by Sophia Renny
The tide was low, and the wind was strong and cold on Saturday morning. The abrupt change in temperature from warm to almost frigid belied the fact that summer was just around the corner. Willa kept her hands buried in the pockets of her windbreaker as she hurried along the beach. A few brave kitesurfers in wetsuits skidded across the water along the south shore, but the beach itself was empty.
She’d had a late start this morning; it was almost ten o’clock. Collette had come over for coffee and to inform Willa that she wouldn’t be around for the rest of the weekend; she was taking her mother to Foxwoods casino in Connecticut and wouldn’t be back until late Sunday night.
“We’ve been doing this every Mother’s Day for years,” Collette explained. “You’re going to be around here today, right?”
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
“Good. I’m expecting a package that needs a signature. The UPS guy usually delivers before noon. I’ll put a note on my door for him to bring it to you.”
Willa hadn’t been paying attention to the calendar and had forgotten that the next day was Mother’s Day. Her mood was somber as she walked along the beach, her eyes scanning the horizon for any stranded horseshoe crabs. Her thoughts were full of her mother.
Sometimes she wondered how different her life might have been if her mother hadn’t died. She remembered observing fierce arguments between her parents when she was just a toddler. Her mother had been determined that Willa have as normal a childhood as possible. She’d stood firm against her husband’s tirades and demands. Louisa Cochrane had been a strong, proud woman. But she hadn’t been strong enough to overcome the cancer that had taken her away from Willa far too soon.
There was no grave to visit; her mother had been cremated, her ashes strewn into the sea off the coast of Carmel. Louisa had always loved the ocean; some of Willa’s happiest memories were of she and her mother frolicking in the waves and building sandcastles.
Sometimes she felt her mother’s presence during these morning walks, here, close to the ocean that they both loved.
What would her mother have told her to do about Joe? Would she have pushed Willa to follow her heart, even if it meant breaking someone else’s? Or would she have advised Willa to back off, to let Joe make his own choice and to be content with whatever that choice might be?
There were no answers to be found today. The wind blew carelessly; small waves splashed heedlessly against the shore.
Willa found one horseshoe crab caught between some rocks below the park, another pushed up against a wood piling on the north shore. She thought that was it until she spotted a dark object lying on the sandbar, about halfway towards the point.
She didn’t like walking on the sandbar when it was this windy, so she picked up her pace, accelerating to a jog as the wind whipped her hair around her face and tugged at the thin material of her jacket.
The crab’s tail moved up and down as she drew closer. Good. It was still alive. Without stopping to catch her breath, she bent over, picked it up and took the few short steps to the water’s edge. But as she leaned over to set the crab down, a fierce gust of wind from the north shoved against her back, as powerful as if someone had struck her with a heavy blow.
Willa took a jarring step forward, her right foot sinking down at an awkward angle in the bank of the sandbar. She thought her footing was secure, but the incline was steeper than she realized, and she was thrown off balance. She dropped the crab into the water and leaned backwards, thinking she’d be able to plop down in the sand. But another gust of wind thrust her forward.
She gave a panicked shout, her arms flailing. Fear, sharp and clawing, assaulted her as she found herself tumbling headfirst into the water. She opened her eyes, stretched out her arms, hands scrabbling for the sandbar, but there was only water in front of her, murky and dark. A few feet below the surface, the temperature still felt winter cold, chilling her instantly to the bone.
She twisted her torso around, using her legs to propel her up to the surface. She sucked in air as soon as her head broke the surface. Her eyes darted frantically about her. She was a good four feet away from the sandbar. She kicked into a breaststroke towards it, stretching out her hands until her fingers just grazed the solid sand, but a sudden, strong current pulled her back and under.
Oh, my God, she thought wildly. She was going to drown. There was no one on the beach. No one had seen her fall in. Her thoughts raced as fast as her heart. Think, Willa. Use your head. Maybe she could try swimming towards the rocks on the south shore. Was the current pulling in that direction?
She reached for every ounce of strength she had, kicking her legs, moving her arms, propelling herself upwards and forward. This time when her head broke the surface, she thought she saw someone running across the beach towards the sandbar.
She brought one arm up, waving frantically. “Help!” she screamed.
The current pulled at her, drawing her down. “No,” she wailed, fighting against it.
“Willa!”
Joe?
It was Joe, running down the sandbar towards her. He was shouting something, but she couldn’t make out his words above the wind and the waves. She kicked faster, trying to swim towards him.
The water seemed to be sucking at her, dragging her under. Her waterlogged clothes and shoes were weighing her down. Her limbs, now numb with cold, were weakening. She kept her eyes latched on Joe, desperately trying to comprehend what he was telling her. When he was parallel to her position in the water, he hurtled down the incline until the water was up to his thighs. He leaned forward, stretching out his arms.
“Willa,” he said, his voice strong and even, revealing none of the panic that was clear in his eyes, eyes that were dark and wide against his ashen face. “Willa, hold out your hands towards me. Come on, honey, you can do it.”
She stretched her arms forward, kicked and kicked. She felt a rush of relief as her body seemed to move closer to his outstretched arms. She held her right hand above the water, reaching towards him. Her fingers scarcely brushed against his before she felt herself being sucked back and under again.
“No!” he shouted. And a firm, strong hand grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her forward. The top of her head rammed against his stomach with the momentum. His hands grasped her under her armpits, heaving her up and forward at the same time until she found herself sprawled limply across his body where he lay against the side of the sandbar.
“I’ve got you, Willa,” he said. Then, with both hands gripping her around the waist, he heaved her up onto the top of the sandbar. Letting her go, he crawled up after her.
Willa was coughing and shaking at the same time. She tried to raise herself to her knees, but her limbs wouldn’t support her. She collapsed onto her stomach on the sand, her fingers digging into the grains. She felt an overwhelming rush of relief as it struck her that she was back on land. She was safe.
She had almost drowned.
If Joe hadn’t been there…
His arms came around her, lifting her up. He was sitting upright, legs splayed in front of him. He brought her onto his lap, hugging her tightly against his chest, one hand at her head, the other wrapped around her waist. He bent forward, pressing his cheek against her temple.
“God. Willa,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You could’ve drowned. I almost lost you.”
“T-thank you for rescuing m-me,” she whispered back, still in a state of shock.
His chest heaved up and down with the rapid force of his breathing. His embrace tightened. “If I hadn’t been here…”
“W-what were you d-doing here?” By now, her teeth were chattering so badly she could barely get the words out.
“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered darkly to himself. “You’re freezing. We need to get you warm. Fast.”
With effortless strength, he rose to his feet, bringing her with him. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around her waist as he half carried, half walked her towards the park. Her water
logged shoes dragged in the sand, and her body felt heavy and lethargic.
Once they reached the solid ground of the grassy park, Joe hoisted her into his arms and jogged towards his truck. He yanked open the passenger door, set her on the seat and slammed the door. Then he raced around to the driver’s side. He cranked up the heater as soon as he turned the key in the ignition.
The drive to her place took less than five minutes. Joe brought the truck to a skidding halt next to the garage. Willa’s body was shaking so hard by this time that she was scarcely aware of him pulling her back into his arms and carrying her up the stairs to her apartment.
She’d left the front door unlocked, and he flung it open, kicking it shut behind him. “Where’s the bathroom?” he muttered, already striding across the living room and down the hallway that led towards the bathroom and her bedroom.
Once inside the bathroom, he set her down on the closed toilet lid. He swept aside the shower curtain and turned on the water, twisting the knobs and testing the temperature. Then he turned towards her, his expression grim with authority.
“Take off your clothes.”
Chapter Ten
Willa blinked slowly up at him. “W-what?”
“You need to take off your clothes and get in the shower. Now.”
The logical side of her brain that was still working understood that what he was telling her made perfect sense. No doubt she was suffering from mild to moderate hypothermia. Her slender build and the lightweight cotton clothing she was wearing had offered no protection against the colder water temperatures that had lurked a few feet below the surface of the bay, not to mention the frigid air temperature which had only compounded the chills that now racked her body.
But logic couldn’t make her hands move, and a fuzzy part of her brain was telling her that she should feel embarrassed to undress in front of him.
So she just stared up at him, arms clutched tightly around her waist, cold trails of seawater trickling down her face, puddles of water pooling at her feet. She felt too tired and too befuddled to move.
Joe muttered something indecipherable under his breath. His gestures were urgent, but his face was impassive as he dropped to his knees on the tile in front of her and tugged off her sneakers and then her socks.
His fingers felt hot against her chilled skin as he brought his hands to the waistband of her yoga pants and pulled them down.
“Lift up,” he ordered.
She leaned back against the porcelain toilet tank, finding enough strength to lift her hips high enough for him to pull both her yoga pants and underwear down. Two tugs and they made a soggy plopping sound as he dropped them to the floor. As if from a great distance, she observed the raised goose bumps on her exposed, pale legs.
He took her hands, carefully moving her stiff arms aside so he could unzip her windbreaker. Then he stood up.
“Can you lift your arms?”
She was shivering so badly by this point that she couldn’t speak or even shake her head. She let out a soft whimper of pain as he raised her right arm and then her left.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he soothed as he pulled off her windbreaker. “This will just take a few seconds and then you’ll be in the warm shower.”
He removed her tee-shirt and bra in swift, efficient order and then he was lifting her into his arms again, carrying her into the walk-in shower and holding her under the spray.
The water was probably only lukewarm, but it felt like hot, sharp pinpricks against her numb skin. She winced, clutching at his shirtfront, pressing her face against his chest.
“I know it hurts, Willa,” he said, his voice calm and comforting above her head. “But we need to do this to get your body temperature back up to where it should be. I’m going to make the water hotter now, okay?”
He didn’t wait for her response as he leaned over to twist the hot water knob up another degree.
She bit her lip against the agony, fighting to keep quiet and not complain. He was only trying to get her warm. It wasn’t his fault that she was so cold. She kept her forehead pressed against his chest as hot tears seeped from beneath her lashes and trailed down her cheeks.
She couldn’t stop shivering.
Joe’s chest rumbled as he said something incoherent. He turned the knob up another notch and then stepped directly under the showerhead, soaking them both in the hot spray.
As the shower filled with steam, Willa gradually felt a loosening in her limbs. She slowly relaxed her fingers, flexed her hand a little before laying it flat against Joe’s chest. His body heat flowed into her palm, up her arm and straight into her heart. She became aware of the steady thud of his heart beneath her hand, and then she became aware that his shirt was soaking wet, that he still had all his clothes on, even his shoes, while she was stark naked.
She stiffened in his arms.
“How do you feel?” he asked. “Think you can stand up now?”
“I think so,” she said.
He released his grip on her legs first, easing her to a standing position, making sure her feet were firmly on the floor before he loosened his hold around her shoulders. He stepped back a couple of inches.
She couldn’t look him in the eye. She yanked her hand away from his chest and folded her arms across her breasts.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You have no reason to be embarrassed.” He touched a finger to her chin, lifting her face up, compelling her to look at him. He kept his eyes on hers, not looking at her body. His expression was gentle, reassuring.
“You need to soap off all the sea water,” he said. “And wash your hair. Did you swallow any water?”
She shook her head.
“Good. But I’m going to have you drink some hot tea and take an aspirin as soon as you get out of the shower.” He brought his palm to her cheek in a tender caress. “I’m going to get out now, okay? Give a shout once you’ve toweled off and put on your robe.”
He turned his back on her and stepped out of the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
Willa released a shuddering breath.
Her mind was less fuzzy, but it felt cluttered with too many thoughts. What if Joe hadn’t been on the beach? What had he been doing there anyway? What if she’d drowned? What if she’d never been able to tell him the words that were still left unspoken in her heart, words that she now knew must be said? What if? What if?
The water was getting cooler. She moved slowly, still feeling sluggish, and turned the handle until the temperature was almost scalding hot. She squeezed some shower gel onto a washcloth and worked it into a lather, inhaling the mild lavender scent. She scrubbed the washcloth over her body in widening circles, bringing a pink, healthy glow back to her skin.
Then she washed her hair, shampooing it twice before slathering it with a thick conditioner. She found enough energy to shave her legs before she rinsed out her hair.
Finally, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Her wet clothes weren’t in the room; Joe must’ve taken them with him. He’d also mopped up the puddles on the floor.
She toweled off, applied powder and lotion and then slipped into her terrycloth robe. She wrapped her damp hair in a towel. She stared at the closed door and took a shaky breath, feeling nervous and a little shy.
“Joe?”
He opened the door, his eyes sweeping her up and down and up again, his face impassive. “Sit down,” he said, nodding towards the toilet. “I found some socks for you. And we need to dry your hair.”
“I can do it.”
“You look like you’re about to fall off your feet.” He moved into the room, setting a cup of tea on the counter before clasping her forearms and guiding her backwards until she sat down. “Are you still cold?”
“A little.”
“Here. Drink this. All of it.”
He handed her an aspirin, waiting until she put it on her tongue before bringing the cup to her lips. The tea wasn’t too hot; she was able to swallow it down in several gulps, gi
ving a little moan of relief as the liquid warmth bathed her insides.
Joe watched her with an imperturbable expression. When she was finished, he set the empty cup on the counter, then he knelt down to slip on her socks.
She finally realized that he was shirtless, and his feet were bare. His jeans were soaking wet, clinging damply to his taut, muscular thighs.
“You’re all wet,” she said, her forehead wrinkling with concern.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Once you’re tucked into bed, I’ll toss them in the wash. Where do you keep your blow dryer?”
She pointed to the cupboard beneath the sink.
He retrieved the blow dryer and plugged it in. Then he removed the towel from her head. “Do you put any gels or creams in your hair before you dry it?”
“In the drawer there. The purple bottle.”
“Is this all? Sylvie has at least six different things she puts in her hair.”
“That’s all. I usually let it dry naturally.”
“Not today.”
He squeezed some hair cream onto his palm and rubbed his hands together before running them through her hair. He threaded his fingers through from top to bottom, smoothing the hair ends between thumb and forefinger.
She looked up at him, watching his eyes as they followed his hands. “You’ve done this before,” she murmured.
His eyes met hers. Something softened in his expression. “Many, many times,” he said with a smile. “From the time Sylvie was seven until she was about thirteen. Tony joked that if the construction business went under I could always open up a hair salon.”
Willa giggled.
Joe’s fingers stilled in her hair. He bent forward and kissed her forehead. “That sounded so sweet,” he whispered.
She shivered, but not with cold.
He must have thought otherwise, because he quickly pulled back and reached for the blow dryer. “Hold still,” he muttered, flicking on the switch.
She kept her gaze fastened on his face, observing his look of studious concentration as he dried off one section of her hair at a time, using his fingers to lift and part the strands. When it was time to dry the hair at the back of her head, he cupped his hand at her nape, gently pushing her head down. She swayed towards him, letting her forehead drop against his bare, flat stomach, soaking in the heat that seemed to radiate from him in waves.
