by Emily Forbes
He put his fingers on the man's throat, feeling for the carotid pulse, and was conscious of relief to find it present. Faint, but detectable. He had to get him breathing. He'd lost track of time, couldn't remember what he'd counted to, how long the swimmer had been face down in the water. He slipped his fingers into the man's mouth, searching for an airway obstruction. Nothing.
He had to get back onto his board.
With difficulty, he maneuvered to undo his leg rope and fix it around the man's ankle, fashioning a lifeline of sorts, then hoisted himself back onto the board. The man was floating face up now and Tom grabbed him under his armpits and strained to heave him out of the water and drag him onto the front of the board. He could only get his head and trunk on, his legs stayed dangling in the water, but that would have to do.
He leant over the man's inert form. There was no way he could get his patient into the coma position, he'd have to do the best he could like this. Cupping his thumb and forefinger around the man's chin, and pulling his jaw forward, he tipped his head back. He pinched his nose closed with his other hand and started breathing for him, watching his chest rise with each breath blown into it. Sliding his gaze beyond the man, even as he kept up the breathing, he could see they were drifting further out to sea. The shore was receding, making this an exercise in futility. There was still not another soul to be seen, and he couldn't paddle out of the rip while trying to resuscitate his patient. It was an impossible situation.
As a doctor he had sworn an oath to do no harm, and that included trying to save lives, but to what end? So they could both drown at sea? Both disappear without a trace?
He needed help. He'd have to try to reach the shore. Another few breaths first and then he'd paddle as best he could with the dead weight of the man collapsed across his board.
He paddled diagonally across the rip, not fighting it too much by trying to paddle straight out of it. Forty strokes. Rest. Thirty, twenty, ten to go. Five, four. He felt the water release them, and a sense of deliverance washed over him. He was just as focused on saving the man's life, and he was nowhere near achieving that yet, but the fear that he'd also been looking at the last few minutes of his life had been just as real. Now he was clear of the rip, he was clear of that most pressing danger. He kept paddling, trying to put some distance between his board and the rip. The adrenaline abated a little and his body was screaming for him to rest, but he had to return to his resuscitation before he could aim for the shore.
Fifteen more breaths. Another minute. Paddle again.
He could see a swell coming in. If he could catch it he could save some of his energy. He paddled harder then held onto his patient with one arm as he felt the wave lift them and carry them towards the shore. They were heading for the far end of the beach but surely someone would see them now?
One more wave and they'd be there.
He could see people on the beach. A family building sandcastles.
Summoning his final reserves of energy, he yelled, 'Call 000. Ambulance. Now.'
The family stared at him, frozen to the spot—or had they simply not understood his garbled instruction, shouted between great panting breaths?
He tried again. 'An ambulance. Hurry.'
Finally, his request registered.
He reached the beach and within moments had jumped off his board, staggering on the wet sand underfoot, almost collapsing from relief and exhaustion. He continued to administer mouth-to-mouth, his hearing tuned for the sound of the ambulance siren, straining for the slightest hint, above the noise of the waves and his own breaths. In, out, blowing into his patient's lungs, trying not to think about the fact that Lexi had told him there was no fully funded ambulance service here.
Even as he continued to breathe for the man, he knew it was futile. It had been too long but he couldn't stop.
'Dr Edwards, we'll take over.'
He looked up to see two volunteer ambulance officers, a woman he'd met and a man he hadn't, come to a halt by his side, crouching down in unison to take over. He hadn't heard the ambulance arrive after all.
'It's been too long.' He'd said it, he'd put it into words and let them know there was no point.
'It's OK. We'll take over.' Even as they spoke, they were lifting the man onto a stretcher. Tom sat back on his heels, his energy spent, watching the volunteer ambulance officers work, watching them raise the stretcher with an easy movement and carry his patient across the sand. Watched them head for the ambulance, just visible above the peak of the sand dune edging the beach, and realized he didn't even know the man's name.
He sat on the damp sand, staring out to sea. Had the man had a family? What were they going to think?
And one thought played in a repeat loop in his inner monologue: had he really done everything he could?
Lexi pulled into a parking spot, noted the ambulance was still there, immobile, lights flashing. She leapt from her car, running along the short sandy path to the top of the dune rising between the car park and the beach below. Standing at the highest point of the path, her eyes swept the beach, searching for Tom's familiar figure. Coming towards her she could see the ambulance officers carrying a stretcher, and she looked past them, further down the beach, until her gaze landed on Tom. He was sitting close to the water's edge, knees bent, arms resting on his knees, head bowed. His posture told her all she needed to know. He'd lost the battle to save the victim. She didn't need to look at the stretcher to know a sheet would cover it. His body language was as effective as a neon sign flashing, KEEP OUT.
He was the very image of despondency and she longed to comfort him but she knew at first glance she was going to be pushed away. Still, she had to try.
Slipping off her shoes, she bent to pick them up before treading down the slope of the path, the sand gritty between her toes. Her footsteps were soft in the sand and Tom didn't look up as she approached. His light brown hair, kissed golden here and there by the sun, was curling with dampness. He'd stripped his wetsuit from his torso and now it hung low about his hips, leaving his smooth, tanned chest and well-defined lines of his abdominal muscles exposed. She moved another step closer and her shadow fell across his legs. He looked up, his expression troubled.
'Hi.'
'Hi.' He looked away almost immediately.
'Are you OK?'
He shrugged. 'Fine.'
'Do you want to tell me what happened?'
'Not really.'
Two words.
She filled in the silence. 'I was at the hospital when the call came in.' She fought down the urge to tell him how frightened she'd been when she'd heard his name mentioned, that only when she'd realized he was the survivor, not the victim, had her panic subsided. She hadn't been able to stay away from the beach, she'd needed to see with her own eyes that he was OK.
'You're too late to help. He's dead.'
Lexi's eyes opened wide with surprise. She'd never heard him talk in that tone before—dismissive, blunt. She squelched an urge to tell him so. This was about him, not her. His manner wasn't directed at her, it was himself he was blaming.
'You did everything you could.'
'Did I?' He flicked a glance at her but it was as cursory as his words, not really seeing her. 'Hell, Lex, I'm a doctor. It's my job to save lives.’
'We can't save everyone. Not you. Not me. Not any doctor.'
'Maybe not, but I sure should be able to resuscitate someone.' He ground his fist into the sand. 'I don't even know his name.'
'Liam Calhoun.'
'Pardon?'
'Liam Calhoun, that's his name. Does that help?'
His body was rigid, that neon sign still flashing bright. 'Nothing is going to change what's happened.'
'Talking about it might at least help you.'
'We could sit here all day, discussing it. That won't bring him back.' Tom stood up, pulling his wetsuit up and shoving his arms into the sleeves, reaching behind to pull up the zip. 'I'm going for a surf.'
Lexi watched him go. Sho
rt of running after him and hanging off his arm, trying to force him to talk, she had no other bright ideas. Did he really want to be alone with his thoughts? Or did he just not want to talk to her?
He strode through the shallows, his calves defined, straining as he walked against the tide, before dropping onto his board to paddle out beyond the breaking waves. He was magnificent. Physically, he was glorious. Emotionally, he was like a barbed-wire fence. How could he bear to go back into the water so soon? Was the sea his sanctuary? From the events of the day? Or from her?
Maybe it was just the easier option. Maybe it meant he didn't have to think about things, didn't have to confront the events that had just transpired.
Thinking this through, a mental gear scraped in her brain and, like a slide show, events from the past started to appear before her eyes in sequence. She grabbed onto the images, running through them again and again, seeing how the pattern fitted. Because there was a pattern. It might never have occurred to her before, but from her perspective the evidence was looking pretty irrefutable.
The glare of the sun was hindering her view, but she could still make him out beyond the break, picking up speed now as he started paddling and caught an oncoming wave.
She could almost see her conclusions typed in the sky above him: he had a problem dealing with failure. Sure, he wasn't the type to have dealt with it too often, but there were enough instances to support a pattern.
She'd disagreed with him over her pregnancy and he left for Sydney.
His marriage had failed - he'd left Sydney for Pelican Beach.
Now he'd failed to save a life and he’d left again. Maybe not in such a geographically extreme way, but he'd removed himself both physically and emotionally from having to deal with an event that hadn't worked out the way he'd wished.
She followed his path towards shore with her eyes, watching as he came up to a standing position on his board and rode the wave into the shallows, making it look easy. He was used to things coming easily. He was one of the lucky ones, dealt a happy hand by Fate or Mother Nature, or whatever power was responsible for doling out good fortune.
Sure, he was still in town now but if she was right about the pattern, there was no guarantee he would be by this time next week, or even tomorrow. There was no real reason for him to stay—someone else could pick up the assessment process with the practice if needed—and a failure in his eyes might be the only trigger he'd need to make him run.
The dilemma was still unresolved several hours later. She'd waited on the beach, hoping she'd be able to get through to him, help him to see he hadn't failed, that no one else could have done anything more. That she, in fact, would have done a lot less—it would be doubtful she'd even have got close to the swimmer in the first place.
She'd been sure that if she'd left her sentry post on the beach, he would have packed up his board, but while she'd still sat there he'd persisted with catching wave after wave, with every one successfully avoiding both her and the issue he must think he was facing.
Now, showered and changed, she was a world away from the beach. Squeezed into a schoolroom chair, the hard back pressing into the bony ridges of her spine, trying to concentrate on Mollie's nativity play while ignoring the restless wriggling of the man to one side and her mother's frequent whispers on the other. With difficulty, she focused her attention on Mollie, who was fitted out as the flounciest, fussiest angel perhaps ever to have graced a school Christmas play. Her niece was wobbling as she tried to balance on top of a large gold paper-covered box, her halo a little crooked and her wings a little uneven.
The shepherds gathered about her feet with their flock of sheep didn't seem to notice and kept their little faces staring up, as they would have been instructed. Did three sheep constitute a flock, she wondered? as she watched the flouncy little angel beaming down at them. As Mollie hopped down from the box and the shepherds left their flock to head for Bethlehem, yet another distraction occurred, her mobile phone vibrating at her waist.
Technically, she wasn't on call but she often left her phone on 'silent' ring, just in case. She retrieved it from her pocket and, as subtly as possible, checked the screen. Caller ID showed Tom's number. She answered it as she left her seat, moving out of the hall before she spoke.
'Hi, Tom.' She kept her voice low until she'd closed the door behind her.
'Can you talk?'
'Not really. Is there a problem?'
'No.'
She could hear him hesitate but she really did have to go.
11'Can I call you back? I'm at the school, Mollie's nativity play.'
'Sure. Sorry to interrupt.'
She crept back to her seat, trying to disturb the audience as little as possible, but it was almost impossible to concentrate on the play now, especially as Mollie's part was finished. She fidgeted in her seat as the minutes ticked by, and the cast moved
through their paces. She was conscious that her Christmas spirit was waning and all she wanted was for the story to come to its end so she could return Tom's call.
The wait seemed interminable but probably wasn't and when, within minutes of the show ending, Mollie exploded from backstage like a mini-tornado straight into her aunt's arms, she was glad she hadn't tried to sneak out early.
'Granny, Lexi! What did you think?'
'You...' Lexi hugged her close, maneuvering her face just in time to avoid being poked in the eye by the wire halo which was
fast unravelling '...romped it in for the best angel I've ever seen. No contest.'
She set Mollie down and stood up, absorbing the joy with which Mollie was hopping from one foot to the other, almost bursting with excitement as she regaled her granny with her own version of the night's highlights, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. Tonight she looked like any other six-year-old caught up in the thrill of the festive season, not one who'd lost her parents almost this time the previous year.
Together, they headed for the foyer of the hall, listening to Mollie's chatter, jostling along with the other families. Mollie was moving at a hundred miles a minute, in true Mollie fashion, and Lexi had to let go of her hand to avoid bumping into people in front. Mollie and her grandmother went right while Lexi went left, squeezing past a couple leaning against the foyer wall and treading on someone's foot.
'Oops, sorry.' She looked up to apologize.
And looked right into the eyes that had been so studiously looking anywhere but at her only a few hours before. Tom. He was here?
'It's OK. I wasn't planning on using that foot in the near future.' The smile that met her sent a wave of little pinpricks all the way down to her knees, but even in her surprise and pleasure at seeing him she saw that his grin didn't reach his eyes.
'What are you doing here?'
'To be honest, I'm not sure.' She'd been right. He had been hesitant about coming, not sure he wanted to see her at all. So why come?
'I was going to call you back.'
'I know.'
She could see her mum and Mollie stop up ahead, causing a minor traffic jam, and turn to search for her. Lexi raised a hand and as her mum found her, she could see her register that she wasn't stuck but had stopped to talk to someone. Someone her mum didn't know. It was only a split-second jump until she saw the penny drop and her mum work out who it was.
Tom was talking and Lexi tuned back into him as he was saying, 'Wanted to see you, not just talk to you, so I came.'
He might be here, but he still wasn't sounding like his usual upbeat self. She could almost see the trials of the day sitting heavily on his shoulders and she wasn't surprised to see a shadow in his eyes.
It seemed he'd had the time alone he'd needed and was looking for someone to talk to after all. Not just someone. Her. The dull fog of disappointment shrouding her mood since he'd turned away from her at the beach lifted in an instant.
Her mum arrived in front of them and Lexi had to make the introduction she'd been avoiding since Tom's arrival in town.
Buoyed b
y satisfaction that Tom did want her support, even if just as a friend, she was happy to do so. 'Mum, you haven't met Tom have you? Tom, this is my mum, Trina, and this is Mollie.'
Tom offered his hand. 'Mrs Patterson, it's a pleasure to meet you.' He stooped slightly and held out a hand to Mollie, saying, 'Mollie, you make a beautiful angel.'
Mollie beamed at Tom before hiding behind her grandmother's legs in a belated attack of shyness.
Lexi watched her mother watch Tom and saw her approval at the way Tom had treated Mollie, waiting until the introductions were over before speaking. 'It's good to meet you. I hear you've had rather an eventful day.'
Tom nodded in response. 'Without a positive outcome, I'm sorry to say.' Lexi could hear him make the effort to inject some energy into his voice, but that blue note was still there.
'I'm sure you did everything you could.'
'I wish I could be so sure.'
Lexi saw her mum weigh his words as she looked from Tom to her. 'Why don't you come out to the house and join us for a nightcap? It might do you good after the shock you've had.'
'Thanks very much but I couldn't impose.'
'Nonsense. Do you have a car?' Tom nodded. 'You can bring Lexi, have some company.'
Lexi felt like a fifteen-year-old, with her mother organizing her date for the school dance, but didn't find her voice before Tom replied. 'I don't want to intrude on what is really a family night.'
'Mollie will be asleep before we get home, but if you'd rather not join us for a nightcap, why don't the two of you at least take a walk—if you can drop Lexi home after? It's only early.'