by Tracy Bilen
I let the current pull me, using my hands to feel under the water for Zach. Nothing.
“Zach!” I know it’s pointless, but I scream his name over and over again. I dive down, opening my eyes under the water, but see nothing.
As I come up for air, I slam my head into a fallen log. With no chance to take a breath, I’m back under, inhaling water through my nose. I open my mouth from the shock and more water rushes in.
I feel like I’m stuck in my horrible oatmeal dream. So this is what it feels like to drown. I panic, kicking as hard as I can.
I break the surface, coughing, choking, gagging. I cling to the log and rest. I can’t do this anymore!
Yes, you can. You have to—Zach is running out of time.
I push off from the log and swim around it. I have to get back and help Mom. It’s too late for Zach. I’ve got to get back to Mom.
Another fallen tree blocks the river, but there’s something snagged on it. Zach’s handcuffs!
“Zach! Hold on, I’m coming!”
With every stroke, I strain to reach as far as I possibly can to get to him faster.
“Zach!” I shake him. He doesn’t answer. Damn it! How am I going to get him back to the shore? I can try to pull him up onto the log, but even if I manage to lift him, the log leads to the wrong side of the riverbank. I’m going to have to swim with him. Doubt nags at me. I’m a horrible swimmer.
Snap out of it, Sara. This isn’t gym class. This is Zach’s life. You can do it.
I try to pull him so that his hands will come free of the log, but I’m working against the current and trying to tread water. My strength is fading. I swing my feet to push off against the trunk. I try again.
Snap! Suddenly I have the full weight of Zach’s body in my arms. Water pours into my mouth and nose. We’re sinking. Down. Down. Down. With one hand wrapped around Zach, I kick my feet and try to swim upward.
Don’t let go. Need air. Don’t let go. Need air. Don’t. Let. Go.
It’s no use. I can’t swim and hold on to Zach. But I won’t let him go. I couldn’t save my brother but I can save Zach.
Buzzing. A fly? I’m losing it. I must be dying.
Don’t let go!
Kick!
Harder!
Adrenaline surges through my body and I make another push for the surface.
Air! Finally air! Coughing, choking. It doesn’t matter. Air!
Something bumps my arm.
“Sara! The ring.” It’s Alex’s voice, but quiet and raspy.
I have to get to Alex. I grab the life preserver and slide it under Zach’s head. I scoop with my left hand, pulling Zach along with my right, with a speed unlike any I’ve ever had in gym class. Kick. Scoop. Pull. Kick, kick, kick. Almost there. Scoop. Pull. Kick.
The shore. Kneeling on the bank, Alex reaches into the water and seizes my hand, bringing us closer. I grab a rock and scramble out of the water while Alex steadies the life preserver with Zach.
Alex slides an arm under one of Zach’s armpits and motions for me to do the same. Together, we draw Zach out of the water, laying him down on the muddy bank.
Damn it. His leg is bleeding.
Alex puts two fingers on the side of Zach’s neck. “He’s got a pulse,” he whispers. He bends down and puts his ear by Zach’s mouth. He shakes his head. “He’s not breathing.”
My stomach drops.
Come on, Zach, you can’t leave me.
Ninth-grade health class. All I can remember are plastic CPR dummies and the overpowering scent of bleach. I latch on to the memory of the smell, and I can feel myself back in the classroom, kneeling on the floor, leaning over the body …
Airway.
Head back, chin up, nose pinched.
Breathe. I touch Zach’s cool skin and feel the panic sliding around inside of me. I touch my lips to his and breathe. Tears prick my eyes. I don’t know what I’m doing. This isn’t working. Come on, Zach, come on. Again. You can’t die on me, Zach. You can’t.
Three.
It’s too late. This isn’t helping.
Four.
His body twitches. Coughs. Heaves.
Alex and I roll Zach to his side. Water gushes out. His eyes open.
“Zach!” I press my face against his cheek.
Alex takes off his shirt and ties it around Zach’s leg. “I’ll go get the camper,” Alex says.
Dread fills me. “But the keys … Dad …”
I can’t look at Dad’s body. There’s no way I can get the keys out of his pocket. If I don’t look, maybe it won’t be real.
“Got it covered,” says Alex softly, holding up a key chain labeled in Dad’s neat handwriting. He takes off running.
The camper rumbles to life and bounces its way through the dirt toward us. Alex jumps out of the cab, leaving the engine running and the door open. “Now comes the hard part,” he says.
As Alex carries Zach to the camper, I hold his leg to keep it from banging against the stairs. Zach groans in pain. I flinch, wishing there was something more I could do.
“Hold on,” I say, slamming the door shut with Zach and Alex inside. I climb into the cab of the camper, throw it in gear, and pull up to the door of the cabin. I race up the stairs, worry surging through my veins.
“Mom?”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyelids flutter. Alex scoops her up like he did Zach.
“I’ll ride back here with them,” I say. “Do you know how to get out of here?”
“We’ll soon find out,” Alex answers.
For once I’m glad that he drives fast.
In the hospital waiting room Alex wraps his arms around me and rocks me, holding on like he’ll never let go.
A hospital volunteer asks if there’s anything she can do for us. We tell her about Dad.
We also give her names to call, and one by one, people arrive. Zach’s parents first. I’m afraid they’ll hate me. Instead, they hug me and they say they wish they had known.
Zach’s mother holds my left hand and Alex my right. And this is how we wait.
Alex’s parents are there too. I like them. They look like people who linked pinkies in high school and never stopped being in love. And I can’t help thinking that maybe Alex and I will look like that someday.
Then Jay walks in and we cry in each other’s arms once again. This time I whisper, “I’m glad he picked you.”
For a moment he’s frozen. Then he holds me even closer. “Thanks,” he says. “Me too.”
Lauren buys me Ritz Bits from the vending machine. I can’t eat them, but she says to hold on to them for later.
I feel love all around me, here in this room. So different from being with Dad.
When the doctors walk in, hours later, I try to read their faces. But I can’t. The heavy scent of disinfectant clings to the walls and smothers me with fear.
“They’re …” The room spins and I squeeze Alex’s hand.
“… going to make it.”
The next day Mom and I watch The Winds of Change in her hospital room. Julia finally figures out the truth about Ramón. Mom says she’s done watching the show. She likes how Julia and her real husband are finally back together and happy. That’s the way she wants to remember them. I agree.
I sit right next to Mom, holding tightly to her hand, even though I know she’s not going anywhere. She’s thin, too thin. I didn’t see that at the cabin, but I see it now. The IV drips steadily into her, and I prod her to take a bite of the turkey sandwich that I’ve saved from her lunch plate.
She tugs at the sleeve of her hospital gown, trying to pull it over a bruise. “You’re not going home alone, are you?” Mom asks, looking worried.
“No. I’m staying with Jay and Lauren,” I say. “Until Grandma and Grandpa get here.”
She nods and smiles, and her eyes drift closed.
That night I have the oatmeal dream.
Only it’s not me who’s drowning.
It’s my dad. And I can’t save him.
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I wake up with tears on my pillow.
The cops have all been the very opposite of Jack Reynolds. No charges will be filed, they tell me.
Don’t worry, I almost say.
My heart is in its own prison.
A father should never have to bury his own son.
And a daughter should never have to do what I’ve done.
Every time I reach for something, I remember the feel of the gun.
Every time I close my eyes, I remember squeezing the trigger.
Every time I open them, I remember seeing you lying there, Dad.
I will never forget.
And my stupid, stupid, heart will never stop loving you.
I walk into Zach’s room. Lauren is there. Again. I see a sparkle in Zach’s eyes. The same one I see when Alex looks at me. I laugh as I finally get it.
“What? What’s so funny?” asks Lauren.
“Oh, nothing,” I say innocently. I turn to Zach. “When are you getting out of here?”
“This afternoon,” Zach and Lauren say together.
They both blush.
“And your mom?” asks Zach.
“She’s filling out the paperwork now.”
I say good-bye and head down to my mom’s room. The nurse helps me get her into the wheelchair, and I hand Mom a couple of plants to hold on her lap.
I wheel Mom down the hallway and out the automatic doors of the hospital. It’s cool out, but there’s a hint of sun in the sky. A train whistle blows and suddenly I’m five again and Matt and I are riding on a steam train, our heads sticking out the window, flakes of soot hitting our hair, laughing. Dad is there with us, happy too.
As the whistle fades I’m left here, but in my mind the train goes on, my brother and Dad riding together, and I wave good-bye.
Alex pulls up to the curb. He opens the door for Mom, and I help her in. As Alex walks back around to the driver’s side, I reach over and click her seat belt.
“You did what you had to do,” she whispers. “I only wish I could have done it for you.”
“I know,” I say. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I know you do. Let’s go home.”
Acknowledgments
I would like to give a huge thank-you to the following people:
My editor, Annette Pollert, who is incredibly supportive and amazes me with her attention to detail.
Anica Rissi, Guillian Helm, and the entire Simon Pulse team.
My agent, Kevan Lyon, who is an awesome cheerleader and who always gets right back to me.
Jill Marsal for the question that inspired a new direction for this book.
My SCBWI-MI mentor, Shutta Crum, for her wonderful suggestions and all the things she taught me.
John Snider and Rick McLatcher for answering my medical and police questions (any errors are mine, not theirs).
The many people who read drafts of this book, especially critique partners Kristin Lenz, Lisa Chottiner, and Gina Miller.
All my great friends at YA Fusion, the Apocalypsies, SCBWI-MI, GDRWA, and YARWA.
The writing teachers who inspired and encouraged me: Gloria Kempton, Mark Spencer, Joan Bartlett, Dee Burt, Carol Wyman, John Mohn, Dr. Richard Koch, and Dr. Carol Leventen.
Millie J. Ragosta, the author I met when I was a teen, who shared galleys of her books and other cool writer things with me.
The colleagues who answered my random questions in the halls and my students who were so supportive.
My “Library Mom,” Leona Harland.
My husband (who brought me snacks as I worked on edits) and my mom, who encouraged me along the way.
And my kids for understanding when Mom couldn’t play because she was working on her book!
About the Author
Tracy Bilen is a high school French and Spanish teacher. She lives in Michigan with her husband and two children.
