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“The Substitute Tour Guide” is a reflective short story that transforms a simple coastal outing into a meditation on continuity, family connection, and the subtle echoes between generations. Set in the bright, sensory landscape of Southern California’s Crystal Cove, the narrative juxtaposes molten depths and tidal shallows, evoking a cyclical rhythm—of nature, of time, and of familial bonds that endure despite distance.

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The Substitute Tour Guide

By Harry Arabian

At 1:04 p.m., my phone buzzed. A photo came first: a streak of light glowing faintly at the end of the Thurston Lava Tube, walls slick with volcanic moisture. Then a text:

“Dad—could you meet my school friend Russ and his wife Sophia tomorrow? They’re visiting Orange County with their toddler, Lorenzo. I promised to show them around but got called to handle an emergency at Kīlauea Volcano 😉😉😉”

Another line:
“Remember how much you enjoyed playing soccer with Lorenzo last time?”

I smiled. Only my son could make a volcanic emergency sound like a picnic.

I texted back: “No problem. I’ll meet Russ, Sophia, and Lorenzo. Enjoy the lava tube.” Moments later, his message pinged again with Russ’s number.

I remembered them well. Sophia—organized, thoughtful—worked for an insurance firm in Newport Coast. Russ, a firefighter recovering from an injury, carried easy humor, the kind that had survived chaos. Little Lorenzo had just begun toddling the last time I saw him. He didn’t know how to kick, but within minutes, we were passing the ball like old teammates.

When I called, Russ answered cheerfully.
“Ray?” he said.
“No, Mr. Herald,” I laughed. “You must mean my son—the volcano explorer.”
He chuckled. “Right. He mentioned a change in our tour guide?”
“Yes. Ten tomorrow. We’ll make sure Lorenzo gets to stretch his legs.”

We exchanged hometown news and well-wishes. Hanging up, I looked at my son’s photo again. That faint glow seemed symbolic: even across oceans and molten rock, family ties endure.

Marie and I pulled into the Marriott Courtyard just before ten. Russ stood out—broad-shouldered, sun-kissed, beside Sophia, professional yet relaxed on her day off. Lorenzo clutched a miniature soccer ball patterned like the world.

After greetings, Sophia outlined a plan. “I was thinking of shopping—South Coast Plaza, Fashion Island, Irvine Spectrum.”

I almost sighed. Marie caught it, eyes lighting up. “Low tide’s at one,” I said. “Perfect for tide pooling at Crystal Cove.”

“Perfect for Lorenzo,” Russ said, loosening from a day of retail wandering.

By the afternoon, we were at Crystal Cove. Tide pools glimmered like scattered jewels, revealing hermit crabs, snails, and tiny anemones. Lorenzo squealed as the surf chased his ball back. Russ laughed, shoulders relaxing with the ocean breeze.

“Crabs!” Lorenzo shouted, pointing. He watched intently as I showed him sea stars and how anemones closed when touched. A bright red spiny sphere clung to a rock.
“That’s a sea urchin,” Russ said. “Don’t touch.”

Hours slipped by. Lorenzo’s laughter echoed across the sand. Watching father and son, I remembered my own boy here years ago, tides pulling time forward and back.

Back home, the scent of simmering tomato sauce greeted us. Lorenzo bolted into the kitchen. “We saw lots of sea animals! Hermit crabs, anemones, snails—and Uncle Herald let me touch a sea star!”

Sophia laughed. “We almost had a disappointing day ourselves—until Marie took me to T.J. Maxx.” She pulled out three bright blue T-shirts. “For you, Russ, and Mr. Herald—Crystal Cove explorers.”

Russ held Lorenzo’s hands, smoothing the fabric across his chest. “We earned our badge!”

Dinner arrived: a perfectly round meatball for Lorenzo. “Looks like a sea urchin, Dad,” he said.
“This one we can touch,” Russ said.

The evening glowed with laughter and home smells, mingling with salt from the day’s tide. Lorenzo yawned against his father. I thought of my son, still deep in that lava tube, the same faint glow at the tunnel’s end. From molten rock to tide pools to this warm table, light always finds its way home.