by D. Brown
He’d be okay if he didn’t fall off his float, but the problem existed in that very big if, what if David fell off that float?
The undertow would suck him down; the ocean would swallow him whole, and not spit him out again until it was too late.
Just like Diane.
No.
Not going to happen.
Not this time.
Never had Maggie felt so helpless.
She saw David, and how innocent he looked riding his Sponge Bob float, but she was aware of the danger. He was caught in the undertow, and as long as he remained on the float, he was fine, but being carried away from shore.
What if he fell off, what then?
He could swim some.
He took lessons at the pool for the past two summers, but he was just 7-years old and so small when you looked at the enormous power of nature.
There was nothing she could do to help him but watch others try, and she hated that helpless feeling with a passion.
Robbie showed up at her side, “What’s wrong?
Maggie choked back the rising panic.
“Nothing’s wrong honey,” she said.
God, how Maggie wished that were true.
The pull of the undertow tugged at Sam’s legs, fought with them; drained them of their power.
Still, he kicked onward.
Get to David.
If I can get to David, I can hold him above water, we can ride the float out, and down beach until the tow lets go.
He closed the distance to less than twenty feet.
The undertow’s pull was subtle, but insistent.
“David!” he called out, stopping to tread water. “Hold on buddy! I’m coming to get you!”
“Sam!” David called back. “I can’t get in!”
Sam heard the fear in the boy’s voice.
A wave slapped at his side and the ocean momentarily swallowed him. Sam felt the undertow pull at his legs, and the muscles in his arms throbbed.
Ice-pick shards stabbed at his left shoulder.
He swallowed a mouthful of salt water.
For the first time, real fear squeezed Sam’s heart in a cold vise.
I’m in trouble too, he thought.
Maggie saw Sam disappear beneath the wave, and for a long moment, she couldn’t see him at all.
The realization hit her too.
Sam might drown.
The lifeguards struggled with the pitching surf and were making their way out to David, following his yellow Sponge Bob float. He was easy to spot. But they hadn’t seen Sam, and they were going so damned slow.
“Sam!” she cried out, and the terror in her voice was real.
The waves slapped at Sam’s arms and while he kept in decent shape, he couldn’t ignore the glaring fact that he was a 45 year-old man.
Men his age didn’t swim distances like this in water like this, especially with worn out left shoulders from years of throwing baseballs.
No, 45 year-old men, we sit on beach towels and watched the younger bucks do it.
His arms lost all tone, rubbery slabs of flesh clawing at the water. He kicked at the water’s grasp, fighting the pull of the undertow and pushed toward the surface.
C’mon Sam.
This is David.
Get him.
It never occurred to him he might not make it to David.
Not making it was never an option.
All that mattered to him was reaching the boy, and making sure he was all right.
No mother should ever have to bury her child.
He could not bear to imagine Maggie having to go through that.
Not David.
He’s just a kid.
He’s innocent.
Take me instead, he told the pull of the undertow.
Maggie saw Sam’s head emerge from behind the crest of the passing wave and a rush of relief washed over her.
Thank God, and said a silent prayer.
He was just a few yards from David and for the first time she allowed the fear to abate.
Sam would reach him.
David will be fine.
The rush of relief squeezed her throat and a mother’s sob snagged on a throat’s briar.
I can count on him.
He’s going to save my son.
Two strokes away, she saw Sam reach out for David’s float.
One stroke.
Then an unexpected pitching wave caught David’s Sponge Bob float broadside as Sam reached out for him. Sam grabbed David’s float and the slapping wave pitched them both over sideways, and they disappeared beneath the whitecap.
Maggie saw David’s float bob on the surface between the waves.
But no David.
And no Sam.
Maggie screamed.
Sam never saw the wave.
As he grabbed hold of the float, and David, the wave struck them both broadside and sent them both head over heels underwater.
He swallowed saltwater.
Pushing down on the convulsions wracking his chest Sam concentrated on one objective.
One only.
Hold on to David.
Damn you Sam, hold onto him.
Sam popped to the surface, but David’s weight pulled him back under as he gasped for air.
He swallowed more seawater.
Still, he held onto David’s arm.
He struggled back to the surface and found them both in the narrow valley between two waves within arm’s reach of David’s Sponge Bob inner tube.
Sam grabbed at the float and slipped it over David’s head.
“Hang on!”
He heard David whimper, which he took as both a good and bad sign. He had to get him out of the water and soon.
“Now, kick!” Sam barked and pushed David, and his float, into the grasp of the next wave. “Don’t let go of that float!”
“I won’t,” he heard David say, following instructions, wanting to do what he was supposed to do.
Just like the big boys.
Sam saw the wave carry David away from the grip of the undertow and in the direction of shore.
Another wave smacked Sam in the back, and pushed him under again. This time, the undertow’s grip did not let go, ready to make good on Sam’s offer to take him instead.
The force of the churning seawater shoved him downward and Sam did not know which end was up. He tried to push for the surface, but there was no kick left in his legs.
I’m not going to make it.
The team of lifeguards reached David and surrounded him. Maggie caught a sob of relief in her throat and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“What a doofus,” Robbie snorted, “Is he in trouble now.”
Maggie laughed, relief bubbling up from inside like champagne bubbles. She smacked her son on the arm and told him to hush.
“And what’s this I hear about you and this girl?”
“Nothing,” Robbie replied with a bashful smile, “She’s just a girl.”
“Nothing, that couldn’t have kept you from taking your brother fishing, Robbie. He looks up to you so much, you know.”
Robbie grimaced. “Mom, he’s just a kid.”
“Rob, he’s your brother, and he feels so left out sometimes.”
The lifeguards rode the line of waves in to shore. They lifted her son out of his Sponge Bob float and David ran to her, jumping into her arms, crying and scared, but otherwise okay.
“Thank you,” Maggie said over her son’s shoulders through sobs and tears and held on to him tight, never wanting to let go again. “Thank you so much.”
There followed a smattering of light applause from the crowd who witnessed the unfolding drama and gathered around the waterline to watch.
Maggie hugged her son tightly, thankful to have him back again.
David squirmed, “Mom, come on. Quit it. I’m not a baby.”
He wiggled out of his mother’s arms and looked up and down the water line for his familiar face.
“Where�
��s Sam?”
Maggie frowned.
Yes, where’s Sam?
When she saw the last two lifeguards pull Sam out of the water, she heard the gasp of a scream escape from somewhere among the crowd around her.
There was no life in his body.
He was limp.
Beyond soaked, he looked drowned.
His complexion assumed a pasty, waxy shade of gray, slowly turning blue. He looked like a marionette that had lost its puppeteer.
A horrific thought flashed suddenly through Maggie’s mind.
Sam’s dead.
It took Maggie a moment to realize the scream she heard was her own.
16
I’m not going to make it.
Sam heard this was what happened when you drowned.
There was no pain, very little fear.
No fear anyway, as a calm and resigned acceptance of the inevitable, a peaceful blanket wrapped him in a tranquil embrace, a mother’s hug.
At least the boy is safe.
Sam drifted in nothingness, floating, suspended in oblivion.
Aware these might be his last thoughts, Sam was surprised – as close to surprise as an oxygen-starved brain can be – to realize these last thoughts did not focus on his kids, his past life, or regrets of dreams unfulfilled.
His thoughts instead drifted to Maggie.
Maggie.
I’ll never get to know her.
I’ll never get to find out if what I feel for her is real.
A heavy sadness engulfed him.
I’ll never know.
As Sam’s world faded to white, an overwhelming sensation of regret flooded through him.
And a face.
Hers.
A name.
Hers as well.
Maggie.
17
My God, he’s dead.
That’s the first thought that flashed through Maggie’s mind when she saw Sam being pulled from the water.
Her scream was real, her horror genuine.
Devastation yawned before here, a bottomless pool of cold, black, death. Dread’s damp fingers slithered around her heart, sucked the warmth from her body.
She rushed to his side, but the circle of lifeguards blocked her path.
This is what someone looks like when they die.
Colorless complexion, pale gray pallor; eyelids slack, pupils unfocused; water seeping out of the corner of an open mouth; arms and legs jutting out at odd, unnatural angles.
Chest still – he’s not breathing.
Christ, he’s not breathing.
The lifeguard dropped to his knees and began administering CPR.
He’s just a college kid, Maggie.
This is nothing more than a summer job to him.
And he held Sam’s life in his hands.
“Wake up Sam,” she said in a quiet prayer. “Please wake up.”
David squeezed her hand and she realized her little boy was witness to this when he sniffed back the tears and said, “C’mon Sam. Wake up. We gotta go fishing. Wake up Sam.”
Maggie’s heart broke for her son.
Damn you Sam McKenna.
Don’t die on me.
Not here.
Not now.
Not in front of David.
Not like this.
I need you.
“I need you,” she said out loud, a barely discernible whisper.
The lifeguard cleared Sam’s breathing passage, working quickly, but methodically. He performed mouth to mouth, three quick breaths, then placing his ear next to Sam’s chest, listening for a heartbeat, and then repeated the process.
“C’mon old man, breathe,” he said and rolled Sam over on his side.
His arm flopped limply and Maggie stifled a gasp of horror.
David started to cry.
Sam dreamed.
He dreamed about Maggie.
He dreamed about Maggie and her husband, and the love in her eyes for him, the loyalty in her heart, and her words, which cut him to the core, “I love him, Sam. He is, after all, my husband.”
“But I love you. I can’t lose you.”
She regarded him with a curious look and then beamed when she looked up into the face of her husband.
“Oh Sam, you can’t lose me as I was never yours to lose.”
The pain . . .
It hid him like a sledgehammer in the chest.
Sam wretched and coughed up a mouthful of saltwater, which to Maggie, was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.
Color replaced the waxy gray pallor in Sam’s cheeks.
Muscle tone returned to his arms and legs.
Sam’s slack expression squeezed in a grimace and his cheeks flushed bright red as he gagged and coughed up a steady stream of seawater.
“Oh my God,” David screwed up a grimace of his own. “Sam, you puked.”
Maggie bubbled over with the laughter of relief, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hugged David tightly to her as Sam slowly sat up, rested his arms on his knees and held his head in his hands.
“Fuck me,” he croaked.
“Sam,” David scolded him, “You gotta go to a time out.”
Another smattering of applause broke out and this time Maggie clapped louder and harder than anyone else. She sobbed openly, relieved that Sam was all right, grateful for what he’d done to save her son, and overwhelmed by the raw swirl of emotions which raked across her mind and through her heart.
Fear.
Terror.
And another foreign emotion seeped through the cracks of her resolve, one that made her straighten up in surprise.
Desire.
“You all right old timer?” the lifeguard asked.
“His name is Sam,” David said and smiled when Sam gave him a tired wink.
“Yeah, I’m all right,” Sam coughed, spitting seawater and beach grit. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“All right, who kissed me?”
“Oh my God Sam, you kissed a guy,” David made the ‘yuck’ face. “Gross.”
Everyone laughed; a break in the spike of raw tension.
“I called 911, Sam,” the lifeguard said. “You might want to let them have a look. You were unconscious, and you swallowed a lot of water.”
“I’m fine,” Sam said and waved off the lifeguard, though his stomach still wanted to debate that point, “Just knocked me for a loop that’s all.”
He winked and held out a hand for a leg up, “You did a good thing. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
The lifeguard, he said his name was Kip, and a student at Georgia Southern, “You did a good thing too.”
Hands on his knees, Sam gulped down more air. He cleared his throat of ocean residue with another hacking cough and fought down the urge to vomit again.
His ribs hurt.
His arms and legs hurt.
Everywhere hurt.
“No,” he said, “I did a very stupid thing. You did a good thing.”
The crowd started to thin as the paramedics arrived and talked to Sam. They wanted to take him in for observation, 24 hours, nothing more, and he said no.
“I’m fine,” he said, “Really.”
The longer he was on his feet, the better he felt.
Sam signed off on refusing treatment, and the paramedics made their way back up the beach.
He fought vertigo, cold and soaked to the bone. Kip draped a wool blanket around his shoulders.
Sam turned and saw Maggie, and forced a weak smile.
Inside, his emotions bled raw.
Maggie threw pretense to the wind, ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, crying freely and hugging him tight.
Sam hugged her back – hugged her back hard, like he never wanted to let go again.
“Thank you,” Maggie whispered in his ear. “Thank you for caring about David.”
“I couldn’t let him go,” Sam said as everything now made sense.
He’d heard once how trau
matic times bred traumatic emotions.
This time proved no different.
“Jesus, I need a drink,” Sam croaked.
“I thought I lost you. I thought I lost you.”
Maggie’s composure crumbled like sand castles caught in the tide, unable to withstand the shards of fear gouging out her heart. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you understand?”
“I won’t,” Sam said and held her tight. “I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
Sam stepped back and looked into Maggie’s tear filled, but smiling eyes.
“I promise.”
“I thought I lost you.”
He looked around and over Maggie’s shoulder to see her three children standing there, tears in their own eyes, two of them relieved their brother was okay. They watched their mother hug a man who was not their father and say things she should only be saying to their father.
Sam wondered what they thought.
He wondered how they’d feel if they knew he was falling in love with their mother.
“I promise,” Sam whispered one more time into Maggie’s ear. “You’ll never lose me.”
18
“You hugged him mother,” Anna Beth said, and she was clearly not happy. “I saw the way you hugged him. What’s gotten into you anyway?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me,” Maggie replied.
She stood at the kitchen sink where she finished up the dishes from lunch, doing her best to keep her hands busy so they wouldn’t start shaking again, and to keep her back turned to her kids so they couldn’t see her tears.
She was crying.
Her hands shook all afternoon and with them she’s done nothing but cry, ever since she realized both David and Sam were all right.
She tried to pass it all off as no big thing. She had expressed gratitude to Sam for what he did for David, nothing more, but she didn’t sound convincing, and her daughter wasn’t buying any of it.
What’s happening to me?
She knew.
She tried to justify this as fall-out from today’s trauma.
She turned and looked at David who sat on the couch next to Robbie playing video games. Thankfully he was no worse for wear and too young to understand what almost happened out there, and I hope he understands I’m not letting him anywhere near the water for the rest of the time we’re down here, not unless I’m with him, and holding onto him for dear life.
