Beverly Greene tugged desiccated crab shells out of the sand and finally realized that the best part of being a free spirit wasn’t the artsy companions, drug use, or casual-sex-as-league-sporting-activity, but rather not needing to have a plan. She had been good at that part. She would never have any children. Nor did she have career milestones to brag about, taking into account she didn’t have a career in the first place. On the flip side, she would never give birth to a tiny person she’d be forced to watch awaken into consciousness just to start a revenge porn club, like Ethan Fuller, or convince a girl to kill herself, like Michelle Gallant. She also didn’t have regrets over failing to learn Italian or travel to Zanzibar or open a fusion restaurant. Perhaps life was better lived in consuming what pleasures were readily available, as opposed to pursuing a given outcome with resolve and passion. However, the part about being a free spirit she hadn’t been good at was the letting go part. Her mother was going to die frightened in a room identical to every other room in the Memory Care Ward of the Sundown Institute. Was Beverly supposed to take deep breaths, chant “om” as if nothing were the matter, and reach acceptance of that fact? Well, acceptance could screw itself. She hated acceptance. Looking out over the ocean, she thought, At least the waves will always be mine.

She had hopped on a Greyhound bus to California when she was seventeen, trying not to get up and pee until the designated rest stops. As a result, she had been cut off financially, but it was liberating. Starting out, she worked in a hippie bookstore peddling incense and healing energy crystals to soccer moms and sad widowers. Then she moved into a house share in the Hollywood Hills with some guitarists and sold hot tubs to the stars. They were former B-list actors who still bore atavistic traits from their days on the small screen. Smiling at her with snowy veneers and radioactive tans, they asked several questions about the advantages of wooden versus acrylic models. Those rich old men having a soak in the family five-seater that afternoon in Chappy weren’t that different. The hot tub job was a way to get back on her board. Her roommates, all of whom she slept with, taught her the basics. Once she learned how to stand up and stopped swallowing salt water, she discovered she loved to surf. Amelia never had to try it herself. Beverly could yet renege on the nursing home. Her decision wasn’t irrevocable. To give herself the opportunity to renege but also keep her mind occupied, she had signed up to work at Jabberwocky. Also, she was used to dead-end jobs. But god, she didn’t want to offer herself up to the altar of her mother’s malice. It didn’t matter if the cruelty was now unintentional. As it turned out, it might be a blessing that everything ended. We can love without believing in our capacity to love.