1

"You're too big to surf."

I took another sip of my Rainier, smiled, and then looked up at the ten-foot surfboard stuffed in the floor joists of my cabin's little-known basement. "I didn't used to be."

Victoria Moretti balanced on the stepladder and stroked a hand over the board, detecting the little scuffs, dents, and scars on the otherwise remarkably smooth varnished surface. "It's a monster."

"The Monolith, as Henry used to call it." I sat on the concrete steps that led down from the Bilco doors into the cellar. "They used to be even bigger back in the day, in Hawaii-the Duke boards."

"The Duke, you mean John Wayne?"

I smiled. "No, Kahanamoku, kind of the father of surfing."

She shook her head. "So, you mean to tell me that when you went to college in California you actually surfed?" When I smiled at her she pushed up, lifting one end of the longboard. "It's heavy."

"About a hundred pounds, stout for the day. It's a Bob Simmons sandwich model, one of his early designs, but it's still got the twin fins."

"Who's Bob Simmons?"

"Another surfing legend."

"And he sold you the board?"

"No, he died back in '54 so I never met him. The smaller, more maneuverable boards...