Summer Girl

by A. S. Green

  I come up to grab a breath, then push again. This time—thankfully—she disappears. There is nothing above me.

  I resurface to find Lucy cowering on the rock, too weak even to shake the water out of her fur. How long had she been in here? Her legs splay wide, keeping her low to the ground. Her coat clings to her body, making her look thin and spindly in the fading light. Sam makes low, comforting sounds in his throat, all the while licking her muzzle over and over and over. His tail wags excitedly.

  Relieved and feeling a bit triumphant, I throw one arm up on the slab and grasp a six-inch sapling that’s growing out of a fault line in the rock. It has no business growing there, but I’m not going to complain. It bends over as I try to pull myself up, and all I manage to do is strip its leaves before I drop back into the water. I try again, but my feet—just like Lucy’s before me—search uselessly for purchase, any nook or cranny in the underwater cliff face that I can use as a foothold. My hands slip sideways in the algae.

  “Lu!” I say, but my voice comes out like a huff. I look left and right while my arms and legs churn the water.

  Once more, I throw one arm up on the rock and try to drag myself out. My hands slip again on the algae, and I slide back down.

  My strength is waning quickly with the cold. It’s all I can do to get my chin above the rock. I have a moment of hope before a rogue wave crashes over me. It drags my body under and spins me around. My arms and legs kick and pull at the water, but I don’t know which way is up.

  Another punishing surge tosses me against the rock wall. I crack my forehead on a sharp point. Pain shoots through me, blinding me. The shock makes me suck in my breath, and my lungs fill with water. My muscles seize. Oh, God. I can’t breathe. I’m going to drown!

  Another wave engulfs me, pulling me down. I kick for the surface, uncertain where it is. My mind darkens. I’m going to pass out. Then, mercifully, another wave thrusts me to the surface.

  I cough and gag, tipping my head back, gasping at the air until I have the breath to scream for help.

  Sam barks. I think, Yes. Bennet. Come look for your dog. I listen for voices. There’s nothing—nothing but the sound of wind and an errant crow calling from a treetop. To make matters worse, Sam and Lucy run away.

  “No!” I gasp. “Come back! Please! Come back!” It’s not that I think they can help. I just don’t want to be alone. “Help! S-s-someone!” I yell, but my voice isn’t strong enough to carry anymore.

  My body revolts against the cold—shaking me into spasms as the numbness wicks up my body. My limbs are heavy and impossible to locate. Even as I try to tread water, my body sinks lower. I tip my head back, face to the air. My vision distorts; my ears ring with a strange tinniness.

  This is it for me. I have nothing left to give. This is how it ends. It’s over. The water laps over my face once, then again. Only the tip of my nose breaks the surface, then not even that.

  There’s no panic left in me as my hand slips lower and lower down the face of the rock. I’m too exhausted. Instead, it’s a strangely smooth sensation, like being pulled slowly from below, like ribbon from a spool. Mom, I think as the sky disappears. It’s not a name, or a face, but a concept. A last thought.

  A dark shape robs me of the fading light. I cry out for it, and the water rushes into my lungs. My eyelids close just as I am suddenly yanked upward.

  “Dammit!” a low voice exclaims amid the sounds of dogs barking.

  Hands catch me by the elbow. Both the rescuer and I are like disembodied parts—arms, feet, elbows, and chattering teeth. Fingers grip me by my belt loops and drag me out of the water, depositing me on the rock like a beached seal, wet and covered in grit. There is pressure on my chest and water spews out of my lungs like a fountain.

  A curse word. There’s a rush of air. Something warm and soft envelopes me, then a weight presses me into the rock, rubbing my arms vigorously. My heart beats unevenly in my chest.

  “L-Lucy fell in,” I say. I can’t open my eyes, but I don’t want the voice to be mad. I need to explain. “S-s-save her. Is sh-she all r-r-r-ight?”

  “Lucy?” asks the voice, which still sounds rough and course, like gravel underfoot. “What about you?”

  “I-I’m o-okay.” My body convulses, so out of control I still can’t open my eyes no matter how hard I try.

  “You’re not,” the voice croaks out, still rubbing my arms. Blood sizzles through my veins like cold water on a hot skillet.

  “What were you thinking?” The voice is still angry.

  I have a sense of people arriving. More people. Other voices murmuring several paces away. Arms scoop me up and carry me slowly across the rock. There’s the presence of someone else nearby and something dry and scratchy falls onto my chest, followed by something smaller but weightier.

  “Don’t do that again,” the voice pleads. I still can’t manage to open my eyes to look at the face, but I imagine the expression is hard. Strong arms flex around me, and I am safe. So very safe. It’s over. I’m tired. I want to sleep. Just let me—

  Then the rain comes down, and everything goes dark.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bennet

  The first drops of rain are a hundred knifepoints to my overheated skin. Every sound is a jackhammer in my ears. My nerves are guitar strings ready to snap. I take a deep breath and realize I’d been inadvertently starving myself of oxygen.

  Katherine lies limp in my arms, more closely resembling a load of wet laundry than a human being. Keeping my hand behind her head, I lay her gently onto the seat of my truck while Doyle and Natalie lift Lucy into the truck bed. Sam jumps in after Lu and instinctively lies over the top of her. He whines softly.

  “Do you think she needs a doctor?” I ask Doyle. There’s no one on the island. We’d have to get her to New Porte.

  “Get her home,” Doyle says, his voice rough and somber. “Get her warm. She’s tired, but she’s conscious and talking some. Should be fine. Still…I’ll put a call in to Doctor Tom. Just to make sure.”

  I jerk my chin in agreement. The seat springs groan as I climb in, and I lift Katherine’s head to rest it in my lap. Her muscles spasm in violent shakes and shudders. The three middle fingers on my left hand grip the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten and threaten to break through the skin. With my right hand, I turn the key and blast the heater. I give Doyle and Natalie a nod when I drive away.

  Ten minutes later, I’ve got Katherine and the dogs inside the lighthouse. The bath is running. Steam rises from the tub. Katherine still seems oblivious to everything, most of all me.

  I had to carry her from the truck to the house, and now she is standing in her bedroom as if catatonic. “D’Arcy, you have to get into the tub and warm up.”

  She doesn’t react. She doesn’t move. In resignation, I undo the buttons on her blouse then pull it off her shoulders. She lets me, which says more than words ever could and frankly scares me to death. How bad is she that she’s letting me do this? Maybe I should be calling a doctor. I unbutton her soaked jeans and—with my eyes closed—peel them down her legs.

  A couple times my eyes flicker open, catching the line of her back as it dips in at her waist then curves around the flare of her hip. Her hair is still in that tight ponytail and it hangs like a rope down her spine.

  “Get in the tub,” I say softly, averting my eyes. I turn off the tap. “Can you hear me? Warm up. I’ll step out of the room.”

  Finally she responds, but she moves robotically, as if in a trance. She unclasps her Green Lantern bra and lets it drop to the floor. My stomach drops with it, so I leave quickly.

  Thunder rumbles, shaking the foundation of the house, and the floor lamps tremble. I take a seat in the corner of the couch and throw my sweatshirt over the back to dry.

  Lucy climbs up next to me, her limbs moving stiffly, as if she’s aged ten dog years. Sam lays his head in my lap and looks up at me like there is something more I should be doing for them.

  There’s a stack
of clean towels folded neat and precise on a kitchen chair, so I grab a couple. When I get back to the couch, Sam has taken over my spot and is curled up by Lucy. I wrap the towels around her and rub until her muscles start to loosen and she stretches herself out.

  “They’ll be all right, boy,” I say, stroking the groove in Sam’s skull.

  A pen and a pad of paper are lying on the coffee table—tidy, perfectly parallel to its edge. I stare at them for just a second before I reach forward. I take them to the kitchen where I write my heart onto the page, self-medicating again with words like fear and loss; deep and fathom and submerged; too many exclamation points; and too many words bolded in the retracing of strokes until the pen breaks through the paper, and I find myself holding my breath once more.

  How could she have been so reckless? Did she even think to go get help, or did she just jump right in after Lucy? What kind of an idiot goes into this water alone? There’s a reason they say Lake Superior doesn’t give up its dead. Hasn’t she heard the expression before?

  Thank God. That’s all I can think. Thank God for the dogs. Thank God I thought to check things out. If I hadn’t, would she have ever been found? The possibility leaves my heart raw. And I barely know her. I barely know her! How is this happening?

  I draw a curved line across the top of the paper, realizing a second later that it’s the exact line of Katherine’s body—her shoulder and ribs, her waist and hip, the length of her leg. Drawn horizontally like that, it resembles the hilly topography of Turtle Island across the lake. I imagine how this line would look lying across my bed, my fingers running the length of it, until my stomach knots.

  Katherine pulls the plug from the drain, and the sound of the water breaks me out of my thoughts. I exhale and lay the pen down. There’s the pad of footsteps across the bedroom floor. The bed creaks. She doesn’t call out to see if I’m still here. Maybe she’s so out of it she’s forgotten I ever was. But she’s safe. And she’s warm. And that’s all that matters.

  I fold the sheets of paper into a thick square and shove them into my pocket. She has recovered. I’ll wait until she falls asleep, then I’ll do the same.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Katherine

  I dream of sound and vibration: car doors opening on creaking hinges, the weight of bodies on weak-springed seats, a radio not quite in tune, the rumble and bounce of tires on a rutted road, and warmth. Beautiful, heavenly warmth.

  I wake to blistering rain against my window and a soft knocking on my bedroom door. A woman’s voice asks, “You up?”

  I roll over and try to remember where I am. There’s a Girls of the Ivy League calendar hanging on the wall. My blouse and jeans are crumpled into balls on the floor. A discarded pair of underwear and my bra lead toward the bathroom. I don’t see my cardigan and— Ohhh… Oh my gosh, my head is killing me.

  I put my hand to my forehead and find a knot that’s the size of a golf ball. Lucy is curled at my feet. She lifts her head wearily. Slowly, I remember that I’m lucky to be alive.

  The knock comes again. “Kate?”

  I push myself up onto my elbows. The blanket falls off my shoulders, and I realize I’m naked. What the—?

  “Kate, it’s me. Natalie. Are you decent?”

  “Um. Give me a second.” I crawl out of the blankets and throw on my robe. When I open the door, Natalie is standing there, looking incredibly sympathetic and very wet.

  Her eyes scan my face. “Rough night, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my hand going to the lump on my head.

  “I got back from mass and there was a call that you needed some checking in on.” She steps into my bedroom, looking around, and I back up. “That ferryboat driver of yours—”

  I sit down on the bed, suddenly woozy. “Would you stop it? He’s not mine.”

  “Whatever.” She crosses the room, picks up a bath towel from the floor and lays it across the upholstered chair before plopping down on the seat. I twist my body to look at her. She’s grinning at me. “He might not be so bad after all. Apparently after he got you in the tub, he stayed with you all night.”

  “He did?” Shit. I get all the way up on the bed so I can face her. So many questions. What happened last night? How is it I woke up naked? But I’m afraid I don’t want the answers. I don’t remember getting undressed. Someone did that for me. Instinctively, I pull my robe tighter around me.

  “Yeah, but he had to leave for work early this morning. Doyle called Doc on the mainland last night. He said you’d be okay, but that you shouldn’t be left alone. Bennet asked me to check on you.”

  This knowledge makes me sit up taller against my pillows. To know that he cares…that he’s been worried about me…well, even if I have to hate him for stripping me naked, it still does something for me.

  Natalie crosses her legs, letting her foot bob. “When I didn’t get back to him right away with an update, he called two more times, totally pissed off about my”—she makes air quotes—“‘lack of urgency.’”

  Well, that was rude of him. He didn’t need to make Natalie feel bad. Though, if I’m reading her correctly, she looks more amused than anything else.

  “The guy is tearing his hair out being trapped on the lake not knowing, so I thought I’d better cut him some slack before he had a stroke or something.”

  “If he’s so worried, why didn’t he just call me himself?”

  She shakes her head. “There’s not much for service out there so they use a ship-to-shore radio to connect with the Coast Guard office. That’s who actually got the message to me. Oh, and here’s your cell phone.” She reaches into her back pocket and tosses it onto the bed. “You left it on the table when you walked out of Paddy’s. Alli picked it up and asked me to get it back to you.”

  I pick it up and check it over. It looks fine. Lucy sighs and hops off the bed. She walks stiffly into the kitchen to see if there’s anything left in her bowl from yesterday. “You should follow Lucy’s cue. Y’know, make yourself a nice hot cup of tea,” Natalie says.

  “I’m more of a hot chocolate girl.”

  She shrugs and picks at the stuffing coming out of the chair’s arm. “Suit yourself. Pretty impressive what you did for Lucy last night. Good thing Ferry Ben was there to rescue you.”

  “Don’t call him that. And I hate being the damsel in distress.” The very idea makes me grouchy.

  “I’d hardly call you that,” she says on a laugh. “Maybe it’s that superhero underwear you’re partial to.”

  My eyes dart toward the discarded pair on the floor. I look back at Natalie, and she’s grinning.

  “Anyway. Like I said,” she continues, “people are calling you the town hero for what you did for Lucy.”

  I shake my head and look down at my lap, then out toward the kitchen. The bowl must be empty. Lucy’s pushing it across the floor. “It’s what anyone would have done, though probably more gracefully.” The knot on my head gives a little throb.

  “Anyone ’round here might have risked their lives for Lu. Maybe. But definitely not what anyone would expect from a summer girl. If you think you’re doing okay, I’m going to go back to town. Tell the coast guard to call the ferry. Best I let Bennet know you’re alive before he tears me a new one. So…you are feeling better, right?”

  “Surprisingly so. Thanks.”

  “Righteous.” She gets to her feet and walks around the foot of the bed toward the door. “Guess I gotta go back out there.” She looks miserably at the rain-sheeted window. “Oh, I almost forgot! I’ve promoted you from Tater Tot hotdish to the planning committee for Summer Fest.”

  This news brightens my outlook considerably, and I lift my head. If I have a project to keep me busy, this summer will be over in a heartbeat. “Seriously? Because I’ve actually been thinking about it, and I have some ideas.”

  “Like what?” she asks, her interest piqued.

  I swing my legs around so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. “Like togas and Irish bands don’t have
anything to do with each other. You need to come up with a theme, and a better name, too. Summer Fest is too generic.”

  Natalie’s mouth purses with skepticism. “Yeah, well, islanders aren’t great with change, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Can you do without the togas?” I ask.

  “No, they stay. Weird as it is, that’s been the tradition since the sixties.”

  “Okay,” I say, wrestling with a Plan B. “Then can you build a theme around the togas? Do a Greek night. Togas are actually Roman,” I say, but mostly to myself. “Still…most people don’t know that, so you could call it Summer Fest: A Night at the Acropolis. Ditch the Irish band and put together a party playlist. Use the money you save on the band to cater in Greek food.”

  “People expect a fish fry.” Natalie crosses her arms, but I can tell she’s not totally dismissing my ideas.

  “So keep the fish,” I say, holding my impatience in check. “They eat fish in Greece, but we could serve baklava and spanakopita, too.”

  “Spana—”

  I get on my feet and put my hands on Natalie’s shoulders. “Trust me on this. We could decorate with blue and white and serve special cocktails like Aphrodite Punch, and you could have a special drink for the kids. Call it a Rockin’ Sockin’ Socrates. We could even sell drink tickets that look like Drachmas.”

  “Whoa,” she says with a laugh. “Slow down, Summer Girl.”

  “Do you want this to be the best Summer Fest ever?” I ask, letting go of her shoulders and stepping back. It’s a loaded question. She’s already told me that’s exactly what she wants.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then will you let me help you?”

  She hesitates for a second then asks, “Can we call the field in front of the barn the Elysian Fields and make people cross the River Styx to get into the barn?”

  A broad smile spreads across my face. “I think that sounds perfect.”