by Tara Sivec
Pulling an empty bag off of the middle shelf, he curses again as he throws the bag angrily against the wall.
“What the hell is going on, Bobby?” I ask nervously.
“When Fisher stopped by here this morning, he asked to borrow some scuba equipment. It was cloudy, but there weren’t any reports of a storm coming in,” he explains as he paces back and forth in the small kitchen. “He wanted to get in one last day of diving before the weather started turning bad. I told him I was too exhausted to go out with him and that he should give me a few hours to catch up on some sleep. He fucking knows better than to dive alone, that son of a bitch!”
My hand flies to my mouth and Ellie immediately comes up to me and pulls me into a hug.
“He probably didn’t go, Bobby. I’m sure he’s just holed up somewhere waiting out the storm,” Ellie explains.
“That bag is the one I keep filled with HIS equipment, Ellie. It was there this morning when he stopped by. I told him to let himself out because I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, and that I’d call him when I woke up. He must have taken it when I wasn’t looking.”
Ellie squeezes me tighter, still trying her best to convince us that Fisher is fine.
“It’s okay, there’s no way he would’ve gone diving in this storm,” she reassures me.
“If he was down under the water, he might not have known the storm was coming until he surfaced,” Bobby tells us.
“I drove by the dive hut and his truck wasn’t there. Would he have gone anywhere else? That’s where you guys always dive,” I tell him, my stomach churning with dread.
Bobby stops pacing and runs a hand through his hair. “He’s been a fucking downer and out of sorts all week. I told him I’d keep the entire afternoon open so he could take his time and enjoy the underwater scenery, clear his head. He mentioned something about wanting to dive somewhere different, somewhere that reminded him of you, whatever the fuck that means.”
There’s a light that guides all of us to where we’re meant to be.
I pull out of Ellie’s arms and race for the front door.
“LUCY! You can’t go back out in this storm,” she shouts.
“Lucy, just WAIT! I’ll go with you!” Bobby yells.
I ignore them both, moving as fast as I can through the storm, holding my arms over my face, battling the wind and the rain to get to Trip’s SUV.
The only reason I know I’m heading in the right direction is the beacon of light that circles around in the sky, shining bright even through the torrential downpour. I’m driving faster than I should, considering I can barely see a few feet in front of me. Trip’s SUV rocks from side to side with the force of the wind and bounces up and down along the gravel drive that takes me up to the lighthouse. The sight of Fisher’s truck parked about a quarter of a mile from the lighthouse, right in front of the walkway that leads to the beach, has me throwing open the door and racing to the driver’s side window. I peer inside, finding it empty, and I take off through the ankle-deep puddles, not even bothering to shield my face as the rain batters against my skin.
I scream Fisher’s name as loud as I can as I follow the walkway, running in between the giant rock formations. The water has moved so far inland that there is only about a hundred yards of beach left where there is usually at least three times that. I continue screaming for Fisher, but the wind blows the sound right back at me. The waves crash angrily onto the shore, one right after another, pounding against the sand like God himself has come down and is slamming his fist into the beach.
Shielding my eyes, I blink rapidly, trying to see through the rain hitting my face, but it’s no use. I can’t see anything beyond the waves. A shift in the wind switches the direction of the rain so that it’s beating against my back instead of my face and I can see a little more clearly. I try to hold my sopping wet hair away from my eyes as the wind whips it in every direction. Quickly scanning the beach, something not too far down catches my attention. My stomach drops and I take off running, falling to my knees in the wet sand. Resting in a puddle on the beach is a backpack and harness with the two air tanks packed inside. The same type of pack that Fisher wears when he dives.
Why would he do this? Why would he come out here, even if he didn’t know about the storm? He’s been diving all of his life, so he knows how dangerous it is out here by the lighthouse. The current is unpredictable near the rocks and there have been numerous accidents over the years involving people who chose to ignore the warnings because they wanted to see what was down at the bottom of the ocean near the lighthouse. He knows better, dammit!
The crashing waves inch closer and closer to me and I know I need to get off of this beach, but I can’t move. My body is frozen in place when something bright yellow tumbles around in the wild crest of the wave that just battered the beach. The object floats on top of the quickly advancing water as it ebbs towards me, getting lodging in the sand as the water leaves it behind and goes back out to sea. I crawl on all fours across the wet sand, tears and rain blurring my vision. I grab the yellow and black scuba fin from the sand, cradle it to my chest and scream as loud as I can at the angrily churning ocean.
Chapter 42
Fisher
Present Day
I know I shouldn’t be diving in this area, especially alone, but I needed to be here, needed to be somewhere that reminded me of Lucy since I can’t actually be with Lucy right now. I know she needs space to figure things out, but all this time away from her is killing me. How am I supposed to convince her that we’re meant to be together if I can’t touch her and kiss her and show her how much I love her? Sticking that note and picture in her mailbox first thing this morning was my last ditch effort.
The random, gurgling whoosh of my breathing apparatus forcing air into my lungs every few seconds is the only sound filling my ears at the bottom of the ocean. It’s calm and peaceful and, other than Lucy, it has always been the one thing that helps clear my head when I’m distracted or feeling uneasy. I love being down here, sharing space with nothing but fish and coral. I lost track of time as soon as I submerged myself, but going by the faint beep of the alarm on my tank signaling I only have about thirty minutes left of air, I’ve been down here for quite a while. Even though I’ve already gone through almost four tanks, I’m still not ready to surface. I don’t want to come up and deal with the reality that I’m still waiting for the woman I love to decide if I’m worth the risk. I want to be worth it to her, dammit.
Everything was going so perfectly. We got past so many hurdles that I never imagined anything else could possibly fuck it up. I’d been sneaking away from her every chance I got to work on our cottage, fixing the bedroom door I kicked open the day I lost my shit and Bobby helped me paint and move the furniture he’d put into storage for me after I went to rehab back into the house. I wanted to surprise Lucy, to drive her out to our home, get down on my knees and beg her to be my wife again. I wanted to give her the wedding rings I still carry everywhere and ask her to spend her life with me and to love me forever. I’d finally gotten everything finished the day she went to the beach with Ellie and fucking Melanie decided to spew her bullshit.
I should’ve spent more time talking to Lucy about what didn’t happen that night at Barney’s. I should’ve done everything in my power to reassure her that she has been the only woman for me since the first time I kissed her. No other woman could ever compare, and I wish she could see herself the way I do. I wish she could see how beautiful and perfect she is to me. When Ellie repeated the shit Melanie said to Lucy, it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever wanted to strangle a woman. Melanie, with her fake tits and fake hair and her feelings of entitlement about everything around her make her the ugliest person in the world to me.
The rage I turned on her erased that haughty look from her face for the first time in my memory. Melanie cried like a baby, but I didn’t feel a bit sorry for her. She’s gone through so many husbands that I don’t think she has any idea what true l
ove really is. I fucked her once in high school and the bitch is so convinced of her own appeal that she truly believed I was pining away for her ass almost fifteen years later. One drunken mistake last year that lasted less than five minutes was enough to convince her that I was ready for seconds. I told her in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t fuck her again if she were the last woman on earth. I reminded her that it’s ALWAYS been Lucy and it always will be, and I told her if she didn’t stay away from both of us, I would make her life more fucking miserable than it already is. She tried to apologize, but I told her to fuck off. She’d already done enough damage, and a few words of contrition weren’t going to fix anything.
Lucy made offhand comments about not being pretty enough or good enough for me when we were younger, but I never imagined she would still carry some of those insecurities to this day. I didn’t realize what happened at Barney’s would still be festering inside of her, just waiting for a chance to boil over and ruin everything we’d worked so hard to build. Why didn’t I spend more time explaining to her what was going through my head that night? We talked about it once and I foolishly thought that was enough. I should have known her better. I DO know her better, dammit, and I should have realized she’d need more from me. A woman who believes her man has cheated on her doesn’t get over something like that easily, no matter how many words of reassurance you throw at her. I should have held her face in my hands and looked into her eyes and told her NO ONE could ever make me forget the vows and promises I made to her. Even when I was half out of my mind with flashbacks and whiskey, the very thought of being inside another woman was enough to make me physically ill.
I also can’t let go of the betrayal I felt over Lucy going behind my back and talking to that fuck face ex of hers to make a deal to save the inn. Naturally, my father was the one to share that little tidbit with me when he found out through whatever investment grapevine he keeps his ear glued to. I don’t understand why she refuses to trust me or accept my assistance, but more than willing to put her faith in him and allow him to help her. All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect her and make sure she’s happy, why can’t she see that?
It’s being here, under the water, where everything is calm and beautiful, that helps me realize it’s all trivial bullshit in the grand scheme of things. I almost lost her forever. Do I really want to engage in a pissing contest with her ex? Does it even matter where the money comes from, as long as she gets what she wants? And what right do I have to bitch about her lack of trust, considering I served her with divorce papers and left her twisting in the wind for an entire year after I broke her fucking heart?
When the alarm on my tank starts beeping frantically, I set aside my thoughts and kick my legs through the water, beginning my assent up to the surface. The closer I get, the less calm the water becomes. I can see it churning angrily far above my head and I wonder what the hell has been happening up top since I’ve been down here. It takes a lot of extra effort to kick through the water and the current is so strong that it keeps trying to push me back down and twirl me around. I start to panic a little, realizing I don’t have much air left in my tank. Using every ounce of muscle I have in my body and with the help of the fins on my feet, I kick and practically claw my way to the surface, my head popping out of the water just as a giant wave crashes over top of me and pushes me back under. I tumble around, ass over end, and it takes me a few seconds to right myself and figure out which is up.
What the fuck is happening? I’m far enough away from the shore that there shouldn’t be any waves like that out here.
I kick off as hard as I can again and I’m prepared when I pop above the surface and another wave comes at me. I start swimming to shore as fast as I can, trying to stay on top of the waves instead of letting them overtake me and push me back under. The sky is almost pitch black above me and rain and wind batter the surface of the ocean all around me as I swim. I spit the regulator out of my mouth and grit my teeth, the muscles in my arms burning with each stroke I make through the swirling, angry water.
It takes me twice as long as normal to make it to the shore and when I do, I collapse face first into the sand, realizing I lost both of my fins somewhere in the water. The wind and rain beat so hard against me that it’s a struggle to even get up on all fours, especially with the heavy weight of my tank and harness system on my back. I quickly unbuckle myself from the pack and slip it off of me, letting it drop to the sand as I continue crawling across the beach, panting so hard that I almost can’t catch my breath. My legs and arms are screaming at me to take a break, but one look over my shoulder tells me I need to keep moving. I’ve never seen the ocean so crazy and I can’t believe I had no idea what was happening up here on the surface while I was down below.
Pushing myself up to my feet, I stay hunched over, covering my face as best as I can from the wind and the bruising rain to try and see where I’m going. Looking up, I notice the current pushed me a long way from where I parked my truck in front of the walkway to the beach. I’m not about to try and make a run for it when I’m closer to the lighthouse. Digging my feet into the sand, I move my body as fast as I can against the wind, finding the small walkway that will lead me right up to the door of the lighthouse.
It takes me several seconds of cursing and struggling to get the old, rusted door to open and when I do, the wind rips the doorknob out of my hand and slams the door against the side of the structure. I hustle inside, using my bodyweight to pull the door closed behind me before collapsing in a heap on the black and white checkered floor. I stay on my back, trying to catch my breath and staring up at the spiral staircase that winds around and around to the very top of the huge lighthouse. Trip and I retiled the floor years ago and added a heating system to the place in case tourists wanted to come out here in the off-season and look around, and I am more than thankful that this building is somewhat finished inside. The floor is smooth and dry and isn’t filled with puddles and there isn’t water dripping down on top of me like you’d have in some other, older lighthouses. We’ve reinforced this place as much as we could over the years and even with the howling wind and rain beating against the side of the building, I know it can withstand anything.
Panic starts to overwhelm me when it hits me that this is the start of a hurricane. I have no idea where Lucy is or if she’s safe. I don’t care what the hell it’s doing out there or how dangerous it is, I can’t stay here for more than a few minutes to take a breather. I have to get to my truck and get back to the other side of the island to Lucy. My wetsuit is starting to feel like it’s suffocating me, so I quickly unzip it and slide my arms out, pushing it off my body until I’m wearing nothing but my swim trunks. Within seconds, the motorized sound of the light turning at the top of the structure comes to a halt. The room is pitched into darkness, but thankfully, the back-up generator kicks on and the sconces on the wall flicker back to life, bathing the room in soft light. Unfortunately, the generator isn’t powerful enough to keep the heat going and my skin quickly chills. Thankfully, Trip is a romantic at heart and always makes sure there are a few clean blankets left on a small table by the door for couples that want to come out to the lighthouse, curl up together and enjoy the view. Grabbing one from the pile, I wrap it around myself, cupping my hands around my mouth and blowing warm air against my chilled fingers.
I hear something that sounds like a scream coming from outside and I stop rubbing my hands together to warm them up and strain my ears, listening harder, but all I hear is rain beating against the side of the lighthouse. I shake my head and pull the blanket tighter around my body.
I hear another scream, this one louder than before, almost like the wind carried it right here into the building. Stepping over my wet suit in a pile at my feet, I move towards the door, thinking there’s no way anyone else is out in this weather. If there’s someone out there as stupid as me, however, I can’t just stand here and not help them. I think about putting my wet suit back on to protect me from the elements, but
it would take me forever to get that thing back on my body. Another scream rips through the wind and the rain and whoever is out there sounds like they’re in a world of pain. I don’t have time to do anything other than toss the blanket from my shoulders, push open the door and race back out into the storm.
Chapter 43
Lucy
Present Day
I need to move. I need to get off this beach, but I can’t. My throat is raw from screaming into the wind and my face burns with the force of the rain pelting into me, and still, I don’t care. The tide gets closer and closer to me as I kneel here in the sand, screaming and crying and cursing the storm, but I don’t move. I want to be swept out into that ocean. I want to let the water take me out to sea and drown me in guilt in misery. The water rushes up around my legs as the brutal waves keep pounding against the surf and my knees sink deeper into the sand each time the water races away. My flimsy t-shirt is plastered to my skin, my sopping wet jeans are molded to my body and my hair flies around my face, whipping against my raw cheeks and stabbing into my eyes. I’m so cold from the wind and the rain and the biting ocean water that my body shakes and my muscles scream in pain.
I think I hear my name on the wind and I sob, hunching over, still clutching Fisher’s fin to my chest, squeezing it as hard as I can, wishing it was him in my arms and not some fucking piece of rubber. I angrily toss the fin into the ocean swirling around my legs and I lean forward, my hands sinking into the water and the mushy sand. I start crawling mindlessly into the surf as waves crash into my arms and chest. There’s nothing left in me to get up to my feet and walk. I crawl and I sob, smacking my hands down into the angry tide, dragging my knees through the water and sand, choking on my tears and the repeated splash of salt water against my mouth and nose.
I hear my name again, louder and filled with fear and I pause, staring down a giant wave headed right for me. I should stand up, I should run, but there isn’t time and I don’t care. Go ahead and swallow me up, go ahead and spit me out into the sea… I don’t care. I close my eyes and hear my name screamed with so much pain that it makes my already broken heart split off into even more pieces as the wave crashes over top of me. My hands and my knees are suddenly ripped away from the beach. My shoulder slams into the sand, my head scrapes against pebbles and seashells and I’m tumbled around and around, upside down and inside out as I swallow huge mouthfuls of water. I don’t even try to fight against the ocean, just allow my body to go limp and let it take me wherever it wants to go. I’m dizzy and I’m numb and I have no idea which way is up as my body continues to be tossed around like a rag doll. I automatically open my mouth to breathe when my chest gets tight and panic overwhelms me. Water fills my lungs instead of air and I start to thrash against the pain in my chest. My brain is still fighting to live even though my heart wants nothing more than to die.
