by Tami Lund
I glanced toward the fichus tree, behind which Carter had been standing, but he wasn’t there. My eyes darted every which way as we left the ballroom, but Carter was nowhere to be found. I don’t know why, but that made me a little uneasy. I was being dragged along by a socialite who was a target for any number of crazy people who lost a lot of money thanks to her father, and our bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. I tried to reassure myself that he had eyes and ears everywhere.
As we followed the flagstone path towards the river, Bree whispered, “Let’s see if we can lose Carter’s men.”
And then she grabbed my hand and jumped in between two eight-foot tall arborvitaes. I let her drag me along as we weaved in and out of bushes and trees, until we were near the river but not near the boardwalk. We were standing on the riverbanks in an area that had likely been protected by some wetland law. Shrubs and trees and weeds grew wild and we stumbled along blindly in the almost total darkness of a new moon. Bree looked around. “I think we lost him.”
“I think our dresses are ruined,” I pointed out. Bree giggled and then slapped her hands over her mouth.
“We have to be quiet, so he doesn’t find us.” I watched as she maneuvered herself down the bank to the edge of the water and sat in the sand. I clamored down to do the same.
I knew this river like the back of my hand. My dad managed the marina for thirty years, until The Resort was built and added its own private marina. Then the only boats left to dock were for the locals, and none of them could afford to pay much. So dad quit the marina and now handles the books for the ice cream parlor that my grandma owns in town.
I happen to live in the apartment above the ice cream parlor. It’s handy because grandma doesn’t charge me rent, but it has its drawbacks, in the form of hoards and hoards of people, all summer long, from nine a.m. until ten p.m., seven days a week. The winters aren’t so bad, other than the fact that Grandma doesn’t pay for someone to plow the parking lot and I don’t have a garage. But at least it’s quiet.
I knew that this part of the river was deep and had a strong undercurrent. Even the locals avoided swimming in this area, because the undercurrent could pull you under and hold you there, and chances were good that no amount of thrashing or attempts at swimming could pull you to the surface. Every ten years or so, someone ends up drowning, and it’s always in this small patch of the river.
“Careful,” I warned Bree, “the undercurrent is wicked here.”
Bree laughed her tinkling laugh and slipped her sandals off. She plunged her feet into the water and sighed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going in. I can’t swim.”
“You can’t swim?” I asked in disbelief. Jeez, I think I was swimming before I was walking. But then again, I lived near a river and a lake my whole life, so I suppose that was to be expected. I didn’t think there were many rivers and lakes in Dallas, although from what I’ve heard, practically everybody had a swimming pool.
Bree shrugged. “My parents sent me to lessons, but I kept flunking. And then I got caught letting the swim instructor peek in my bikini and I never got another lesson.” She laughed again.
“I can’t imagine having your life,” I said in awe. I felt her shrug again. She was only a foot away and I could barely see her. Her dress was black, and I could just make out her pale hair and skin because there wasn’t any moonlight, and the Tiki torches and twinkle lights didn’t extend this far. We fell silent, listening to the water gurgle past, and enjoying the solitude. I imagined Bree didn’t get a lot of solitude.
I sensed another presence a split second before I felt two hands on my back. They gave a mighty shove and I tumbled head first into the river. I heard an earsplitting scream before the water sucked me under. I fought to keep the panic at bay as I used my arms and legs to push in unison, hoping I was pushing toward the surface and not further under.
My chest burned and my lungs felt like they were on fire and I knew I was a hairsbreadth away from sucking water into my lungs when my head broke the surface. I gasped in a mouthful of air before I was pulled under again. I could feel panic welling up and I pushed it away.
Despite everything I knew and heard about this part of the river, I felt I was too good a swimmer to let it take me under. I’d dragged many a kid and occasionally an adult out of the lake throughout my years as a lifeguard at the state park’s beach. Surely I could get myself out of the river, even the ‘scary part.’
This time, I knew which way was up, so I used every bit of energy I had to push myself that way, and I broke the surface again. The most dangerous part of the river was only about twenty feet long. If I could keep this up for a few more minutes, I knew the current would settle and I could swim to shore. The problem was, I could feel my strength weakening and I wasn’t sure I could keep pushing myself to the surface.
I went under again and suddenly my legs wouldn’t kick. I felt myself being pulled further away from the surface and I was powerless to stop it. Numbly, I thought it’s been more than ten years since the last drowning, so it was time.
Then there was a great yank on my hair and I opened my mouth to scream, sucking in water instead of air. I flailed, trying to make the burning stop. Powerful arms wrapped around my chest and pulled. My head broke free of the water and I sputtered and coughed, trying to breathe and spit out water at the same time. Not an easy or attractive process.
I went limp, allowing my savior to pull me to shore. When he dragged me onto the sand, I rolled over onto my side and began hacking up the rest of the water, taking large, gulping breaths in between hacks. Someone lay down next to me and I looked over, right into Carter’s black eyes. I flopped down and lay my cheek on the still-warm sand and closed my eyes. ####
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