Falling Too Deep

by Shay Lee Giertz

  “Are you a home-wrecker?” I asked. “Is that why Diane Fairchild gave me a cold response when I asked where you were? And Heather? She knows too.”

  Mom took in a shaky breath, “There’s nothing for them to be upset over. I promise. It’s not what it looks like. I’ll go talk to them.”

  “Yes, let’s go run that by Mrs. Fairchild and see how she takes it. All I know is if my husband was doing that to another woman—what I just saw—we’d have issues. Major issues.”

  “Is it a crime to need someone to talk to?” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ve had no one to turn to. No one who would listen.”

  “Hello? Have we not been going to approximately a trillion head doctors? I might not know everything they do, but I do know that they’re paid to listen!”

  “Lower your voice. We’re not going to argue right here. I’m sorry you’re upset. And I will go talk to Heather and Diane, but do not point your finger and judge me. Especially after your behavior these last several months. I won’t have it.”

  “My behavior? It’s called grief, Mom. And you don’t want me to yell at you because you know what you’re doing with Mr. Fairchild is wrong. And worse than that, you know that you dishonor Dad’s memory.”

  “I understand grief. Because I had to bury my husband. And for the last couple of months, I’ve had to watch my daughter shut down. It’s a daily reminder of what happened.”

  “I haven’t shut down. I’m here, aren’t I? And don’t turn this around on me. You’re only trying to make yourself feel better.” I could feel the emotion rising inside me. First, with Bobby, and now Mom.

  “Do you know what it’s been like enduring these last few months with you?”

  I felt slapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been depressed and fearful of just about everything! I can’t get you to live a little, you only hole yourself up. Sometimes when I’m around you, I feel so suffocated. I can’t breathe.” Mom stopped as if realizing the harshness of her words.

  Neither of us said anything as her sharp words hung in the air.

  “Thanks for telling me how you really feel,” I said quietly. My heart ripped apart from the accusations. But I couldn’t hold back the sarcasm when I continued, “Sorry my grieving process was too much for you to handle. Sorry that my grief pushed you into the arms of a married man.” I turned to head up the stairs.

  Mom grabbed hold of my arm. “Oh Brooke, don’t go.” Her voice shook. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re right, I do feel guilty. It’s my fault. Not yours. Please. I only reacted in anger. I’ve had a lot going on, but as far as George Fairchild goes, I promise you, we’re friends. I would never do anything inappropriate.”

  “You keep telling yourself that. I know what I saw. And you can’t take back what you said.” My chest tightened, and my heart starting to race again. Now was not the time for a stupid anxiety attack. I raced up the stairs. And smacked into Jayce.

  “There you are,” Jayce said. “Heather told me I’d find you here. Did you know Lucas Fairchild’s been looking for you too? He has some motion-sickness medicine for you.”

  “I-I-I can’t right now,” I mumbled and pushed past him.

  “Brooke?”

  “I’d let her be alone for a little bit,” I heard Mom say to Jayce.

  My eyesight blurry with tears, I kept moving, finding the stairs, and climbing up.

  Coming to this yacht club had been a mistake. If we had stayed home this summer, Mom would have never renewed her friendship with Mr. Fairchild, and I could have spent the entire summer hiding under the covers, nursing my wounds in private.

  No wonder Heather hated me. My mother was ripping their family apart. Then I thought about Lucas. As soon as he found out, he’d hate me too. Every negative, dark emotion I had felt since Dad’s death came bubbling up to the surface.

  When the steps eventually ran out, I realized I had run past the main floor where the party was. Now I stood on the top deck.

  No one was here. I let out the breath I’d been holding. My knees knocked. I could feel the sway of the boat out in the open water. I went to head back down the stairs, but I couldn’t run into my mother. Or anyone else for that matter. So I leaned against the wall and let the wind blow at me, closing my eyes and allowing the emotions to take over.

  I covered my face with my hands, and eventually, the sobs stopped. I breathed deeply and felt myself begin to relax. At least enough so that the anxiety ebbed.

  We leave tonight, I told myself and dropped my hands back to my side. She never has to see Mr. Fairchild again. You never have to see these people again.

  The wind blew strong, and my hair moved right along with it. It flew into my mouth. I tried to push it back, but the wind was relentless.

  Everything felt stronger up here. The wind whipped against my body, and I could feel the rolling of the waves more than down below. I opened my eyes and saw how close I was to the railing. My stomach felt like a ball of lead, but I remembered Mom’s words. You’ve been depressed and fearful of just about everything!

  Had I been that bad? Maybe if she hadn’t pushed me all summer long to remember then I wouldn’t have stayed closed in. Maybe she had no idea what it was like to live with a traumatic event that had vanished from memory.

  I can’t get you to live a little, you only hole yourself up. Sometimes when I’m around you, I feel so suffocated. I can’t breathe.

  Shame made me take a step closer to the railing. I would show her. I would beat my fear. “It’s a railing,” I told myself. “To protect you. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  Nearing the railing, I panicked and walked backward. Just being able to see the water churning almost drove me to my knees.

  The yacht moved with the slapping of a wave, and I lost my balance, falling backward. I landed squarely on my butt. I groaned, more from embarrassment than pain, and moved toward the stairs again.

  That’s when I saw my purse and all its contents splayed along the deck from the fall.

  My sonnet book!

  I frantically picked up items, searching in all directions, trying to locate the little book. My eyesight landed on it balancing precariously at the edge of the railing. Still on my hands and knees, I hurriedly crawled over to it. The yacht slapped against some waves, and in an instant, it was over the ledge.

  “No!” I cried, throwing myself across the deck to grab it. But it was too late.

  I pulled myself up and forced myself to look down over the side of the yacht. Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the rail for support. But even with blurred vision, I saw it had fallen on a tiny ledge just below the deck’s floor. Scrambling on all fours again, I pushed my arm through the railing to try to reach it. But it was beyond my grasp no matter how many angles I tried.

  The wind would toss it over if I didn’t act quickly. I’d have to climb over.

  The craziness of the idea stopped me cold. What was I thinking?

  But it was my book. From my dad. Losing it felt like losing him all over again. Besides, all I had to do was hold on to the railing while reaching down.

  I swallowed, took a deep breath, and before I could talk myself out of it, climbed over on to the other side.

  The yacht swayed, and I broke out in a cold, clammy sweat. “Just hold onto the rail,” I whispered. “And don’t look at the water.” I locked my arm around the rail and bent down to reach the book. My fingers grazed the edge of it. That gave me hope.

  Just a little more…

  I lowered myself to the second rail and crouched down further. I stretched, trying to pinch the edge of the book between my fingers. Almost had it!

  I finally got the edge of the book between my fingertips. Relief flooded me.

  Then I looked down.

  Dark and frothy waves slapped against the yacht. I squeezed my eyes shut but couldn’t stop myself from looking again. I froze.

  The goosebumps ran races across my skin. I pulled myself up to climb over the rai
ling. Forget this. My entire body shook as I balanced from one side of the railing to the other.

  “Brooke?”

  I turned too fast. My arm slid off the railing, and my feet lost their balance. In one sudden move, my body slipped over the side of the yacht.

  Screaming, I tried to grab hold of anything I could. But gravity was a force I couldn’t match.

  The last thing I remember before hitting the water was Jayce leaning over the railing, shouting my name.

  The Submersion

  ***

  It is in our idleness, in our dreams,

  that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.

  -Virginia Woolf

  4

  My head hurt. It felt like pain shooting arrows against my skull.

  Did I die?

  I peeked an eye open only to shut it just as fast. The blinding light surrounding me didn’t help my headache.

  “Brooke, I’m serious. It’s time to wake up.”

  Mom?

  Then I remembered. Our argument. My book on the ledge. Me falling in the water.

  “Am I alive?” I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes. “And why is it so bright in here?”

  And why didn’t I remember anything after the fall? If I were alive, and I was unsure about that, who pulled me out of the water? So I must be dead…and the bright light?

  I sat up fast but quickly held my head as the dizziness settled in.

  “She rises,” Mom said sarcastically. “Maybe it’s bright in here because it’s almost noon.”

  Why was Mom in heaven? And why did heaven feel like my comfy bed from home?

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, finally opening my eyes.

  We were in my bedroom. And I was in my bed. I must be dead. There’s no way we would have gotten home from the yacht club with me having no recollection of it.

  “This must be a projection.” I glanced over at Mom. “You’re not real. You’re a projection of my mind.”

  Mom stopped rifling through my dresser drawers long enough to give me an annoyed expression. “Brooke Dawn McFadden, we were supposed to be at the yacht club an hour ago. You promised me that you would go with us for Dad’s sake. Does any of this ring a bell? And now you have already set us behind. Bobby is not too happy.”

  On cue, Bobby shouted from downstairs, “Mom, is she up?”

  Chills kept running a race along my spine as the feeling of déjà vu hit me like a ten-ton truck.

  “Something weird is going on. I’m going back to bed.” I crashed against my pillow and pulled my blankets over my head.

  Suddenly my blankets were ripped from my body.

  “Hey!” I shouted, sitting up.

  Mom’s eyes flashed in anger. “Get up, and be downstairs in ten minutes. Or I’m calling a therapist, and you can spend the summer in a head doctor’s office.” She left my room in a huff, muttering as she went downstairs.

  “Nice way to treat someone who almost died!” I called after her. “Or maybe I did die. Either way, you’re not being nice.”

  I hoped this wasn’t hell. Living in eternity with an irate mother would be absolute torture.

  The duffel bag in the corner of the room caught my eye. We must have come back last night.

  Did she just say something about summer? The déjà vu made my skin crawl again. I mentally shook myself. “You must have hit your head really hard.” Either that or this was a massive hallucination. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what happened after the fall. But I remembered nothing. Not the sensation of the water’s cold temperature, not even any pain after slapping the water so hard. Nothing. I remember Jayce calling my name, losing my balance, and falling. That’s it.

  I brought my arms over my head and stretched in one direction and then in the other. No tenderness or sore muscles. I studied my legs. Wouldn’t I have sustained some kind of injury?

  “Are you up yet?” Mom called from downstairs.

  I glanced at my alarm clock. Ugh. Mom was right. It was already past noon. My first college class had already started and was nearly over. “What’s the point of getting up now?” I yelled. “I already missed my class.”

  A red flag tickled the corners of my mind, but I couldn’t grasp what it was. But something seemed off.

  “My book,” I said, as I stumbled over to my duffel bag. That sonnet book meant everything to me.

  “Let’s go!” Mom called up.

  “Kind of pointless, but whatever.” I dumped all my clothes out of the duffel bag, searching for the book, but it wasn’t there. I checked under the covers, then under the bed. I swallowed the tears. Not now.

  Mom bought new outfits for me when she dragged me to go shopping at the yacht club’s boutiques. But none of my new outfits were there either. I knew I put them in the bag yesterday when I packed to go home. No book. No new clothes. I was officially freaking out.

  “Mom!” I went to the top of the stairs and called down. “Have you seen my Shakespeare book?”

  “You had it last night. Is it by your bed?”

  “No, I can’t find it. What about those new outfits we bought the other day?”

  She walked out of the kitchen and looked up at me with a still annoyed expression on her face. Please don’t let this be hell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just wear one of your shorts and tank top combos.”

  “Come on, sis,” Bobby appeared at the stairs, his large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. “Zach Lewinski’s family has property at the yacht club! We’re gonna meet at the beach and hang out all summer. Plus I want to see what house we’re in!”

  The déjà vu chills had got to stop.

  “Why would we be going to the beach when it’s the first day of school? And shouldn’t you be at school?”

  Bobby looked over at Mom, then back at me. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Bobby!” Mom exclaimed. “Brooke doesn’t drink because that would be wrong. Right, Brooke?”

  “Right,” I said. “And it’s the truth. I pretty much got a tour of the entire yacht. Until I ran to the top deck. Before I fell in the water. Which, by the way, don’t think I’ve forgotten about what happened. You have some explaining to do about George Fairchild.”

  Mom and Bobby watched me with odd expressions on their faces.

  Mom shook her head. “Go out to the car, Bobby.” When he walked away, she turned to me. “George Fairchild is the reason why we get to take a break for a while. I need a break, Brooke, and so do you. Getting out of this house will be good for all of us. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but we can discuss whatever happened last night in the car. Bobby’s been waiting, so just throw on some clothes and let’s go.”

  “Take a break? Didn’t we just take a three-month break?” I pressed my hands to my head to stop the spinning. Nothing made sense.

  Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung slightly open. “I can’t deal with this right now,” she finally said. She turned to leave, then stopped and added, “You’re not the only one grieving, Brooke. Stop being so selfish.”

  Her words stung. I would have thrown a few choice words at her myself, but my mind was preoccupied with figuring out what was going on. After she walked outside, I went back to my room completely confused. Why did everything feel so familiar but not? I went over to my cell phone to check the date.

  June 13.

  I flipped the phone over to see if it was broken.

  Mom started honking the horn below.

  If it was June 13, then this would be the day after school let out. This would be… “The first day of summer.”

  I dropped the phone and stepped back.

  Mom’s honking became incessant. I couldn’t think.

  If this wasn’t heaven or hell, what could it be? Could there be purgatory? My rational brain quickly dismissed it. Then what?

  Mom would not stop honking.

  Throwing my long hair back into a ponytail, I threw on a pair of jean cut-offs and a t-shirt, stuffed al
l the clothes and books back in the oversized duffel bag, grabbed it from the bed, and ran down the stairs.

  Whether it was heaven, hell, purgatory, or whatever other concoction my brain had recreated, I was starting summer all over again. I decided I was too spooked to be alone.

  5

  “Explain to me again how it’s June thirteenth?” I asked. “Yesterday was August thirty-first! We were at a party. You and I argued. I fell off the yacht. Any of this ringing a bell?”

  Now that my butt sat in the car, Mom had relaxed enough to start laughing at me. “You must have had some crazy dream, hon. You should write these dreams down. See what the therapist thinks about it.”

  “I’m not going back to a therapist. You promised, remember?”

  “Could a therapist help if she’s losing her mind?” Bobby piped in.

  I sighed and leaned my head against the window. We were only a few minutes away from the yacht club. And I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Going back in time doesn’t happen. Do-overs don’t happen.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked, trying to find out information from another angle. “About yesterday or last night?”

  “It was your graduation ceremony, which I had to drag you to, and then we went out to dinner with both sets of your grandparents. By the way, did you open their cards? I bet you got some money.”

  I turned to Bobby. “What do you remember about yesterday?”

  “Being bored. You throwing a temper tantrum like you always do. Going out to dinner at a sucky restaurant you picked.”

  “Hey,” Mom scolded. “Be nice. High school graduations only happen once in a person’s life. When you graduate, you can pick the restaurant.”

  “Brooke knows I hate sushi. Why pick the only restaurant in town that serves raw fish? She did it on purpose.”

  I tried to stay calm. The first signs of an anxiety attack were already happening, and I didn’t want to give these two any more reason to think I was crazy. But I couldn’t stop the beads of sweat from forming or my heart squeezing itself in my chest. Breathe, Brooke, breathe.