One Shot Away

by T. Glen Coughlin

“I’m going to look in the yard.”

  They walk the wide driveway toward the white-brick façade and a giant foyer window. Inside, a crystal chandelier twinkles in front of a winding staircase.

  “Man,” says Jimmy. “Diggy’s father could have bought him a pedigree.”

  A Minute Men Wresting sticker is peeling off the bumper of the Mustang. Trevor cups his hands against the rear window. An antler from the deer in his front yard sits on the space behind the back seat under the rear window. “Look at this,” says Trevor, pointing at it. “Remember, someone ripped the head off that deer in my yard?”

  Jimmy cups his hands on the window. “What is that?”

  “An antler.”

  Trevor, heart thumping, passes the garage doors. Jimmy tails him, looking back and forth like they’re escaping from prison. They cut the corner of the house and follow a path to a white gate. “Stay here,” says Trevor. “Let me look around.” His armpits are soaked. He unlatches the gate, then enters the backyard. A redwood deck steps down to a large patio, then a pool with a twisted tree branch rising from the water. Light shines from the rear windows of the house. He has to think. He has to be ready. He may have to fight. He feels the rush of blood go through his body.

  Calm down. Breathe. He imagines Whizzer racing across the yard, but it’s empty; there’s only the cold, damp night. A shadow crosses the patch of light on the deck. Trevor stays close to the house. He doesn’t want to be spotted from the windows. He inches toward the deck as if he’s in a minefield. Jimmy waits next to the gate with his hands jammed in his pockets, still looking back and forth.

  The rear slider door opens. Diggy walks onto the deck. Trevor’s breathing stops. Any minute Diggy will turn and spot him—then what? Trevor hasn’t thought it through.

  Diggy clomps down the deck steps and jogs across the patio to the pool house. He pushes the door open. A dog yelps. “Hey, Mr. Burly, what are you doing? Are you hungry?” asks Diggy.

  Trevor crouches, watching in amazement, still holding his breath.

  A moment later, Diggy runs past the pool to the patio with Whizzer trotting ahead of him. Whizzer leaps up on the deck, his black eyes anxiously waiting to go into the house.

  Trevor’s throat, then his lungs, release. “Whizzer!” He storms across the deck, stopping inches from Diggy. “You’re pathetic!” Trevor shoves Diggy in the shoulder.

  Diggy’s eyes grow round as marbles and his face pales. “Trevor, I found him.”

  “No, you didn’t!”

  “I swear, I found him,” Diggy pleads.

  “Don’t lie about it!” shouts Trevor, shoving him again.

  Jimmy comes up. “How long have you had him?” he asks.

  “Jimmy, I know what you’re thinking, but I found him.” Diggy lifts his hands like it’s a stickup. “I swear on my grandmother’s grave.”

  “Found him when, where?” Jimmy glances at Trevor.

  “He’s lying,” says Trevor.

  “Did you take him?” Jimmy waits for an answer.

  Diggy grabs the door handle. His eyes narrow into angry slits. “I can make you wish you never came into my yard,” he sneers. “And Jimmy, don’t play the angel with me. Didn’t the cops pay you a visit at school? So get the dog and get off my property. You’re both trespassing.”

  Jimmy rips Diggy’s hand off the door. “You either took him or you didn’t take him!”

  “Jimmy, come on,” says Diggy, annoyed. “Trevor had the dog chained in the cold.”

  Trevor barely hears the words, everything’s gone white. He rushes Diggy, howling, his cry filling the yard. Trevor clocks Diggy in the chin, the head, the chest, again and again. Diggy tries to block his fists, but it’s a blizzard of punches. Trevor feels only rage, white-hot rage. Diggy’s legs cave and he crashes into the deck rail. His head thuds on the boards and Trevor’s on him like a wild animal.

  Trevor feels Jimmy pulling at his shoulder, but with his knee on Diggy’s chest and his hand on Diggy’s throat, Trevor continues punching, his arm firing like a piston. Trevor beats the words into Diggy’s face, “You. Stole. My. Dog. You. Stole. Him!” Bam, bam, once, twice, again, then again into Diggy’s jaw. Trevor wants to stop but can’t. “You’ve always been riding me, calling me names, trying to make me feel like I’m shit!” he yells. “You were pissing on my dad! And then you stole my dog!”

  Jimmy bear-hugs Trevor around the chest and drags him off the deck. “Stop it, stop, you’re going to kill him.”

  Diggy curls into a ball, holding his head with both hands.

  Tears streak Trevor’s cheeks. He’s breathing hard and struggling. “Jimmy, damn it, let go of me.”

  Jimmy releases him.

  Trevor wants it to be over. He wants to go home. He bends, trying to lift Whizzer, but the puppy is spooked and backs up.

  The kitchen slider opens. Nick looks confused, then casts his eyes on Diggy.

  “Crow came for his dog,” croaks Diggy.

  “You did this?” Nick comes down the deck stairs with his eyes nailed on Trevor.

  “He asked for it!” Trevor’s panting, trying to catch his breath.

  “He stole Trevor’s dog,” says Jimmy.

  “You could have just taken your dog back.” Nick’s voice drips with disappointment. “You didn’t have to attack him.”

  Trevor recognizes the voice from the phone call. “You called me, didn’t you?”

  “Just get your dog and leave,” says Nick.

  Diggy pushes up to his feet. He wipes his face on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, smearing blood across his chin.

  Nick places his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “It’s over for tonight.”

  Trevor shrugs him off. “You think I’m letting him get away with this?”

  “Nick’s right, let’s go,” says Jimmy.

  “I don’t understand how you could do this.” Trevor points at Diggy. “Didn’t you see the signs all over the school with my dog’s picture on them?”

  “For the same reason you had to ruin my season!” Diggy charges off the deck and thumps Trevor in the chest with a two-handed shove. Trevor stumbles and falls backward, holding Diggy’s shirt. The moon flashes by as his feet kick into the air. Trevor flails with Diggy on top of him. A rush of broken ice and wet decomposing leaves sweep across Trevor’s face, closing like a fist. It’s freezing and he’s paralyzed for a moment, wondering where he is, how this is happening. Then he remembers the pool.

  Trevor’s fighting, pushing Diggy away, when the pool cover collapses. With a whoosh, Trevor goes deep into the water. He tells himself it’s only a pool. He struggles his way up, gasping for breath. It’s freezing and there’s something blocking him. It moves like hard jelly. He’s under the cover in total darkness. He punches at the rubber ceiling over his head, then tries to swim sideways. His coat, shoes, and pants drag him down. The pool’s bottom is slick and smooth. Pressure squeezes in his ears. He tries to swim up and bangs his head on the side of the pool. Which way is up? He’s drowning, twisting and squirming his way through the cold, but not rising. The surface of the water is lifting, moving away into the darkness, and he feels like he’s sinking. Everything goes black. Fantastic bursts of light flash before his eyes, faces appear, his mother calling him, his father waiting for his dinner, Diggy, Jimmy, Greco.

  He releases his breath and sees the bubbles escaping the pool. Maybe he can follow them. Yes, they can lead him to the surface. Yet, he doesn’t move. He’s looking down at himself from a distance. He blinks his eyes, wondering if this is real. Seconds tick in his ears. His brain feels like it is growing too large for his head. I’m going to drown, he thinks. I’m going to die in this pool. It’s going to end like this. I’m not going to finish high school or go to college. He tries to lift his arms, but he’s exhausted.

  He never expected this, but at least it doesn’t hurt. It’s so quiet. Trevor sees his father at the old house. He’s painting the cement deer in the garden. The head is fixed. Did we move back here? asks Trevo
r. His dad brushes the paint on the deer. Trevor, you don’t have to fight anymore, he says. You can stop now. You were always my champion. It’s time to stop.

  Diggy

  DIGGY EMERGES THROUGH A TEAR IN THE COVER. HIS HEAD aches from Trevor’s fists and the cold. Nick grabs his hand and hoists him from the water. Diggy lies on the patio bricks, exhausted, coughing, and catching his breath.

  “Where’s Trevor!” yells Jimmy.

  Nick falls to his knees and tries to peel the cover off the edge of the pool. “Untie the lines,” he screams, looking into the dark water. “We’ve got to get the cover off.”

  Diggy watches, waiting for Trevor’s head to surface. Jimmy and Nick pull at cables attached to lag nuts turned into the cement.

  “This is impossible!” shouts Jimmy.

  Diggy charges onto the sinking cover, then plunges into the water. If he saves Trevor, he’ll be the rescuer, right? Some kind of hero. Nick will forgive him. Jimmy might understand that he didn’t want this to happen. He takes a deep breath and swims under the cover into the inky blackness. He knows the pool. He’s been in it a hundred times.

  He hits a wall of cold and can barely move. He reaches into the darkness for Trevor. He can’t let him die, not over something he did. Not in front of his brother and Jimmy. Diggy comes up for air and is blocked by the pool cover. His heart is hammering. He needs air. The cold is tearing the skin off his body. He wants to scream, but he’s underwater. He dives again with his arms reaching for one last try.

  Diggy brushes something. A coat sleeve, an arm? He seizes it and pulls toward the surface. He follows the pool’s cover to the tear where the patio lights dance in a crazy collage. Gasping, he emerges. Jimmy and Nick stand on the sides of the pool. Their faces shine in the dark.

  Diggy tows Trevor through the filthy water. He’s lifeless and blue-faced. Nick and Jimmy heave Trevor to the pool’s side and roll him onto the cement.

  Diggy’s mother scurries from the house in a terry robe and furry slippers. “Yes, yes,” she says into her cell. “Someone fell in my pool.” She waves her free hand. “I don’t know when he fell in. Nine-one-one says to start CPR,” she cries.

  Jimmy grabs Trevor and sits him up. Trevor’s head lolls to one side, his mouth bubbles and foams. Jimmy squeezes Trevor’s chest. A spurt of water shoots from Trevor’s mouth.

  Jimmy squeezes harder. Again water spurts from his mouth. He presses Trevor’s chest, over and over, with the same result.

  “He’s blue, and he’s not moving,” yells Beverly to the operator.

  Diggy wishes he were saving Trevor’s life. He could cover Trevor’s mouth with his and breathe life into him. Then everyone would have to forgive him.

  Jimmy tilts Trevor’s head to create an airway.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” asks Nick, shaking Jimmy’s shoulder.

  “Yes,” yells Jimmy. “C-A-B. Compressions-Airway-Breathing.”

  Trevor’s face is so blue, it looks to be made of rubber. Jimmy puts his ear to Trevor’s lips and nose. “I don’t hear anything. He’s not breathing!” Trevor’s jaw droops open, his top two teeth visible between his lips. Jimmy places his hands on Trevor’s chest and gives thirty compressions and then blows two breaths into his lungs.

  “Come on. Come on.” Jimmy blows again into his mouth. Trevor’s not responding. Jimmy begins pounding his chest.

  “He’s still not breathing,” cries Beverly into the phone. She listens. “The operator says to keep going.”

  Diggy crawls over to Trevor’s side. “Let me take over,” he says.

  “Diggy, back off!” roars Jimmy.

  Nick grabs Diggy by the shirt collar and yanks him away. “You did enough already,” snaps Nick. Diggy falls to the cement and realizes nothing is going to be the same again.

  PART THREE

  Diggy

  THE AMBULANCE’S REVOLVING LIGHTS STREAK THE HOUSE AND trees with red. The EMTs bend over Trevor, who is lying on a stretcher covered with a metallic blanket. He’s moaning, pushing an oxygen mask off his face. They shake his shoulder. “What’s your name? Say it.”

  Trevor doesn’t answer. He leans over and throws up. Watery puke splatters on the pavers. The EMTs collapse the stretcher, lift, and roll Trevor into the ambulance.

  Beverly’s back and shoulders are trembling. She turns to Diggy, Nick, and Jimmy. They are all dripping wet. “Why was Trevor Crow in our yard? Why were you fighting?” Fright covers her crumpled face.

  “Mom, not now.” Diggy’s teeth are chattering. He wants to get dry clothes on, to get warm.

  “I want to know what happened. I’ve got to call his mother. What am I going to tell her?” Her eyes are filling with tears.

  “It was an accident,” says Diggy, trying to explain. His wet pants and shirt cling to him. “Can’t we just leave it at that right now?”

  “You went too far.” Jimmy points his finger at Diggy’s chest. “Mrs. Masters, Diggy stole Trevor’s dog. Trevor and I came to get him back.”

  Beverly’s lips pull in with pain. “His dog?”

  “Mom, Diggy did something dumb,” Nick says, cutting the air with his hands. “Very dumb.” He locks eyes with Diggy. “Trevor fell in the pool and—”

  “Diggy pushed him in,” says Jimmy.

  “And I saved his ass,” yells Diggy. “Right?” His head is thumping. It’s like Trevor’s fists are banging inside his skull. “Mom, it was an accident,” says Diggy.

  “No, it wasn’t,” says Jimmy.

  Beverly folds her arms. Her face is sick with anger and confusion.

  “Ma’am, you better get in,” says the EMT. “This one is going to need some explaining.” He nods towards Diggy’s bruised face.

  Jimmy climbs into the front seat of the ambulance. Beverly gets in back. The other EMT comes around the rear of the ambulance and hops in next to her. “Ma’am, you’ll have to buckle up,” he says.

  “Meet me at the hospital,” says Beverly as the doors close.

  Diggy tears off his wet clothes in his room. His lip is bleeding and his eye is swollen shut. He puts on a pair of sweats and a heavy wool sweater but can’t stop shivering. Downstairs he finds Nick sitting on the marble tile with a towel over his shoulders. He’s barefoot. The cuffs of his jeans have puddles under them. “This shouldn’t have happened,” he says. “The way you attacked Trevor, pushing him into the pool, you were really scary.”

  Diggy wants to tell his brother that he’s still the same. Everything else changed. All he wanted was a winning senior-year season at 152—like that was too much to ask. And then the dog. Why did he take the dog? Why didn’t he give him back sooner? He did want to hurt Trevor. He can admit that, at least to himself, and now Trevor could be brain damaged or something. Diggy meets Nick’s eyes. “I wish I could go back and win the wrestle-off,” he says. “If I had won, none of this would have happened.”

  Nick jumps to his feet, grabs Diggy’s sweater, and presses him against the wall. “Don’t you see, that’s what I’m talking about!” A vein in Nick’s forehead bulges. His fists press into Diggy’s chin. “I called Trevor. I did, because what you did was wrong. You were wrong!”

  Diggy doesn’t struggle. Nick bangs him against the wall, once, twice, then releases him. “You called him?”

  “Yes. I wanted it over. I wasn’t going to go sneaking around with you trying to give the dog back.”

  Tears fill Diggy’s eyes.

  Nick grabs him. “I have to get you away from Randy. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

  They hear the front door open and look toward the foyer. Randy comes in, followed by a balding man with glasses and beady eyes. They take off their overcoats and place them on the rack next to the door.

  “Charlie, meet my wrestlers,” says Randy, stepping from the foyer. “Boys, this is Mr. Charlie Frederick. He owns Imperial Rental Car and he’s thinking about updating his fleet with a few of my luxury vehicles.” Randy’s eyes are heavy from his long day and one too many
scotches.

  “Randy,” says Nick, “someone almost drowned in our pool.”

  “The pool?” He looks as if he hasn’t heard correctly, then he laughs. “Charlie, will you excuse me? Make yourself at home.” He smiles and points to the fireplace and leather couch.

  Nick leads them to the bar at the back of the house. Diggy follows like he’s being pulled along, his arms limp at his sides. There’s no stopping anything now.

  “What the hell is going on?” asks Randy. “What happened to Diggy’s face?”

  “One of the guys from the wrestling team fell in the pool,” says Nick.

  “I thought the pool was covered,” he says.

  “Don’t you remember? The cover was torn from the sycamore,” says Diggy.

  Randy’s face turns somber. “I know the cover was torn, but …” He shuts his eyes. “Where’s your mother?”

  “She went to the hospital in the ambulance with Trevor Crow,” says Nick. “He snuck in the yard.”

  “What?” asks Randy. “Why would he do that?”

  Nick’s eyes turn to Diggy.

  “What’d you do?” Randy smacks Diggy’s head. “What’d you do?” he hisses.

  “Randy, stop it,” says Nick. “You’re drunk. This is a big mess and Diggy needs your help.”

  “Stay out of it,” says Randy. “You waltz home whenever it’s convenient for you, and you think you’re running the show. Diggy, start explaining.” He tugs Diggy’s sweater, stretching it.

  Diggy only wishes he had a father he could talk to, but the man gripping his shirt, spitting into his face isn’t someone who can help him with this mess.

  “Randy, let him go.” In one easy motion, Nick twists his father’s arm. Randy shrieks, but Nick hangs on and rams the arm behind Randy’s back.

  “Goddamn you,” Randy grunts. “You can go back to school and stay there.” Nick forces his father’s arm higher.

  “How do you like it?” asks Nick.

  Charlie Frederick comes into the room. Randy cranes his neck, with terror flashing in his eyes. “Charlie, go wait where I told you, please.”