“It’s okay,” he breathed into her ear. “We have to move. To the right. Riptide is”—he caught his breath—“right underneath us.”
He wanted to go out about another ten feet, “behind” the waves. There wouldn’t be any breaks to bat them around.
But the next wave rose. He hollered for her to hold her breath, and she screamed again, a series of “no’s” that broke his heart, but she finally gulped for air and held her breath. He pulled her under. He knew that was the last one until they could get behind the waves. All he could do was hope she’d hold her breath and survive. She went limp under his arm.
He sputtered back to the surface, yanking her with him, and searched her face. For a second, he thought he’d drowned her. But she coughed and reached back, trying to grab his hair.
At first, he welcomed the battery, grateful she was moving at all, but then her grasping was pulling him under.
“Tamara,” he tried, grabbing her wrist. It was impossible to hold her, fight her, and paddle at the same time. “It’s okay,” he shouted above the waves. “It’s okay now, Tamara; we’re okay.” He pulled her close. The water calmed as they floated to a place behind the waves. An eerie silence fell. Her body stilled with it.
“It’s okay; it’s okay; it’s okay,” he whispered, over and over into her ear. His breath caught through half the litany, but she was calming. The ocean bobbed them up and down. She stopped thrashing and clutched his arm.
“Hang on,” he sputtered, taking a small, smacking wave of salt water and choking it out. He wanted her to catch her breath so she could swim on her own, but there was no time. He had to get them out of this thing or they’d both be under.
He swam as hard as he could to the left, dragging her like a corpse. He glanced at the shore, which was painfully far away, and wondered whether they were going to make it.
“Tamara, stop . . . kicking.” He took a deep breath. “Go limp.”
She did. He breathed a sigh of relief and paddled for about thirty feet. I cannot let her die out here. The ocean settled under him. They were out of the riptide. But damn, he was exhausted. They coughed together as lapping water slapped their faces. His arms were lead. His feet had weights attached.
The smaller backwater waves threw another mouthful of seawater down his throat, but he coughed it out and turned his face toward her. His arms could not lift her, but he had another thought—a deep, ugly thought from the recesses of his memory, of Jennifer, limp on the rocks, her black hair in clumps around her face, her mouth blueish ash—and he found some strength to pull Tamara upward. He slipped his arm across her chest and began to pull—kicking, paddling, desperately pulling through the icy water, moving them toward shore.
The last of his energy got them to the wave breaks, where the tide began pushing them in the right direction, but they had to deal with crashes and foam. The next few waves battered them, and Tamara was starting to fight again, but at least he could use the momentum to let the waves drag them to shore. He paddled with all the strength he had left. When he got to the point where his feet could touch the ground, he sputtered and stood, wobbly. His knees wanted to give out, but he got Tamara to her feet and helped her across the sand. Her legs were crumpling beneath her.
Suddenly Fox was there, reaching toward her—where had he come from?—and Giselle rushed forward, too—damn it, hadn’t he told her to go back?—and they both fell toward him, getting their calves and thighs wet, and reached for Tamara, dragging her back toward the beach stairs, limp and sputtering.
Fin bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to get some air back into his lungs, and next thing he knew Giselle was back, her arm slipped around his waist, pulling him the rest of the way onto the beach.
“You shouldn’t . . . be . . . out here,” he sputtered. He tried to push her away, but she clung voraciously and dragged him out of the water. He had to be heavy on her. When they were out of the shore break, he went down on one knee.
She knelt with him, and he turned, for some reason, and kissed the top of her head.
He felt as if she were the one lost. Panic seized and froze his muscles for a second—as if he almost lost something he really wanted—although he was confused about what it was. He inhaled gulps of air and tried to speak, but it was too painful, so he simply snapped the water off his face and sat in the sand, knees up, dropping his head into his forearms.
Giselle leaned against him and wrapped her fingers around his arm. He thought she might be crying.
He had lost Jennifer. He’d let her down. But there were others in his life that he didn’t have to let down. It wasn’t a chain reaction. He could break the cycle, come back from the dead.
He leaned over and kissed the top of Giselle’s head again, then settled his hand over hers, pressing the turquoise ring between them.
He knew who he might start with.
• • •
The smell of chocolate and strong coffee mingled in the kitchen as they sat around the small table, mugs between their palms. Only Fox was still on his feet, pacing. He threw fiery glances around the room, as if he weren’t sure where he wanted them to land. Mostly they landed on Tamara, much to Giselle’s dismay.
“I still don’t understand what went on here,” he said.
Fin glanced up tiredly. “That’s enough, Fox.”
Giselle pressed her mug between her palms. They’d spent the last half hour getting Tamara warmed up and changed. Fin had given her an enormous sweatshirt and pajama bottoms that she clutched at her waist. While Fin warmed up in the shower and changed, Giselle searched for her underpants. She shuddered to think where or when they might turn up. For now, she returned to the kitchen and sat with Tamara, a blanket over her yellow skirt, warming her thighs and calves.
Her heartbeat had slowed, but still had not found its normal rhythm. Watching Fin and Tamara get swept farther and farther away was like witnessing death right before her eyes. She’d never been more terrified in her life.
Fox obviously felt the same way. He leaned against the kitchen pillar, his face ashen.
“What happened?” he asked again, exasperated that no one was ready to talk. He marched into the living room for the tenth time, studying the blanket on the couch, inspecting the broken lamp Tamara must have knocked over on her way out.
Fin moved into the kitchen and filled another novelty mug with water. “She thinks you’re cheating on her,” he finally said.
“Cheating on her?” Fox twisted toward Tamara. “Is that true?”
Tamara stared into her coffee—tired, weary, half-drowned, defeated, embarrassed, barely sober. The cuffs of Fin’s pajama bottoms swam around her bare feet. With her face scrubbed clean of her makeup and polish, she looked like the vulnerable human Giselle herself always felt like.
“You’re always leaving me.” Tamara’s voice was small and far away.
Fin walked the water back to Tamara with two aspirin. “You’re going to need this,” he muttered. “Sorry about the profanity on the mug.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Fox moved toward the table.
Fin slid quickly out of the way.
“I just . . . worry,” Tamara said.
The ocean sounded far away as the four of them huddled in the dining room, Tamara sniffling and Fox delivering apologetic kisses into her bangs. Giselle stole a glance at Fin. She couldn’t tell whether he was touched by the scene or relieved it was over. Mostly he looked grim.
“I don’t know whether to give you a medal of honor or beat you senseless,” Fox said to Fin, without any animosity. He drew Tamara closer to his chest.
“Don’t say that,” Tamara said, sniffling. She pulled away from Fox and turned toward Fin, her hand clenched at her waist to hold the pajamas up. “Thank you.” Her eyes became moist. “This was my fault, and you were . . . amazing.”
Fin blinked hastily. He started to
say something, but before he could, Tamara’s chair scraped across the floor, and she threw her arms around his neck.
Abruptly, she removed herself and faced her husband. “This is not Fin’s fault. I drank too much. I was going down to the water to be mopey, but I got caught up in that tide, and that damned water sucked me right out. And thank God for Fin.”
“What the hell were you doing, going into the water?” The veins swelled in Fox’s forehead. He turned toward Fin. “And where were you?”
“Don’t blame Fin,” Tamara reiterated. “I went outside because I was sad. I thought you were cheating on me because you keep having these late-night emergencies, and it seems suspicious. There was that one two weeks ago, when we got in that huge fight when you had to leave—”
“That was the Toyota thing,” Fox interjected.
“I know. But then there was that Thursday, when you were out until three, and—”
“We had that event with the regional medical offices, and the awards ceremony.” His voice was straining for patience. It was obvious this had been discussed ad nauseam between them.
“I know that’s what you said. But then there was last Wednesday, too, with Evangeline—”
“Tamara, I have to court these people.”
“I know, but you see this is a pattern on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and it just made me nervous. I thought tonight would be a good night to plan something with another couple, on a Wednesday, but then you—left—” Her face crumpled.
“Tam.” He wrapped his arms around her.
Fin stood stiffly, eyes averted, then cleared his throat.
“Fin, listen, I’m sorry,” Fox said. “You were—well, you were something out there. Really. But I saw this.” His hand swept across the living room and the broken lamp. “I didn’t know what to think. I thought of . . . Jennifer.”
Fin’s face turned to stone.
“But I know . . . I mean, I know you didn’t . . .” Fox glanced at Giselle.
“Drug her?” Fin spit out.
“Yes.”
Fin moved across the room and straightened the lamp with enough force to snap it in two.
Giselle felt something collapse inside her chest for Fin. Even those who believed him would bring Jennifer up again, unspoken thoughts hanging on tips of tongues, released when stress and pressure became too great. No wonder he wasn’t able to forgive himself.
Fox moved closer to Fin and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Hensen, I know this has been a hard year for you. And I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing to say.”
Fin nodded but didn’t turn around. He threw an errant blanket back on the couch.
“Fin is a hero,” Giselle announced. As soon as everyone turned to stare at her, she felt a wave of horror. She sounded like an idiot.
But Fin turned last and set her with a shocked stare.
“He saves these women, and cares about their safety,” she went on. She knew she sounded like a simpleton, or—at best—a groupie, but she wanted to make sure everyone saw the obvious. “He is more responsible than most men I know, and he takes on everyone else’s problems. But these are grown women. He’s not responsible for watching them.”
“I’ve been telling him that,” Tamara said. “Giselle’s right.” She turned toward Fox. “Fin isn’t responsible for babysitting me. I think you owe him a bigger apology.”
A strange understanding seemed to pass between the two men. Fox nodded, mollified, then offered a hand. Fin stared at it for a couple of seconds before shaking it.
Tamara walked over to pick up her purse, the pajama cuffs dragging behind her. “We should go.” She stood there looking like a vagrant who managed to have a great Gucci bag. Impulsively, Giselle rushed over and threw her arms around her. Tamara might be a little wild and crazy, but, for some reason, Giselle adored her.
Tamara laughed and leaned toward Giselle’s ear. “Hang on to that guy,” she whispered. “He’s got amazing arms.”
She slipped her fingers through the crook of her husband’s elbow. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get our sitter home, and then you can show me how glad you are that I’m alive.”
CHAPTER
Nineteen
Giselle watched Fin run his hand through his hair and stare at the place in the entryway just vacated by Fox and Tamara.
“Thank you,” he said over his shoulder. “For what you said.”
She stared at his back. “It’s important that you believe that, Fin.”
He nodded but didn’t turn around.
“You believe it, don’t you, that you’re a hero?”
“I think I have a hard time believing that.” He went out to the patio, where he quenched the tiki torches with a metal snuffer. The sliding door gave a quiet hiss as he came back in, then snapped off the floodlights. The sea went black.
“It’s how I feel about you,” she said quietly.
He studied the floor for a long time, then snapped off two more lights from the kitchen. “Do you want to stay?” He didn’t look at her.
Giselle swallowed. It would be strange to pick up where they left off. But she did want to stay. She wanted to hold him, actually. It was the same compulsion that made her throw her arms around Tamara. An acknowledgment that life was fragile, and that it could end for anyone, anytime. That when you found something worth hanging on to, you should hold on to it.
“Would it be weird?” she asked.
“I don’t know if the night got too crazy for you.”
“Was it too crazy for you?” she asked.
“Too crazy to have sex.” He turned off the coffeemaker and set the carafe in the sink, then turned and caught her expression. “Kidding.”
“Oh,” she said, as her heart resumed beating. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know. I . . .”
His low chuckle fell into the wooden floorboards. “I’m a guy, Giselle. Guys can always have sex.”
He planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the living room to see whether he’d turned everything off. “But you . . . I don’t know how this night felt for you. I don’t know if you want to stay. I don’t know if we were saved from ourselves, or what.” He gave her a strange look, then glanced over at the sliders again. “Damn, I should have closed that. I can’t believe I left it open.” He glared at it as if it were his new archenemy.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He moved toward it, as if to inspect the lock. “It even crossed my mind when we were in the bedroom. Not that—you know—not that my mind was wandering. I was pretty focused on what you were doing with your clothes. Or, you know, focused on where your clothes were going. But I should have come out here. If I weren’t so wrapped up . . .”
“Fin.” She stepped toward him. “You are not responsible for these women. And you’re not responsible for me, or what I decide to do. Or if I want to have casual sex or not. I am.”
His body seemed a shelter to her now, and she had a stab of courage that allowed her to step into it. She laid her hands on his chest, dragging them across his sweatshirt. She wanted to test the strength underneath. Feel its tautness. Feel the beating heart . . .
“Do you really see me as a hero?” he asked quietly.
“I do.”
“I don’t want to let you down.”
“You’re not.”
“Or Lia.” He frowned and shook his head, as if frustrated he couldn’t make his point. His hands remained on his hips.
Giselle would have to keep the momentum going for both of them. Her fingertips continued moving across his shirt. “Lia wants what’s best for me. And what’s best for me right now is you. And I’m a grown woman, and can make my own decision on this.”
He looked at her skeptically. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m not hurting.”
“. . . at how temporary this is, Gise
lle. I actually care about you. But I can’t stick around.”
“I understand.” Her hand made its way up his chest. It was as muscular as she’d imagined. “Fin, can you take this sweatshirt off? I’ve been wondering what—”
She didn’t even have time to finish the sentence. He yanked it off with amazing speed, the way he must do it when it was his turn for a set. And wow, he was stunning. A light came in from the hallway, hitting the tops of his shoulders and illuminating the side of his face and neck. His shoulders were hard and round, his skin a glorious color of sunshine. Giselle allowed herself a thorough sweep of his pectorals, his shoulders, his biceps, those abs.
She ran her finger along the ridge that formed between his shoulder muscle and his arm, the one she’d seen the first day she’d spotted him.
“You were wondering what?”
“What you looked like here.” Her heart was thundering. “What this . . . felt like . . .”
He frowned at the line she was tracing on his arm. “That’s it?”
She smiled, embarrassed.
He shrugged. “I guess that’s a start.”
Pulling her closer, he pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “When were you wondering that?”
“The first time I saw you.”
“In Rabbit’s apartment?”
She nodded.
“Really? I thought you weren’t paying any attention to me.”
“I was.” A heat rose up through her cheeks.
A chuckle rumbled in Fin’s throat. “I didn’t think women like you noticed guys like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A sophisticated, smart, doctor’s wife like you—I didn’t think you’d notice a beach bum.”
As he watched her reaction, his grin went from embarrassed to a little wolfish.
“I did,” she squeaked out, dropping her gaze.
The Red Bikini Page 24