instinct in this time.

"Trace, as your friend, I ask you to do me the favor of not rushing into anything the minute this guy gets off his mission, okay? And maybe you should consider getting to know other guys, even other guys in your church, okay? It would be better for you to...." 

She had buried her face in the pillow. Was that her way of letting him know she wasn't listening?

 He stopped, reached for the pillow and pulled it away. Blue eyes met his. "I'm not pushing you, I'll go back on my side now, and even go to sleep, without you, although it pains me to do it, but I really want to caution you, okay?"

She nodded, staring at him in the very dim light. Did he think those thoughts hadn't crossed her mind? Did he think she was foolish enough to not make sure before she got into another relationship? A touch of anger coursed through her, and her hair rose into a staticky halo around her. 

Annoyance immediately flickered. She felt the build and wished for Richard, and then pushed that thought away with even more force. Is that all I want him for? No!

Blaze waited there, hoping she'd answer, but she didn't. She just stared at him, big blue eyes shining eerily, like a ghost, or a fairy... some fairies had teeth, he thought irreverently and crawled back the way he had come. He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes, digesting all the information he'd taken in this day.

He wouldn't mind feeling those fairy teeth right now, though.

*******

The little beach house had a shut-in feeling, and as Tracy opened the doors and windows, let the kids down to play, she felt that cool sea breeze and a sudden peace that only being near the ocean could bring. She dumped the stuff on the living room floor, listened to Danny yelping over his forgotten toys and bedroom, and went to the wall between the two condos and called for her mother. An answering English hello came quietly from above, and she grinned, feeling secure in the knowledge that Mum was also home.

They unloaded the Explorer, talked about the time they were apart, fixed lunch, put the girls down for naps, looked at pictures, talked about Montana and plans for moving there, and then fixed dinner. After dinner, Lorraine offered to have a little Grandma time and read stories over at her place. Tracy decided to go surfing. It wasn't dark yet, nor was it foggy or overcast. The sun had set, but it was still beautiful. She dressed and went outside.

What was it about sand under her bare feet? How did the sound of crashing surf soothe her so effectively each and every time she heard it? Even if the surf that crashed was only a foot high? She made it to the gate, hefted her board through and slid out to the limited parking lot, and across its warmer blacktop. Minutes later she was on the shore. She stood there assessing the situation. Why did there always have to be this assessment?

Two vans in the parking lot attested to a few latent reporters ready to film her every move. A group of people, still dressed, and not in bathing suits, were sitting around a campfire higher up on the shore, she'd have to walk right by them... but the ocean called. They wouldn't follow her out there.

"Hey, Trace, how was the vacation?" It was Marc Shepherd, as she knew it would be.

She waved, tethered her board as she drew closer to the water. "Fine thanks!" she called. He was loping across the sand, camera in tow.

"Pose for me, babe." He called good-naturedly, as others flocked behind him. She sighed, blew out her breath in consternation.

"I was really only out for a moment of relaxation." She said as he caught up to her, setting up his lighting equipment as he came, a few others in tow, in case she bolted.

"When'd ya get home? Today?" he asked, using a light meter, as she zipped up the wetsuit she'd left unzipped in front over her bathing suit. Her hair was down. She usually put it in a ponytail. She had a hair tie on her wrist for this purpose, but she'd have to let the board down and rest it against her leg.

Irritation warred with acceptance. "Yeah, a little while ago. Mom's got the kids, I really just stepped out to enjoy the sunset, ya know?" She tried to make light of it, but she really wanted to have a little peace. The demands of motherhood were steep, and usually not a bother, but after all the travel it was so nice to have a few moments to herself. 

If they'd let her....

"You fight with Austin? He didn't go to Montana with you?" Marc was asking, all on his recorder for sure, he kept the video going as well. She finished zipping, ignored his nudge to make her turn toward him and pose.

"I'm not his keeper, I'm his friend." She responded lightly. "I've been hanging out with Archer, we're doing a film together."

"That was weeks ago." Marc reminded her. "You took a nice leisurely vacation to the Caribbean, remember? What was that all about?"

She shook her head. "Just a little get-away." She smiled, waved, turned and headed out to the small rolling white water.

"Trace, you sleeping with Blaze Phelps?"

Don't answer that, she thought, it's not worth the fight, they'll print whatever they want anyway. Tonight I'm not stopping. She flopped the board down and straddled it, paddling quickly, realizing a second too late that several other surfers were now running to join her. Darn...

They were paparazzi... she saw their cameras, their equipment. Disappointment blistered. Why couldn't they just respect her need for a little downtime like any other working mother? She paddled faster, took a face full, dove through another, out ran them. She knew she could. They hadn't been surfing all their lives like she had; they hadn't been taught how to get away when surfing by the great Casey Crandall. But it was twilight, and out farther there were no waves. Eventually, they'd catch her and there would be nowhere to go...

"Trace...." She could hear their muffled voices calling her name, asking stupid mundane questions, it didn't matter what she answered, not one of them could actually quote with accuracy. Even Marc was a diehard mis-quoter.

She sat the board, looked out to Catalina, clear as a bell, not a bit hazy. The wind was rougher out here. She looked down, a gray shape passed by near the surface, a dolphin. This was his territory, it wasn't the first time she'd gone out far enough to see them, she'd even pet one a couple of times. Long as it wasn't a shark, or a seal, both could be mean and unpredictable. She watched, turning the board to glimpse again. No, a dolphin. There would be more.

A few larger swells. She rode them, watching the others come closer. She could hear music, that ocean music Michael hated. But she liked it; it meant she was diffusing current. A very large swell was building, she lay flat and paddled toward it... it might be her only chance, and her ride back into shore.

She caught the wave, balanced, stood. Feel the power, feel the continuity, feel the drive.... The exhilaration, watch the curl, wait for it, wait! Over the top, she let it go, another was building. She turned to face it, missed it, waited again, turned, paddled fiercely, felt the lift, the flying sensation. 

To her right, she made out the darker gray outline, the shadow of herself and her partner... the dolphin! Blue eyes slid to the wave, the crashing serenity of it, the alien presence matching her speed for speed. Blinding rushes of exhilaration coursed through her arm, as she let her legs push into a crouch, as she dipped one hand carefully alongside, into the water, leaving a clearly sparkling trail of knife-like precision above the dolphin's body.

 It rose, touched the surface, first a fin, then the nose. Her eyes met his in serene astonishment, glossy rhythmic pounding thundered in their combined veins for those split seconds. And music, more other-worldly than any she had ever, ever heard meandered lightly through the sparkly blue. 

Time meant nothing, it could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. It could have been the gray-white Pacific, or an alien shore on a far off planet. Tracy felt the crush of splintering need relax into her blood like a tangible thing, and marveled at the simplicity of life, of communication between species, of sharing. 

She balanced, as it came once more to the surface, fin out in the white surf, above her, speeding along, keeping pace. So close, she could see its white underside, its smooth flyer fins! 

She stood, watching the board-sized mammal beside her, not the wave, rode it till the end and the magnificent animal dove out of sight, back to a deeper realm only he could understand. 

She was in the penny surf, she grabbed her board feeling the gentle laughter permeating the connection. In excitement and unrestrained joy Tracy punched the air and raced toward Marc: yelling.

*****