Salmon Run

Woodrow Salmon has it all-a great career, money, a beautiful wife. Yet inside his gut burns like a warehouse fire. But that's all about to change. Wading into the cool Pacific, he has no idea what awaits him-a scuba diver hired by his wife, his assignment murder. But a violent wave rips the victim from his attacker's grip, leaving Woodrow without a swimsuit. Dazed and naked, he stumbles up the crowded beach, only to be arrested for indecent exposure. The terrifying incident launches Woodrow from the familiar to the uncertain, robbing him of all he knows, from his wife to his job to his three-year-old twins. Alone and on the run, he embarks on a fateful quest of self-discovery, crossing paths with a string of memorable characters, each propelling him one step closer to the truth. Woodrow's journey unfolds like the layers of a human heart, leading him back to the dreams he'd long forgotten, the life he'd once abandoned, and the person he believed he'd lost forever. Are there really second chances in life? Only if we take them.

FOR THE LAST TIME, if you're hot, GET IN THE DAMN WATER!"

Woodrow Salmon had heard enough. His wife's temper had erupted before, but not like this--never like this. Feeling the stares of the people around him, he ducked his head and spoke in a hushed tone. "Look, I don't think--"

"I don't give a damn what you think!" Her voice was a jackhammer in a country meadow. "I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of everything. Don't tell me how hot you are. Don't tell me how miserable you are. Do you think I'm not miserable?" Her head looked like a swollen balloon. Her eyes spat green flames.

"Okay...okay, for God's sake, I'll go for a swim. Jesus, Claire, will that make you happy?"

He kicked off his sandals and hoisted himself up, his tacky skin tearing away from the lawn chair. Was this another disaster in the making? It wouldn't surprise him. After all, his life had been one long string of disasters, until he met Claire, that is--and the jury was still out on that one.

Standing on wobbly legs, he stared at the Pacific Ocean, stomach gurgling. If only he had a second chance in life, a chance to go back in time, right the wrongs--change things. But then life didn't offer second chances, did it? Not as far as he could tell.

Woodrow bent down and kissed his three-and-a-half-year-old twins on the head. "Be good for mommy. Daddy'll be back soon." The girls looked up from their juice boxes and smiled, adorable in their matching pink swimsuits and miniature sunglasses. They were everything to him, including the last meager thread in an unraveling marriage.

He shot a quick glance at Claire. She returned it with malice. He knew what she was thinking--that her husband was no trophy anymore, not by a long shot. And that he was getting harder and harder to control. Oh well, that was her problem.

Woodrow turned and headed for the water, tiptoeing through the endless checkerboard of bodies and towels. The sun was relentless, the air so thick he could chew it. Labor Day. What a horrible day to go to the beach! But Claire had insisted, and Woodrow, of course, had no say in the matter--in any matter.

As he made his way through the crowd, he noticed a brunette in a string bikini, a body builder rubbing suntan oil on her perfect shoulders. The pair belonged on a Bowflex poster. "Nice tan," the beefcake uttered, mocking Woodrow as he passed, the woman giggling.

Woodrow couldn't blame them for making fun of him. Among the bronzed bodies of Huntington Cliffs Beach, he was a rotting corpse, his oppressive work schedule allowing little time for outdoor activities. As a result, he'd let himself go, his once-athletic body carrying thirty pounds of excess fat, his rumpled trunk sagging like an old overcoat. He was thirty-seven but could pass for fifty, his dark brown hair receding badly, his clear blue eyes supporting bags and a lifetime of pain. Ten years ago, he was a handsome man. But the years hadn't been kind.

As he reached the water, he watched three young boys constructing a sandcastle. The oldest packed a cup with wet sand to create makeshift turrets. His subordinates dug a moat, laughing with wonder as water filled their hand-sized burrows. Woodrow smiled, his mind flashing back to the times he'd spent with his own brother.