Lessons in Pure Life Read online

  Freshly minted grad Emilia Noble arrives in Costa Rica to teach English in the tropical community of Pacifica. Its carefree, pura vida lifestyle is a welcome contrast to her dark and wintry origins. Tossing caution aside like an old winter coat, she plunges headfirst into an exotic cocktail of sensory pleasure.

  Diego is a local whose surfer body and cool detachment make Lia buzz with a long-lost thrill. Fascinated by her new environment, she can’t help but wonder about the moody inner workings of the boy with triceps like Wolverine and a grimace to match.

  Diego seems to have no problem ignoring Lia, though. Caught up in his family’s conflicted attitude toward foreigners, he notices her only when it’s convenient. But as Lia thrives in her new surroundings, Diego might just find reason enough to defy his embattled, insular father. When north and south are mixed together, the results are intoxicating.

  “Rich with description and with interesting characters, [Lessons in Pure Life] was a book I was happy to spend an afternoon with…. I admired Emilia for her determination and strength in deciding to go to a completely new place and to try a new way of life. She is a pretty strong gal with a good head on her shoulders. Diego was also a great character, with a dark and mysterious way that really had me guessing as to what the reasons were behind his facade. He would give brief glimpses to a kind and warm man beneath the harder exterior and I was just as drawn to him as Emilia was. I really enjoyed reading their relationship and how it grew from a tentative start to a strong and unexpected bond.” – Jilly, Read-Love-Blog

  “O’Connor has done us all a huge favour by describing Lia’s new surroundings in rich detail…. In this tropical paradise far removed from home, she’s able to breathe and learns to let go of her past mistakes and the pain of a failed relationship…. Lessons in Pure Life isn’t just a romance. It’s about exploration and how Lia reinvented herself after her own personal misfortune to discover her own beauty.” – Bel, Bibliojunkies

  “[Lessons in Pure Life] brings a refreshing reality to what it means to be fallibly fragile and accepted for instead of in spite of…. There was a boozy languid ease to Lia’s acclamation to this new life in the heady paradise of Pacifica. I can feel the salt on my skin and smell the hints of coconut on the breeze. It was light despite being heavy and was the perfect story to fantasize reading upon my favorite stretch of beach.” – Beth, Literati Literature Lovers

  “I really liked Lia. She was a strong female, she wasn’t vulnerable and whiny but she also wasn’t all up in your face ‘I'm a bad ass’ kind of strong, she was just a strong leading character in all aspects.… She was hilarious too! Lessons in Pure Life was fun, sweet, romantic and had its sexy moments too. It’s a good get-away book, the perfect escape book. Audrey’s writing is smart and funny and her characters are intriguing and interesting…. One question though? Is there more? I hope so! I need a lot more of Diego Valverde.” – Jade, Red Hot Reads

  Tryst Books

  29 Golfview Avenue

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M4E 2J9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Audrey O'Connor

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (except brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of the author or publisher.

  Front cover design: Ashley James

  Cover art by Shutterstock.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  O'Connor, Audrey, 1983-, author

  Lessons in Pure Life / Audrey O'Connor.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-0-9937003-8-5 (paperback).

  ISBN 978-0-9937003-9-2 (epub).

  ISBN 978-0-9940297-0-6 (mobi).

  I. Title.

  PS8629.C62L48 2015 C813'.6 C2015-900304-0/C2015-900305-9

  This is a revised electronic edition of Lessons in Pure Life.

  To every woman who wants to get away for a while.

  1

  “Crocodile!” the driver yells, pointing out the window.

  We all sway forward and snap back as he hits the brakes.

  Suddenly I’m surrounded by half a dozen tourists slathered in SPF-80, smelling of summer camp and public pools. They’re crowding to the left side of the rusty, old school bus and chattering in loud, awed whispers.

  “There it is! Look at that thing move.”

  “Roger, get the camera.”

  “Jesus, that’s a big fella. You can’t tell me that’s not a dinosaur.”

  “Roger, get the camera!”

  Poor Roger can be heard fumbling frantically in his knapsack. His wife practically has her head out the window. The part of her I can only refer to as “bosom” is getting to second base with my shoulder.

  Unlike the other passengers, I’m speechless. My eyes are glued to the window, watching the eight-foot reptile hustle across the road at an alarming pace. I snap a shot with my phone.

  Fascinating. Terrifying.

  It may as well be a dragon. We turn our heads in unison to watch it waddle toward a scummy, brown swamp that can’t be much cooler than the humid air. The croc’s tire-tread tail slips into the murky water and disappears. I’m glad to be in a motorized vehicle.

  “Crazy,” someone mutters succinctly.

  Just like that, our impromptu safari stop is complete. The shuttle engine comes to life with an obnoxious rumble, and everyone settles back down as we start to pick up speed. I return to watching the countryside go by.

  It’s a bright-white summer morning in Costa Rica, and we’re on our way to the beach. My hair is a tornado whirling around my head, sticking to my strawberry lip balm. I still feel like a new kid here, but I have an edge because the sun has always been kind to me – I’ve only been in town five days and I almost look like a local. When my cousin Katherine picked me up at the airport, I thought it would take months to catch up with her sun-kissed glow, but my inevitable first sunburn has cooled into a smooth base tan.

  Kat turns around on the black bench seat in front of me, grinning and squinting her pale blue eyes against the sun rising over my shoulder. Wisps of gold-brown hair have fallen out of her fishtail braid and flutter wildly, lighter from years of sun exposure.

  Mine is the same way – it seems to adapt to the environment, going darker in the winter and lighter in the summer. I wanted to change my hair before I arrived, but I couldn’t chop it after taking so long to grow it out, so I’m going for natural highlights instead. Stepping outside in the morning, you’d think you’re getting beamed up by the mother ship, the sun is so bright. They call it winter here, but that word doesn’t make sense to me without wet flurries and long days spent staring out the library window.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here. It hasn’t sunk in yet,” she says, pinching my arm lightly. “I don’t know if I’m more excited to show you my favorite beach or to watch the amazing American TV with someone from home.”

  “Really? I choose beach.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just been so long since I’ve been able to share a cultural reference,” she laments.

  “It still feels like a dream, being here. Wait until class starts, then I’ll be all about the after-work coasting.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’m so excited to see the beach. La playa.” I imitate the computer voice from my language training program.

  “Bien, you’re learning!”

  “Slowly.”

  “How do you find the heat,
now?”

  “It’s killing me softly.”

  Katherine laughs. “You’ll get used to it. Give it a few more weeks.”

  Her forehead and upper lip shine. We’re all sweating even though it’s not quite nine a.m., and by noon it will be almost unbearable.

  “I can’t wait until I’ve got enough Spanish under my belt to really communicate. I wish I’d had more time to prepare.”

  I’ve been stringing my tiny repertoire of Spanish words together like a toddler since I arrived, gesturing like a crazy person at the airport and the grocery store.

  “Playa Hermosa!” the driver calls out as he slows to park in a lot lined with palm trees.

  I wait for the rest of my cohort to de-bus in a squawking mass of questions and exclamations.

  “Where’s my waterproof fanny pack?”

  “I wonder if you can drink the water here. Can you drink the water here?”

  “Roger, look at that bird,” Bosom Lady commands. She lurches off the bus, her bloodless thighs like impossibly pale tree trunks. “It's the size of our Milo.”

  I grab my stuff, stumble off the bus, and scan the horizon in an overstimulated stupor. Something smells amazing, like french fries and lime.

  I’m standing in a sandy lot with faded yellow parking-spot lines. The trail of passengers ahead of me wanders along a wood-planked walkway. I fall in line behind the last person, a fanny-packed kid playing Fruit Ninja on a device worth more than everything I brought with me to Costa Rica.

  The path funnels through an archway on the left. A purple and yellow hand-painted sign hangs above the entrance, reading in English, “At Johnny’s, it’s always beer-thirty.”

  We file in. There’s a tiki bar and a casual seating area with about twenty tables. Most are empty save for salt and pepper shakers, but a few clusters of sunburned people are eating. They lean hungrily over saucy fish tacos heaped with lettuce or sit back in their chairs and observe us knowingly. I can’t help but smile, sheepish. It’s like being a teenager on a family vacation all over again as we group awkwardly near the Fanta soda fountain, googly eyed and not sure where to go.

  “Keep moving, everyone!” Katherine calls cheerily from behind me. She has a way of being polite even when she’s getting people to shove off.

  We accordion forward like rush-hour traffic until finally I see a blinding flash of blue-white sea foam beyond a short fence at the back of the place. Once I’m through the gate, I step to the side and lean against the outside wall, like pulling over. I must stand still to take this in.

  Ocean Pacific.

  Sublime.

  A balmy breeze lures me like it’s a song I’m remembering, salty and sweet.

  Electric-turquoise ocean stretches out forever, palm fronds swaying in the foreground like a miracle, like a postcard, like paradise. I imagine dolphins arcing out of the water from opposite directions, silhouetted by the sun.

  Smallish dogs with wild-bred fur wander around solo and in packs of two or three. Some look wilder than others. A copper terrier with foxy ears lays low in the shade of a tall palm, eyeing me calmly, not moving an inch. No one seems to be bothered by them. There’s even a big silver dish half-filled with water where a few marble-coated beasts have gathered, in various states of lounging.

  I think of Spock, a mutt my parents adopted from the SPCA. He’d love to prance along a shoreline like this with his green ball.

  “You’ll get used to the dogs,” Katherine says irritably, her voice edgy. She's not a dog person.

  “I love it; it’s like doggy heaven.”

  She laughs, disgusted. “I guess, if you’re into fleas. And feces. They don’t go over there, so that’s where I always tan.” She points to a thick line of bushes down the beach to our right.

  “Let’s do it.”

  My flip-flops flap against my heels as I wade through the sand like in those nightmares where you can’t walk properly. I choose a shady spot beneath a towering palm tree and turn to look at Katherine following a few feet behind me. She smiles, her eyes peaceful.

  “I bet it never gets old, does it?” I ask, nodding at the dazzling water.

  “Never ever.”

  It’s because of her that I’m here. I open my mouth to remind her of this, to thank her for finding me a spot on her team when I needed a safe place to start a new chapter of my life. But she’s distracted, pointing at the sea.

  “There they are. They’ve probably been here since six in the morning. Jose says that’s when the waves are cleaner.”

  “Cleaner?”

  “As opposed to choppy. Good for surfing.”

  “Right.”

  “He’s the one with the red board, see?”

  I nod. We drop our stuff in the sand and face the shore, watching them.

  Two glossy, brown bodies weave through the surf like mogul skiers, tumbling under the foam when they run out of wave. The Ventures play in my head like in an old surf movie. They shout to one another, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Too cool.

  I want to know what it’s like to move like that.

  Jose of the red board is really good, if that’s a thing you say about surfers, but his friend is better. A natural. This one moves with an easy, graceful confidence on his Day-Glo yellow board. I'm transfixed as he catches a low, powerful wave and slaloms along it until it dissolves into the undulating whole of the ocean.

  I watch them, feigning non-committal interest behind my Wayfarer sunglasses. The truth is I feel a tug of envy. I want it; I want to know how to be so confident that I can walk on water.

  “So, who’s in charge of the Guardia school?” I ask Katherine, wondering if it could be one of these two. That’s where I’m assigned to teach ESL lessons. The surfers are our connection to the local education program, or at least Jose is. He’s Katherine’s closest friend here.

  “Genesis Valverde.”

  “Who?”

  “G-E-N-E-S-I-S. The G makes an H sound.”

  “Genesis. That’s a lot to live up to.”

  “She has two sisters called Asuncion and Conception.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Biblical names are pretty common, especially in this community.”

  “Yeah! What’s with Jesus’ disembodied head on the bus?”

  “With the crown of thorns?”

  The bony, thorny image had startled me when I saw it, a massive decal of his floating head. Sad Jesus with lustrous hair and eyes downcast in the darkest depths of reflection. Looks like an unfinished tattoo.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s intense. But you don’t feel overwhelmed by it at all, actually. At least I don’t. Nobody pushes religion on you as a foreigner, but it’s ubiquitous.”

  “So, Genesis’s family must be as traditional as they come.”

  “Yup. They’re leaders too. Her family owns a lot of the land and property around here. Genesis is really smart and organized; you’ll like working with her.”

  “Cool. I like smart and organized.”

  “That’s her brother, Diego, with the yellow board.” She points at Jose’s friend. Like I wouldn’t have noticed him. “He’s probably the best surfer in Pacifica.”

  “I was gonna say.”

  “You might see him a lot because he does property management stuff for the Valverde family, like classroom renovations and landscaping.”

  “Cool.”

  “He’s very hands-on.”

  “I’ll stay out of his way.”

  I don’t believe me. I wonder if Katherine does.

  “Mr. Valverde, his dad, is super traditional. He likes to keep his business in the family. Diego is, like, his Number One.”

  “The Valverdes own the schools?”

  “Yup. It’s Genesis who convinced her father to donate the space.”

  I’m interested but distracted… Diego Valverde. Sounds like something I’d like to get drunk on and simultaneously make out with.

  I’ve hardly looked away from him. The gu
y is built like an Olympian, standing in the shallows with his upper body exposed in a way that makes me want to crush a can in my fist. He’s like a bronze statue. All he needs is a laurel wreath to be some kind of mythic king-athlete.

  He runs a hand over his water-slick black hair absently, his arms, chest, and stomach rippling in all the right places. I watch him like I’m an entire construction crew, the desire of a dozen dirty men in my body.

  Another shot of Valverde, bartender!

  Unwitting, Katherine slings her arm over my shoulder affectionately and guides me toward the boys in the blinding sun.

  “Let’s go make friends,” she says lightly.

  I adjust my sunglasses and wonder what else she knows about Diego. A guy like that doesn’t go unnoticed. She has to know I’d be attracted to him. But then, I’d told her myself that I’d lost interest in chasing guys. And maybe he’s married, or gay. Or maybe he’s just bad fucking news. I’m not exactly here to date, anyway.

  Am I?

  We saunter across the scorching sand. I begin collecting data involuntarily.

  The guys make their sport look easy, happy-go-lucky. I’ve attempted surfing and I couldn’t even stand up. Boogie boarding is much more my speed.

  Katherine waves as we approach the water’s edge. Jose returns it and wades toward us, his board bobbing behind him. Diego drops onto his board and paddles over slowly, keeping his distance.

  Jose is slim but strong looking, moving through the water languidly. Both arms are heavily tattooed. I like his toothy smile, dimples, and crinkly, squint-smiling eyes. He touches Katherine’s shoulder gently, and they kiss each other’s cheeks in polite greeting.

  “Pura vida. I’m so glad you made it, Katherine,” he says in almost-perfect English.

  On my first day I learned that pura vida is the common local greeting. It’s kind of an affirmation meaning “pure life.” Jose glances back at the surf wistfully, like he misses it already. It’s pretty clear what pure life is to him.