Gasp

by Lisa McMann

  “I’m fine, but do you have your rope you can throw us? She’s freezing.”

  Rowan shakes her head, agitated. “It’s with the lady on the board in a different boat.” She looks around and apparently sees Trey on the other side of her boat. She calls to him, and a second later I see his rope flying through the air to her. She catches it, holds one end, and tosses the other one my way. I swim out to reach it and do my best to tie it to Bridget’s life vest, but my fingers aren’t cooperating.

  It’s when I’m stringing the rope through a fluorescent green loop on the vest that I realize it. My heart stops.

  Bridget is wearing a life vest that looks exactly like mine.

  “Where did you get this life vest?” I scream, my voice hoarse.

  Bridget looks at me, scared. “The ferry was rolling onto its side and the guy made me take it. He said he could go back for another one.”

  I stare at her, my face in her face, and I have no words, only fear squeezing my lungs, suffocating me from inside my ribs.

  Someone starts pulling Bridget to the lifeboat, and I flounder in the water as all light disappears, paralyzed in the murk.

  I scream his name.

  Scream it again, louder than the voice of the storm.

  People in the boats stop to look at me.

  Rowan stands up, and I catch the look of terror on her face, eyes wide in a flash of lightning. She joins me in yelling. “Sawyer!”

  The woman from the first lifeboat yells for me too.

  And then a man’s voice.

  Trey’s voice.

  But Trey is screaming a different name.

  Forty-Six

  Our screams are drowned out by thunder and groaning and engines and blades.

  There are three full lifeboats and the one that got away. I don’t know how many of the twenty-seven victims we saved, and I don’t care. I am numb on the inside and hysterical on the outside.

  “Invincible!” I scream. “You said!” I cry. “You said you wouldn’t take it off!” But my voice is gone now.

  What feels like hours later, I am lifted by strong arms and wrapped in a towel and put on a surface that doesn’t move. We sit in a shadow. My sister holds my head and kisses it. Her tears drip on my tears.

  My brother isn’t screaming anymore on the outside. He leads us off the dock, away from the people. Even in our pain, we know we must be invisible. We escape cameras and paramedics and slip away to watch a helicopter shine a light on the water where a ferry used to be, searching for any signs of life. There are still people missing, the voices say over and over.

  After a while, the light goes out.

  We stare into the darkness, but there is no life out there.

  Hours later, there is nothing we can do here. A bus takes my brother and sister and me to Milwaukee, and we get inside the not-delivery car with shaky hands and bare feet. When our doors are closed, Trey inserts the key, lets his forehead drop to the steering wheel, and sobs. And I cannot console him, because I am sobbing too.

  And then we breathe, because we have to. And we hope, because there’s nothing else to do.

  We make a stop at Kate’s because we don’t have her phone number, tell her everything about the ferry disaster but not about the visions, and we let her decide what—and when—to tell Sawyer’s estranged parents. We exchange phone numbers in case one of us hears something. And there’s nothing we can do about Ben, whose mom and dad are in the Philippines visiting family.

  It’s well after midnight when we get home, and the lights are out. Rowan has taken care of Mom and Dad, bullshitting them about some major project we’re apparently helping Trey with so he can win a scholarship. And they, tired from work and happy to hear we’re so focused, have gone to sleep. We strip off our wet suits and dress in warm, dry clothes, and fall into bed, exhausted, phones in hands.

  • • •

  When I wake up with a start a little after five thirty, and then remember, the numbness inside of me is replaced by the most intense guilt, and I realize the extent of what I’ve done. Because I am responsible for this, too. I am responsible for all the world.

  I crawl out of bed and knock softly on Trey’s door, and then go in.

  He’s lying on his side in the dark, his face lit up by his phone, refreshing the news.

  I stand in front of him. He doesn’t look at me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say.

  His eyes twitch. His bottom lip quivers and then is still. Without a word, he opens up his arms, and I sit on the edge of his bed, and he holds me.

  After a minute, he sits up and rubs his bleary eyes. And then he sighs. “It’s not your fault.”

  I remain silent.

  “If they’re together, they’re alive,” he says after a while. “Ben is a lifeguard. Lifeguards don’t drown. Even if that’s not true, I have to believe it.”

  I swallow hard. I don’t know how anybody could have survived out there. “Ben has his phone, right?” I say. “Sawyer doesn’t.” He broke his promise, and now he doesn’t have his phone.

  “I think so.” Trey looks at me. “What about Tori?”

  I shrug. “I have a million texts from her. I haven’t even started to read them.”

  “But wouldn’t she know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Doesn’t the vision change as the thing happens? Didn’t you see body bags disappearing?”

  I blink. And then I’m calling her, unable to breathe.

  “Jules!” she says. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Tori, listen to me. How did the vision change at the end? How many dead?”

  “I texted you everything,” she says. “Only three bodies.”

  “Who were they?” My throat constricts. I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get an answer immediately.

  “I don’t know—everything was dark in the vision at the end. I could only see dark shapes under the water.”

  “Can you pull it up and look at it? Get a closer look?” I ask, but I know the answer already.

  “It’s over, Jules,” Tori says softly. “I can’t. It’s done.”

  Trey grips my hand.

  “Sawyer and Ben are . . . missing,” I say. “And I’m just wondering . . . do you think any of the bodies . . .”

  She is silent. In shock. “I don’t know. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

  I close my eyes. “Nothing. Just . . . send good thoughts. Or pray, or whatever you do.”

  She says something else comforting, but I don’t comprehend it. “I can’t talk right now,” I say. I hang up. I never want to talk to her again. And then I look up at Trey.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I say. “I’m just so sorry.” The word drags itself from my gravelly throat and comes out like an oath. “I’m so angry . . . at myself. What was I thinking? How could I drag everybody into this? What the hell is wrong with me, Trey?”

  He stares at a spot on the carpet for a long moment. And then he says, “You didn’t drag anybody into this. We came willingly, knowing what could happen. You aren’t in control of this thing.” He looks up. “So if you’re going to be mad at anybody, be mad at Dad. If he started it, then this is all his fault.”

  Forty-Seven

  We want to stay home from school and stare at our phones, waiting for word, but we’re already potentially in enough trouble. And really, if Sawyer or Ben calls, I have no problem barreling out of whatever class I’m in to answer him. So we go to school. By the time first hour is over, Sawyer and Ben have been missing for twelve hours.

  I hear a few people talking about the ferry wreck, but there’s no mention of Sawyer. People don’t know he’s missing . . . or possibly dead. And I don’t want them to know. Because today, this grief belongs to me. And I don’t want anybody infiltrating it with their fake-ass, disgusting bullshit.

  After psych, Mr. Polselli asks me if I’m feeling all right. I don’t want to cry, so I just nod and take off. At lunch Rowan sits with Trey and me at o
ur usual table. We all look haggard and feel worse. My body is sore and I have bruises in weird places.

  We can’t seem to stay off our phones, checking the news, checking Chicago social media reports, seeing if Kate has heard from Sawyer, and both Trey and I get yelled at more than once in sculpting class. We accomplish nothing.

  Trey checks the news once more in class and whispers, “There’s a press conference scheduled with some new information. Three bodies pulled from the water.”

  My stomach drops. Before I can reply, Ms. White, the art teacher, walks over to our table and holds out her hands. “Hand them over.”

  I look up at her and feel all the blood draining from my face. “Please, no. We’ll put them away, I promise.”

  “I’ve already asked you to put them away and you didn’t listen.” She sticks her hands closer. “Now, please.”

  Trey leans in. “We’re having a little family emergency,” he says in a soft voice. “I’m really sorry. You know we never do this otherwise. We’re just hoping for some . . . some news.”

  The teacher hesitates, most likely because we look so horrible today, and finally relents. “Inside your backpacks, then. Don’t let me see them again. You can check for news after class.”

  Phew. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry.” We put our phones in our respective backpacks and fake like we’re working on our vase projects as time slows down to a stop. I strain my ears, listening for my phone’s vibration, but I don’t hear anything. And I start to lose hope.

  After class, there’s nothing new. The press conference happens during last hour and reveals stuff we already know or suspected: The ferry was diverted because of the weather. On the way into the intended harbor, the ferry hit a sandbar, the engines cut, the pilot was injured, and the ferry smashed into a breakwall, which tore open the vessel. It began taking on water, and within forty minutes, the wreck had sunk. All but two passengers made it off the ferry. A third reportedly drowned while attempting rescue. They aren’t releasing the names of the victims yet because families haven’t been notified.

  We three meet up after school. “One of them on the ferry was that guy in first class,” Rowan says when Trey and I reach her locker. She shudders. “Ben said he was probably dead, and there was no time, so we had to leave him.”

  “So that’s one of the three. But none of us saw Sawyer jump. The girl, Bridget, said he went back for another life vest . . . so maybe he never made it out. And I saw Ben swimming far off the rear end of the ferry. That’s the last time anybody saw him. Could he be the third?”

  Neither responds.

  I want to die.

  I think I really am losing my mind.

  And speaking of that, I’ve put it off long enough. And I know what it’s time to do. “I’m going to talk to Dad,” I tell Trey and Rowan as we trudge to the car after school. “I don’t care anymore what they do to me.”

  Forty-Eight

  It was Food Truck Tuesday from eleven to one today at a nearby factory, which means Mom and Dad are home for a couple of hours to restock before heading out for the dinner hour. They’re sitting at the kitchen table when we get home, having coffee and looking over some early sketches—plans for the new restaurant. It’s still weird to see my dad acting like this. Like a normal human.

  Trey and Rowan decide to stick by me, so I guess this is kind of an intervention. I can’t even think right now. Part of me knows this is a bad idea, but I’m exhausted and sick and furious that my Sawyer is gone and my dad has done all these things to me, and I’m feeling reckless.

  We walk into the kitchen.

  Mom and Dad look up. “Oh, hi,” Mom says. “I thought you were our tomatoes being delivered.” She smiles. “How was school?”

  I stare at my dad. He looks nice today. His hair is smoothed back and his face looks healthy. Happy. My determination wavers.

  But then I remember Sawyer, and how he wouldn’t be dead right now if it weren’t for my dad.

  “I want to talk to you,” I say.

  My dad’s face slackens. He looks at Mom. “She’s pregnant,” he says. He looks back at me. “You’re pregnant?”

  I have never hated him more than at this moment. “No!” I say, and I feel like I have no control over anything that is happening in my head right now. “Don’t ask me that ever again!” My mouth screws up all weird and I fight hard not to cry.

  “Oh, honey.” Mom reaches out and touches my arm. She gives my dad a disapproving look, and he just sits there, probably trying to figure out why I’m falling apart. “He was kidding. Right, Antonio?”

  My dad nods. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny.”

  I don’t even know who he is anymore. Since when does my dad joke? Since our house and restaurant burned to the ground, apparently. I can feel Trey and Rowan behind me, giving me strength.

  I suck in a breath, trying to calm down. And then I say, “Can we talk about you and your, um, your . . . health problems? I want to know more about your depression and the hoarding and all that.”

  My dad leans back in his chair as if the questions threaten his personal space.

  “Like,” I continue, “I remember when it started—the hoarding—and I want to know why. I want you to tell me why it started. And if it’s weird or crazy sounding, don’t worry, just please tell me.”

  Mom frowns and lowers her gaze, turning slightly to look at my dad.

  And he’s got this strained, horrible look on his face, like I’m betraying him just by asking.

  I refuse to look away.

  Finally he nods toward Trey and Rowan and says in a low voice, “You told them?”

  I stare. “What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  He raises his voice a little, sounding stern now. “Did you tell them?”

  I’m confused. Does he already know he passed the vision curse to me? “You mean,” I say, my voice faltering, “about the visions?”

  He leans forward, an intense, questioning look on his face. “The what?” He looks at Mom and back at me. “The what?” he repeats.

  My lips part, then close again. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

  “You’re the one who has something to talk about,” he says. “I want to know if you told them. If they know what you told me. That day you quit the restaurant.”

  And it hits me like a ton of bricks. He thinks I told Trey and Rowan about his affair. I press my hand to my eyes. And my hand slides away and I look at him again, at the hurt in his eyes. “No, Dad,” I say softly. “That’s not my story to tell.”

  I can feel the awkwardness penetrating the back of my brain as Trey and Rowan shift on their feet. When the doorbell rings, Trey hastily pulls Rowan with him to answer it.

  Mom stands up. “That’s probably our farmer with the tomatoes,” she says like she’s relieved to be squeezing past me and following Trey and Rowan.

  When they’re gone, I shake my head. “I can’t believe this is what we’re talking about, Dad. Is that really it? Your affair? That’s what set off the hoarding and the depression? The years of us never knowing if we were going to come home to find that you killed yourself?”

  He looks at me, pain washing over his face, making him look old again. “Depression is a disease,” he says. “But the affair, the recipe that Fortuno stole—those things ruined my life.”

  I feel fury rising up so fast I can’t stop it. “No, Dad. You own those things. That stuff didn’t have to ruin your life. You just let it.”

  He takes it. And then he nods. “Maybe.”

  I let out a breath. “Okay.”

  He hesitates, and lowers his eyes. His big fingers lace together on the table and he taps his thumbs a few times. “So,” he says, “you’re seeing visions? What’s that about?”

  I stare at him. But before I can say anything, I hear the floor creak behind me, and my dad’s gaze flits to a spot over my shoulder. Dad’s eyes narrow the slightest bit, and then he frowns and says in rough voice, “What happened to you?
”

  I whirl around.

  Standing in the kitchen doorway is a boy.

  A boy with deep green eyes the color of the sea, and thick black lashes.

  A boy with matted-down hair, wearing strange clothes, and wrapped in a blanket.

  My lip quivers. “You’re not the tomatoes.” And when I throw myself into his arms, he collapses to the floor, and we lie there, sobbing together.

  Forty-Nine

  As my dad shakes his head and steps over us, apparently unconcerned, or mistaking our crying for laughter, Sawyer reaches up and holds my face with his cool hands and looks into my eyes. “Ben’s here too,” he rasps. His voice is gone.

  I roll off him and my eyes threaten to start crying all over again. “Are you okay?”

  He nods. “I am now.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, feeling heartless, but having to see for myself. I take off for the living room, where Trey and Ben are locked in an embrace that looks like it may never end. I wrap my arms around them both and kiss Ben on the cheek, and then I kiss Trey on the cheek too. And I have no words for how this feels right now.

  Rowan, the come-through champion, is somehow giving Mom an explanation of what’s happening. I have no idea if she’s making up some story or going with the truth here, and I don’t even care. I run back to Sawyer, who is still on the floor in the kitchen doorway. He smiles up at me through half-closed lids. He looks rough.

  “Let’s get you home to bed,” I say.

  “But I’m so tired. . . . I wanna sleep in your bed with you.” He slings an arm over his eyes. “Please?”

  “Um, somehow I don’t think that’s going to be okay with the parentals. How about the couch?”

  He nods and strains to get up.

  “Does Kate know you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, Trey just texted her for me. I don’t have my phone.” He starts crawling toward the living room.

  “I know you don’t have your phone, you big jerk. What happened to you promising not to take your stupid life vest off? We had a deal!”