Cowabunga Christmas by Anna Celeste Burke Read Free Book Online Page B

as hammocks
and tarps strung between trees. It wasn’t quite like walking into a tribal village—too
chaotic for that. There was a sense of a center almost directly in front of us,
where a big fire pit sat. It resembled those found at campgrounds or on SoCal
beaches. This one had been rigged up to work as a grill, apparently. A wire
grate, tipped up on its side, leaned against the rocks outlining the pit.
Planks of wood, set on cinder blocks, served as seating around the pit. I could
see a row of surfboards lined up at the edge of the woods—standing upright,
stuck in the sand. The beach and sea beckoned beyond. Colorful items hung from
the trees, Hawaiian leis, garlands of various kinds, even a pirate flag! I felt
like we had stumbled into Never-Never Land. Peter Pan was preferable to
Deliverance as the script for this little adventure we were on.
    A tanned,
well-muscled man was making a fire. He looked up and Brien gestured using the
shaka sign, the Hawaiian ‘hang loose’ greeting.
    “Aloha,
Bro, ‘tsup?” The sandy-haired man stood up. His Pendleton plaid shirt fell
open, revealing a nice set of abs. Not as good as Brien’s. The shirt was worn
over the long surfer shorts Brien calls ‘boardies.’ It occurred to me that we
were both overdressed, not to mention disheveled from that tumble we had taken
dodging Bad Santa. I wasn’t the only one wearing dirt smears and grass stains.
Brien either didn’t notice or didn’t care that his clothes were stained.
    He
moved forward, lowering his voice, perhaps not wanting to yell and disturb village
dwellers that had appeared out of nowhere. I noticed movement in other places
around us and realized, here and there, hammocks held occupants and so did the
tents. As the fire-tender spoke to Brien, his eyes were on me. He gave me the
once over more than once. His eyes came to rest on that tattoo on my arm.
    “Hey,
Man, I’m Brien and this is Kim.”
    “Mick,”
fire-tender replied. He finally took his eyes off me without any acknowledgment
at all.
    “We’re
staying at the resort, and I’m hoping to catch a few waves in the next few
days. Who can give me the dope about surfing around here?” Brien’s face lit up
with anticipation. I wondered if he had already lost track of the other reason
for our visit.
    “I can,
but hang on, Dude. We heard they got a dead Santa up there at the Sanctuary.”
Okay, so no problem getting back on track. Perfect!
    “Don’t
we know it, Bro? Owen Taylor almost dropped in on us while we were taking a
moonlight swim.”
    “No
way, you almost got axed by Santa?” He shook his head as he went back to
setting out the wood to build a fire. “Owen Taylor, huh? I know that name,” he
said, raising his eyes to meet Brien’s. I heard murmurs from the Greek chorus
that surrounded us. I could have sworn they were chanting something that
sounded like ‘Opie.’
    “We
didn’t call him Owen. Opie, that’s what we called him. That freckle-faced kid
was big on fishing but a real Barney on the boards. We let it slide, since he
kept us supplied with fresh fish. Then a couple weeks ago he went all Sheriff
Taylor on us.” Mick stopped talking and blinked at Brien for a moment.
    “Opie,
Barney, and Sheriff Taylor,” I said, before I could stop myself. “It sounds
like he brought the whole town of Mayberry with him.”
    “Uh,
no Aunt Bea,” he retorted, and then laughed at his own joke. Snort, snort, big
snort, the chorus closing in around us chuckled too. “Good one, huh, Bunny?”
Mick asked, giving me a wink. Bunny, as in beach bunny, sounded snide as it
rolled off his lips. Mick was starting to grate.
    “What
happened that brought out the Sheriff Taylor in him?” I asked, fighting my urge
to add ‘jerk’ to the end of that question.
    “I’m
not sure—he just went dark. Got all eggy, hard to take, you know? When he tried
to tell people what to do we told him to live and let live, or leave. He left.”
Mick shrugged. “Man, I do miss