Undertow

by Sydney Bauer

  ‘Francie,’ said Teesha, knowing it was coming but trying to stop her before she upset Christina.

  ‘What? I was just asking. She said she had to go shopping.’

  ‘My mom had a last minute errand,’ Christina replied quickly.

  ‘Oh, okay. I thought maybe you decided we meant more to you than some stupid dress but I guess that’s not . . .’

  ‘Francie, give it a rest will you?’ This came from Mariah Jordan, the voice of reason in their little group.

  Teesha didn’t think Francie set out to be malicious with her barbed comments. She suspected that it drove Francie crazy that Christina seemed to be everything she was not. Francie was short and round with dark bangs and braces on her teeth. Christina was tall and lean with long blonde hair and huge blue eyes. Francie was a mediocre student with little or no athletic ability whose parents earned a reasonable living selling real estate. Christina was a straight-A student who excelled at every sport she tried and her parents were . . . well, everyone knew who they were, and on top of that, they were loaded.

  ‘Chrissie,’ said Mariah. ‘You’d better put some more sun screen on your legs. They’re turning pink.’

  Mariah, the eldest of the four girls was tall, poised and intelligent, with the innate ability to calm things down. She pressed her thumb against Christina’s thigh and left a white impression.

  ‘You’re right, throw some over, Teesh.’

  Teesha did as asked – relieved by the change of subject.

  ‘Who wants a drink?’ said Francie.

  ‘You didn’t!’ said Teesha, a smile on her face. She suspected Francie sensed she had gone too far and now was trying to slide back into favour.

  ‘I did, and it’s French. Moet.’ She pronounced it to rhyme with ‘boat’, and Teesha gave Christina a quick half smile.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ asked Teesha.

  ‘Some mega rich client sent my Dad a whole case. Dad sold him some huge mansion in Brookline for some unbelievable price and even though the guy was like, totally loaded, he was also totally grateful. Dad saved him millions so I guess it was the least he could do. There were stacks of bottles so I figured, you know, Dad’s not going to miss one.’

  Francie, always fond of superlatives, used the words ‘rich’, ‘loaded’ and ‘millions’ a lot. She liked the sound of them, and Teesha got the feeling her parents did too.

  ‘I’m in. Thanks, Francie,’ said Christina, accepting the bottle from her friend and offering to pop the cork.

  The noise made them jump, and Teesha looked instinctively around for the cruiser. They had drifted around Castle Neck Peninsula, the natural outcrop separating Ipswich Bay from Essex Bay, and towards Crane Beach, a beautiful four-mile expanse of white sand and spinifex. The cruiser, which was too heavy to enter the shallower shoals of Essex Bay, was anchored on the other side of the outcrop, now just beyond their sight. Her mom would be pissed.

  ‘Quick, Mom will kill us if she sees this.’ The girls each took a long sip, enjoying the feeling of the bubbly, semi-chilled liquid sliding down their throats.

  ‘I’m hot. Let’s go for a swim, and then I’ll tell you who called me last night.’

  Teesha undid her life jacket, pulled off her hat and shook her long brown hair out of its pony tail. She stood up, her light frame tilting the boat a little to the left, and dived into the water.

  ‘Who? Who called you?’ asked Christina, leaning over the edge of the boat. ‘Not Justin. Teesha, was it Justin?’

  ‘Ahhh, it’s beautiful,’ said Teesha, drawing out the suspense. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Christina just as Mariah dived in.

  ‘Wait for me,’ said Francie, tugging at the jacket around her waist.

  ‘It’s okay, Francie,’ said Christina with a smile. ‘I’ll wait. Let’s hold hands and we’ll jump in together.’

  Rayna Martin sat in her blue and white striped deck chair, looking out upon the mesmerising expanse before her. The water was a mercurial shade of silver. It looked like a glassy canvas upon which someone had dropped tiny spots of colour. The rainbow reflections caught on the small wavelets in the salty inlet breeze.

  Unlike the more picturesque ports of Cape Cod or Martha’s Vineyard, Cape Ann Massachusetts had a character of its own, forgoing a clichéd ‘traditional resort beauty’ for a more rustic aesthetic carved from its island topography and a historic respect for the sea. It was America’s oldest seaport, home to generations of fishermen with big catches and even bigger nerve. It had survived the ‘Perfect Storm’ of 1991, built a reputation grounded in strength and toughness and was home to a special breed of people who cherished their wood shingle houses and ramshackle marinas with an unspoken pride and camaraderie.

  But today, most importantly to Rayna, it smelt fresh and new and full of promise. It had the feeling of freedom and she wanted to absorb every minute of it. Perhaps it was the fact that her little girl was growing up but something told her this was a time of change for her too – a new stage in her life, a new independence.

  Rayna took a deep breath and closed her eyes to the blue skies and calm waters around her. It was more than a month until the official start of summer and weather like this in early May was nothing short of a blessing. She had picked up The Crusader on schedule and was now anchored at the mouth of Essex Bay just off the southern most tip of Castle Neck Peninsula. The girls were about a quarter of a mile south-west, squashed in and sunning themselves with octopus legs dangling over the side of the outboard. No doubt they were talking about their plans for summer and three months of freedom from Milton Academy, one of Massachusetts’ most respected and exclusive high schools, one of the most sought after educational institutions in the country.

  Rayna had made sacrifices to send her daughter to Milton – long hours at work, weekends in the office, too much time away from her daughter. But this school was special. It had an admission program based on excellence in both character and academia, striving for diversity in a city known for its – how would she put it? – unique racial structure. It was a school with ideals Rayna admired, with a mission statement calling for the development of ‘creative and critical thinkers unafraid to express their ideas’, living by the school’s motto ‘Dare to be True’. Bottom line, it was one of the best and, as such, one of the more expensive options in a State renowned for its fine schools and universities.

  Ten years ago, Teesha’s father, a respected Boston attorney, had died suddenly from a brain tumour and Rayna had spent the past decade working around the clock to establish her own legal career. Determined to give Teesha the financial security she would have enjoyed if her father were still alive, she had managed to build her own practice and divert into the niche area of African-American Legal Support. She was now deputy director of the AACSAM, the African-American Community Service Agency of Massachusetts, and spent her days helping African-Americans negotiate everything from legal aid and insurance payouts to health benefits and educational assistance.

  Whilst Boston was the birthplace of American independence, built on the principals of ‘Justice and Liberty for all’, it was also a city of hyphenated Americans – Irish, Italian, Asian, African – each with their own cultural differences, often living in neighbourhoods with people of similar backgrounds and needs.

  It was Rayna’s ambition to break down such barriers that led to her rise through the ranks of AACSAM, gaining the respect of all she came in contact with – white, black, Hispanic, Chinese. The Agency even ran a sailing school, which is how Rayna and Teesha learned to sail. All this meant years of vocation dedication and the guilt that goes with it, and that’s why this birthday outing was so special.

  She took a sip of iced water to soothe her dry throat and leant back in her chair, pondering the proud but heartbreaking thought that in a little over a year, her daughter and her friends would be off to college, living God knows where with Lord knows whom. She lifted her head to see the outboard had drifted around the outcro
p closer to the beach and sat up, squinting to distinguish the boat against the now golden ripples of water.

  ‘Stay in sight, Teesha’, she whispered to herself.

  She contemplated pulling up anchor and following the little dinghy into Essex Bay – the tide was starting to come in and she was pretty sure the waters would be deep enough to chance a trip into the inlet – but she knew Teesha wouldn’t stray too far, so she decided to wait a few more minutes in the hope they would motor back into view.

  Ten minutes later, Rayna was on her feet and hauling anchor. ‘Kids’, she thought. ‘Why did they always have to stretch the boundaries?’

  It was then that she heard a voice off to her left, so she ran to the front of the cruiser. Christina Haynes was treading water about fifteen yards off to the port side.

  ‘Mrs Martin,’ she called catching her breath.

  ‘Christina, what are you doing? Where are the others?’ yelled Rayna.

  ‘They’re, um . . . they need you, Mrs Martin. Our boat capsized and Francie says she bumped her head when she fell out. Now she has a cramp and Mariah isn’t strong enough to hold her up and Teesha is trying to do up her life jacket and we tried to pull the boat back over but Francie didn’t want us to let her go and she was crying really loud and . . . ,’ Christina caught her breath again, her legs working hard beneath the crystal clear water. ‘I volunteered to swim out and get you to pick them up.’

  ‘Get in the boat now, Christina,’ said Rayna, before realising the cruiser was pointed directly towards the beach which meant the ladder was at the opposite end, a good thirty yards from the young teenager. ‘Swim that way,’ she called, pointing east. ‘And I’ll turn the cruiser around so you can climb on board, quickly.’

  ‘No, Mrs Martin. I mean, I don’t think we should waste any time. I’m a really good swimmer. Best in my year.’

  Rayna was having trouble hearing Christina. There seemed to be a white noise, from above, but she ignored it, recognising the trace of panic in Christina’s voice and finding it contagious.

  ‘I’m worried, Mrs Martin,’ called Christina. ‘Francie was screaming. I don’t know how long they . . . Please, it’ll only take you a few minutes. I’ll be fine. I just think you’d better go.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ yelled Rayna.

  ‘Yes. You’re already pointed towards shore. Please.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be right back. Stay where you are.’

  Luckily, the anchor was up and the cruiser pointed directly towards the inlet. Rayna put the engine in full throttle, defying the shoals to threaten her lifted bow. As she headed west she craned her neck to see over the top of the sandy dune that ran down the middle of Castle Neck Peninsula, forming the two-sided strand that was Crane Beach.

  She pictured Francie gasping for breath, Mariah struggling to put on her life jacket, Teesha crying as she tried desperately to hold her head above water. She felt in that limbo between knowing and not knowing, between hope and fear, where dread is controlled by the practicality of getting from A to B in the shortest time possible.

  After what seemed like an eternity she turned into the cove and saw them, all three of them, alive and well, their life jackets zipped up, holding on to the bottom of the capsized boat. Rayna finally let out a breath she had no idea she had been holding as she approached the three bobbing up and down in the water. They looked more than okay. In fact, Teesha and Mariah seemed to be enjoying some joke at Francie’s expense. Rayna’s relief became tinged with anger as she pulled up alongside and signalled for them to climb onto the cruiser.

  ‘I can’t believe you girls. Teesha, I told you not to lose sight of the cruiser. I was so worried. Francie, are you okay? What the hell were you thinking?’

  ‘It’s okay, Mom,’ said Teesha, trying to stop giggling and apologise to her mother. ‘We took our jackets off so we could jump in for a swim, and the boat turned over on us. Then Francie said she bumped her head, and got a cramp and . . . Where’s Chrissie?’

  ‘What am I supposed to think happened when Christina turns up floating alongside the cruiser?’

  The veins in Rayna’s temples and arms bulged as she turned the cruiser’s steering wheel a full 180 degrees and shouted at the three girls.

  ‘Come on, get in. When you act irresponsibly you put lives at risk, Teesha. Accidents happen all the time, you three were just lucky. Just get on board, quickly. We’ll come back for the outboard in a few minutes. Christina is still in the water.’

  Teesha whispered a ‘Sorry, Mom’ which was followed by apologies from the other two girls. Rayna turned her back on them and manoeuvred the boat around to head north-east.

  The girls moved to the edge of the cruiser in silence. The sun was reflecting brightly off the water’s surface and they squinted downwards, trying to spot Christina through the millions of fluid lights that flickered back up at them.

  ‘Where is she, Mom?’

  ‘Here somewhere, she has to be close by.’ Rayna turned off the engine so that they might hear Christina calling from somewhere nearby. All four called out for her – but there was no answer.

  Francie started moaning about her leg, claiming the cramp was returning. Mariah fell silent, and Teesha’s face started to wear the early signs of concern.

  One minute went by, then two, three.

  It was so quiet. The seagulls seemed to have disappeared, the engine was still and all they could hear was the peaceful sound of water lapping up against the edges of the boat. A cold chill started to grow in Rayna’s stomach. It made its way up her spine and down her arms to her fingertips. Her brain teetered on the precipice between the logical need not to overreact in front of three scared teenagers, and a more primitive desire to scream in the seconds that precede an imminent catastrophe.

  ‘Christina, Christina!’

  ‘God, Mom, this is weird.’

  ‘She must have swum off a little further,’ Mariah spoke at last. ‘She’s a good swimmer. Maybe she wanted to stretch out a little, to keep warm.’

  ‘She has to be here,’ said Rayna. ‘She has to be.’

  It was then that Mariah pointed starboard. ‘There she is. God, that was scary. She must be looking at some fish or something. Christina. Hey, over here,’ she called out to her friend.

  A relieved Rayna headed to the front of the boat but she sensed the stillness and silence, and the fresh flow of fear that came with it. The first thing she noticed was the long blonde hair floating out around Christina’s head which was facing downwards. She looked like an angel hovering in a sea of fairy lights. Her lower body hung loosely in the water like a nightshirt suspended on a clothesline. Her arms were stretched out as if ready to embrace. Her pink nail polish glistened at the end of her graceful fingertips.

  Christina Haynes was not breathing.

  Rayna Martin was sure of it.

  Christina was heavy.

  She wore a white DKNY t-shirt over her blue hipster bikini (the same as Teesha’s!) and it dragged in the water. Francie and Mariah helped Rayna pull her on board whilst Teesha repeated her Mayday call into the two-way. Her skin was cold and hard like the cool, glossy plastic feel of a Barbie doll. It was blotchy, as if her whole body was blushing, and her fingers were wrinkled from the water exposure.

  They lay her face up on the deck. Her body made a loud plopping sound as water ran from her clothing and onto the wooden boards. Teesha screamed down the radio, finally contacting the Coastguard and giving their location and direction back to the marina. That done, she took the wheel and sped east towards the northern mouth of the Annisquam, knowing to keep an eye out for the rescue vessel which would be heading north from Gloucester Harbour, in an effort to meet them halfway.

  Meanwhile, Rayna and Mariah commenced CPR. Christina seemed to be leaking seawater and other foamy fluids. Her tongue and lips appeared swollen and her eyes remained shut.

  Every three breaths, Rayna tilted her head to the side, making sure that when . . . if . . . Christina revived, she did not choke
on her own vomit. Mariah was calm and effective, pushing down rhythmically on her friend’s chest, rocking back and forward in practised determination. Francie stood off to the side, clutching her stomach.

  ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,’ Francie repeated in what sounded like some hysterical gospel chant. ‘My parents are going to kill me.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Francie,’ snapped Rayna in between breaths. ‘You’re not the one with the problem here. You were never the one with the problem. Snap out of it.’

  Ten minutes later a small wave on the port side told Rayna the Coastguard had pulled up next to the cruiser. Neither boat stopped as two paramedics leapt from one vessel to the next. Within seconds they had taken over the CPR and attached Christina to all sorts of monitors that seemed, for all their importance, unusually quiet.

  The paramedics fired questions at Rayna and the girls.

  ‘How long was she unconscious?’ asked the female paramedic.

  ‘I don’t know. It can’t have been long.’

  ‘Has she taken anything – drugs, alcohol?’

  ‘No,’ said Rayna.

  ‘Yes,’ came a voice from behind her.

  ‘Shut up, Mariah,’ said Francie.

  ‘We were drinking champagne.’

  Rayna closed her eyes.

  ‘How much?’ asked the male paramedic.

  ‘Christina was drinking straight from the bottle,’ said Mariah. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe half a bottle.’

  ‘She drank from my cup,’ said Francie, and Rayna noticed how easy it was for this young girl to lay blame.

  By this stage they were about half a mile from Gloucester Marina. Rayna looked up to see the flashing lights – a red one above an Addison Gilbert Hospital Ambulance, a yellow one above a Gloucester PD van and, a blue one above a BPD blue and white. Boston Police . . . a long way from home. The thought raced through her mind.

  The next few minutes happened as if in fast forward as Christina was lifted off the cruiser, onto a gurney, into the ambulance and off to the local hospital. The siren faded in the distance and the silence seemed even worse than its deafening wail.