by Dete Meserve
I saw the few remaining bubbles escape my mouth. Then there was no more air. No more bubbles. Everything became blurry and slow.
The turbulent current pushed me to the surface then. But before I could catch my breath, I was dragged under again, sucked into what felt like an endless whirlpool. The water pressed against my eyes and rushed up my nose, stealing my breath with its bitter coldness. I tumbled again, unable to get my head above the rolling water, my body leaden and heavy. Sharp pain pierced my lungs and ripped through my body.
Something grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me. Then everything went black.
My chest was rocking with spasms. I heard a loud wheezing sound and realized it was coming from my throat. I coughed then felt water rise from within me and out of my mouth. Everything went white in front of my eyes.
Then something hard and plastic was placed over my mouth and nose, and warm air rushed into my lungs. I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at a man with blue eyes and rusty hair, cropped short.
“Can you hear me? Don’t try to talk. Just nod your head.”
I nodded my head slightly and became aware of a loud droning around me.
“She’s awake,” he said.
I was in a helicopter. And I was alive. There were heavy warm blankets on me. Still, my teeth were chattering and my body was shaking violently.
“Pulse is steady. BP normal. Body temp is ninety-six but rising,” he said into his headset.
I felt the drowsiness pull me back in, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to it. Moments later I felt a warm hand stroking my hair, soothing me with its gentle touch. Was this standard paramedic treatment?
I opened my eyes expecting to see the red-haired guy, but instead it was Eric looking at me, wearing a wetsuit, his hair soaking wet.
“Don’t try to talk,” he said gently. “We’re taking you to Burbank Hospital. We got the girl too,” he said, as though reading my mind.
I felt a surge of relief as he continued to stroke my hair. Just looking at him comforted me. “You’ve got scrapes and bruises, but you’ll pull through this fine.”
“Thanks to this one,” the redheaded paramedic said, nodding toward Eric. “He was the one who pulled you out.”
“We all did it,” Eric said.
I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. All I could do was look at him. The water had tried to claim me again, just as I thought it would. But it failed—defeated at the last moment by Eric, who had torn me from its grasp.
He stopped stroking my hair and took my hand. His hand was hot—as if it was on fire—and I gripped it tightly.
“They call that a drowning machine,” he said quietly. “It sucks you into it, and it’s nearly impossible to get out, even for the most experienced swimmer. But you made it. Maybe your swimming lesson paid off.”
Even through his smile, I saw that his eyes were shaded with worry. Then a curtain of sleep began its descent on me and I closed my eyes.
“I miss you.” He said it so softly that I had no doubt it was genuine.
I opened my eyes and met his gaze, wondering why I had let Jack and the Good Sam story get between us.
Time moves differently in a hospital. In the outside world, everyone is rushing, stressing, planning, strategizing, pushing on to the next appointment and the next thing. Inside, time slows like pulled taffy. In the hushed quiet of the hospital, everyone waits. For test results. For the doctor. For good news.
After twenty-four hours that seemed to stretch on for weeks, the doctor finally gave me the news. His words came at me in a blur. I had aspirated water, but my lungs were clear. I hadn’t gone into respiratory or cardiac arrest. They were treating me for hypothermia and exhaustion.
I could attest to the exhaustion: a simple walk from the hospital bathroom to the bed felt like climbing Everest. I was too tired to eat, and when the nurses turned on the TV news for me, I nodded off after three minutes.
Forty-eight hours later, I finally felt the haze lift. I showered, washed my hair for the first time in days, and managed to gulp down a few bites of the powdered scrambled eggs the nurse had brought, along with some kind of good-for-you pink fluid that tasted like chalk.
I heard a knock at the door and expected to see the nurse coming to cajole me into drinking more of the pink fluid. Instead, Eric entered into the room dressed in his crisp navy blue uniform and carrying a Starbucks coffee.
We looked at each other for a moment and neither of us said a word. On impulse, I hugged him. I felt his arms briefly wrap around me, but a moment later, he released me.
He placed the cup on the tray table next to my scrambled eggs. “Black. One sugar. I’m willing to bet it’s better than anything they’re serving in here. Although it may be too hot outside for you to drink it. We’re having a heat wave.”
I glanced out the window. People who don’t live here think Southern California weather is boring in its sameness, but it often seems fickle and unpredictable to me. One day you can get caught in a downpour and there can be flash floods; the next day can be eighty degrees and balmy.
“I just spoke with one of the doctors, and she said you’re going to come through this fine.”
I nodded. “They’re going to release me later today.”
He looked at the ground for a moment. “Well, I need to get going,” he said. “I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay.”
He’d been in the room for sixty seconds and was already preparing to leave. I looked at him, confused. The feelings he had expressed in the helicopter seemed to have completely evaporated.
“In the helicopter,” I said. “You said something that—”
“That was in the heat of the moment,” he said abruptly. He shifted his weight to his other leg. Like he couldn’t wait to get out of there. “Then I went home that night and saw you and your Good Sam—now congressional candidate—splashed all over the news, and I realized you were never really honest about your feelings about him. It was always him. And always will be.”
I was about to reply when the door swung open again and my dad hurried into the room. “Katie!” he said. “Sorry it took so long to get here. My flight was delayed because of that damn storm.”
When he saw Eric, my dad stopped and, without missing a beat, extended his hand. “Hello there. I’m Hale Bradley, Kate’s father.”
“Eric Hayes.”
“Eric is the firefighter who pulled me out of the water.”
My dad’s face brightened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eric. Thank you for rescuing my daughter. She’s a brave one, going out into that river after that young girl, but from what I saw on the news, you were even braver. I can’t thank you enough for risking your life to pull her out.”
“It’s what we’re here for,” Eric said, clearly uncomfortable with my dad’s praise.
My dad placed a carefully wrapped present in front of me on the bed. “A late birthday present,” he said. “You know, Eric, she’s the last person I’d ever think would need rescuing. Since she was little, she always wanted to do everything herself. Always could do everything herself.” He turned to me. “Katie, I think this may be the first time you’ve been in a situation where you actually needed someone else to help you out.”
There was some truth to what he said, and it’s why I wanted to put the whole event behind me. I didn’t like needing Eric. I didn’t like thinking that if he hadn’t been there when he had, I might not be living and breathing today. Worse, I was embarrassed that my dad was saying all this in front of Eric, especially when it was obvious Eric was looking for any opportunity to leave.
“They’re playing the story over and over on your Channel Eleven,” my dad said, switching on the TV.
I frowned. I didn’t like the idea of being the subject of a news report, especially where I was the one being rescued. “They probably titled the story “The Worst Way to Save a Drowning Person,” I said with a laugh, trying to hide my embarrassment. “I’m sure they’re pointing out all the re
asons I shouldn’t have gone after her.”
“You did the right thing,” Eric said. “You should be proud of that.”
I eyed him over the rim of my Starbucks cup. “All I ended up doing was make you to have to rescue two people instead of one. I should have stayed in the van and waited for the rescuers. I never got near enough to be of any help to her.”
“She was losing consciousness, and apparently all your shouting at her kept her awake,” he said. “She’s telling everyone that the two of us saved her life.”
I liked the way he said “the two of us” and smiled at him, but he looked away.
My dad, however, was beaming. “Eric, let us take you to dinner to thank you. It’s the least we can do.”
“That’s very generous of you. But unfortunately I can’t. And I need to get going.” He extended his hand to my father. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Senator Bradley.”
He headed to the door without even a glance in my direction. The door clicked behind him, and suddenly I felt drained and weak, as though he had taken all my energy with him. A hollow lump formed in the pit of my stomach as I realized I would probably never see him again.
My dad sat on the bed next to me. “Jack called me to say he’ll be back in LA tomorrow,” he said. “He’s sorry he couldn’t be here with you.”
It was so like Jack to make a show of his concern for me to my father but not even bother to contact me. “I need to ask you something about Jack’s campaign,” I started.
“Slow down a little for once, Katie. There’ll be plenty of time later to talk about Jack and his campaign. When you’re feeling better.”
“I’m feeling well enough,” I lied. “When did he first start talking to you about running for Congress?”
“When hasn’t he talked to me about running for office?” he said smiling. Then, seeing my serious expression, he sobered. “We began discussing the thirty-third congressional district race in detail about two months ago.”
Two months ago. Jack had sworn he didn’t plan his candidacy until after he gave away the money as Good Sam. Another lie.
“Why did he choose thirty-third district?”
“The incumbent in the thirty-third district, Charles Campbell, is a good friend of mine. Charles had announced he wasn’t going to run again, and Jack asked me whether I thought he had a shot at getting the seat.”
“You must have said yes.”
“Of course I said no,” he said. “Jack is very bright and well connected, but he didn’t have the name recognition or the track record to run for that seat. It’s a very competitive district. The men who’ve held that seat had been household names because of other positions they’ve held and Jack really didn’t have that. Not then anyway.”
I took a gulp of the pink fluid and resisted the urge to gag. “It looks to me like he manufactured the Good Sam event in order to get that name recognition.”
“Ah, your skepticism is showing.” He brushed the sleeves of his navy blue pinstripe suit. “He says the two are unrelated and I do believe him. I can tell you this, though. From what Jack says, the best outcome of his Good Sam generosity was not that he got all the recognition but that it got the two of you back together.”
I frowned. “We’re not back together.”
“That’s not what he’s thinking.” He stretched his arms over his head. “But after meeting Eric, I can see why you don’t share that same goal.”
I shot him a quizzical look.
“I’m don’t usually pay attention to such things, but even I can see that there’s something important going on between you two.”
I felt my cheeks turn pink. My dad had never been one to talk much about relationships, even when I was a teenager going on my first dates, so this was new territory for the two of us. “I know this is going to be hard to believe, but for once in your life, you’re not right,” I said with a grin. “There isn’t anything between Eric and me. Ever since I started working with Jack on Good Sam, Eric will hardly even speak to me.”
He laid a big hand on mine. “The Katie I raised would never let anyone refuse to talk with her. And the reporter I know would chase that person down and ask questions until she got the answers she wanted.”
He was right. If this were a news story, I would pursue Eric as though he were a reluctant interview subject and ask questions until I got answers.
But this wasn’t a news story. And while every instinct told me the feelings Eric shared in the helicopter were real, what could I really do?
My dad drove me home from the hospital and left an hour later after pressing five hundred dollars in my hand and urging me to “splurge a little.” I think he meant for me to spend it on a mini shopping spree at some point but the only splurge I imagined was an all-day massage to work the spasms out of my lower back and neck.
I spent the next twenty-four hours trying to figure out the rigorous regime the doctors and nurses had prescribed. The pills, the ointments, and the sheaf of papers outlining detailed instructions covered my entire kitchen table. It looked like it would be a full-time job to follow all of them.
But while my body was in recovery mode, my heart was undergoing a separate restoration. Several times I picked up my cell phone and punched in Eric’s number, but each time I went to press the green Call button, I set the phone aside instead.
I tried to distract myself from thinking about him by catching up on the news, making sure I read, not just skimmed, all the stories our interns had compiled from sources around the globe. But inevitably I lost focus and the next thing I knew, I was staring out the window instead.
I was never a daydreamer as a kid, and certainly not as an adult, so I wasn’t used to being this unproductive. I threw on some clothes, swept a little makeup across my face, and headed to Eric’s house. Every step of the way I knew that my plan was poorly thought out. But I had resolved to treat this like any news story I pursued. I needed to get answers.
As I got closer to his house, I became more nervous about my decision and considered turning back. My hand trembled as I lifted the brass sailboat knocker on his front door. Pain now shot through my neck and shoulders and I battled the urge to tear up. I wasn’t ready for this. I should’ve waited until I had recovered. Until I had a better plan.
Then the door swung open and Eric was standing in the doorway. Like the first time I’d met him, I was momentarily speechless.
“What you said in the helicopter,” I said hoarsely. “That was real.”
He looked at me for a beat, but I couldn’t tell from his expression what he was thinking. “Let’s get you off your feet.”
I stepped inside and sat on Eric’s couch, unsure of what to do next. He sat next to me, dressed now in dark jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt. Wow, did he look good. When you’ve been sick for even a little while and then get well enough to rejoin the world of the healthy, everything seems strange yet somehow more magnificent. Colors are brighter, sounds are more vivid, and you feel like you’re experiencing them anew.
“Jack and I are not together,” I said. “It may look like it on TV, but that’s just Jack manipulating things. What Jack wants is to become the congressional representative of the thirty-third district of California.”
“I know what Jack wants. But what do you want?”
His question caught me off guard. I had come here to ask questions, not answer them. I rubbed my sore neck, trying to rehearse an answer in my head, but the words came out before I could think them through. “When Jack came forward as Good Sam, I admit, I did have feelings for him at first. He was the very person I had been searching for. Someone I didn’t think existed. He was generous, doing extraordinary good, and he was doing it anonymously without expecting any reward. I had fallen for a story. I was in love with Good Sam.”
He considered my words for a moment. “You didn’t answer the question,” he said finally. “What do you want?”
I shifted in my seat. I was rarely on the receiving end of a question. Certai
nly not one this big. I drew a deep breath, steeling myself for the courage to answer it. “I want…you. The way it was between us.”
At first, I wasn’t sure he heard me. He was staring at one of the sailboat paintings on the wall across the room. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and as each second ticked by, I kicked myself for saying too much.
I stood and headed to the door. Given his silence, it seemed the only thing to do. “I realize I never thanked you. For rescuing me from the drowning machine.”
He stood, his gaze now focused on me. “Maybe you’ve been the one rescuing me.”
Eric certainly didn’t look like someone who needed rescuing—certainly not by me anyway. But for the first time, I caught a glimpse of pain behind his eyes. Something I hadn’t seen before; nor did I understand.
“I’m pretty sure I was the one stuck in the drowning machine, not you.”
His expression softened. “I think I’ve been stuck in a drowning machine of my own for far too long,” he said, slowly crossing the room toward me. “Until I met you.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that and I didn’t care, because the way he was looking at me then, his eyes lingering on my face as though he were memorizing every detail, was all that really mattered.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, then braced an arm against the wall behind me and leaned in close. I felt the cool fabric of his shirt graze my skin. Then he lowered his mouth to mine in a kiss that was soft at first, tender and sweet, turning every aching muscle in my body into warm honey.
As the sun began its slow descent behind the slate gray mountains, the soft afternoon air turned cool. Eric headed into the kitchen to make me some chicken soup.
“Not from a can or a box,” he promised.
I’d never made chicken soup from scratch, and certainly never had seen a guy do it either. But his years in the fire department clearly had made him comfortable in the kitchen. He moved swiftly, not a single motion wasted, grabbing what he needed, chopping and dropping it into a cast iron pot.