Lethal Dose of Love

by Cindy Davis

  Two meters to port were Helen and Carter in Paves the Way. Just behind them Chaumont Team 3. To Paves the Way’s starboard glided MaryAnn. Sean and Frank hollered back and forth, but the wind whipped away their words. Funny how distance always made voices sound angry. The heavy whoosh of water behind Payton made her turn. Diplomat was about halfway past them. Both Aden and Seymour waved. MaryAnn waved with her middle finger.

  At the second pin, MaryAnn came to, letting Diplomat have the right of way. Just as they finished making the turn, a gust of wind whipped the mainsail line out of Aden’s hands and the boom flew out to one side. The boat canted and Zephyr shot past. Payton gave Seymour a thumbs-up but knew she might have to take it back later on.

  After rounding the pin, Payton felt intoxicated realizing they were in fourth place. The wind changed again, blowing down the Saint Lawrence against their port side. The Canadian shoreline whizzed past. In one short week, the scenery had changed immensely. The lanky oaks still carried many of their fluttering copper-colored leaves of last season, but the maples and willows were almost fully leafed. Their immature greenness contrasted against the darker greens of the surrounding evergreens. Cottages were open for the season, shutters thrown back, colorful awnings flapped in the breeze, toys littered shoreside lawns, boats waggled on moorings like bobbers at the end of fishing lines.

  Payton watched Helen adjust the jib sail as Carter maneuvered Paves the Way into the final leg of the race right beside Zephyr. Just then, Paves the Way lost its wind. Carter maneuvered the sail, but not before they’d lost several lengths to both Diplomat and Zephyr. For several adrenaline-pumping seconds, the two boats coursed side by side. MaryAnn expertly matched her movements with Aden’s. For more than a mile the tack worked, but all at once Diplomat surged ahead as though they’d acquired a hundred horsepower outboard. Seymour, at the jib, grinned widely. Payton gave them the Victory sign.

  Chaumont Team 2 took the lead. Three meters behind was SHARE, and in third came Chaumont Team 1. Diplomat closed fast on all of them. Apparently Aden’s new boat ran just as fast as Zephyr. If Zephyr sailed so well, why weren’t she and MaryAnn in the lead? Or at least directly behind Dipomat?

  Diplomat was ten meters from the finish line, passing all but Chaumont Team 2. Their crew scurried around the deck like children late for school. Whatever they did, it wasn’t enough. Diplomat squeezed past. In Minnesota, the crowd would be roaring, cheering for one boat or the other to surge forward.

  But this crowd was quiet. Dead quiet. Payton scanned the shoreline. These spectators weren’t even watching the race. En masse, they were looking at something behind her. Some held binoculars, most had arms across foreheads shading their eyes, but all were looking behind Zephyr—and still, no one was cheering. What was going on?

  Payton swung under the boom and shielded her own eyes. Behind, on the starboard side, were the other two Chaumont yachts and SHARE. Five meters behind, and two to Zephyr’s port, was MaryAnn. But it wasn’t aiming for the finish line.

  MaryAnn’s mainsail was up as it should be but was void, flapping like laundry on a clothesline. Payton couldn’t see anyone on the deck. A trick of the light. Had to be.

  Something was wrong. Sean’s boat veered off course. There was no one aboard MaryAnn. Payton hollered for MaryAnn to bring the boat around. MaryAnn shoved the boom over her shoulder and turned Zephyr for shore. Under full sail they closed rapidly on MaryAnn.

  Now Payton could see Sean and Frank. Both lay on the deck, two dark, unmoving lumps on the stark white fiberglass. Without a pilot, Sean’s boat made a course—directly for shore!

  The crowd gaped at the events unfolding before their helpless eyes. Payton screamed Sean’s and Frank’s names. Over and over, till her throat hurt. Neither moved.

  Sean lay on his stomach, arms and legs splayed like a skydiver. Frank was on his back, like a beachgoer soaking up rays.

  “Can you jump across if I get us alongside?” MaryAnn shouted.

  Payton nodded without thinking, then experienced a spontaneous flood of terror. She couldn’t have heard right. Was MaryAnn actually proposing Payton jump from one moving boat to another?

  Sean’s boat was on a course for the narrow strip of beach and stone wall surrounding the battlefield. That black unyielding barrier approached at an alarming rate. On shore, the crowd finally realized the gravity of the situation and scurried away.

  Payton lowered the jib and tied off the line, recalling movies where someone leaped from one moving vehicle to another, even from one plane to another. Although she walked and sometimes jogged, she wasn’t a swimmer, or a jumper. Not to mention Sean didn’t rank as one of her favorite people, and she didn’t even know Frank Simpson. On top of that, could MaryAnn guide Zephyr without squishing Payton between the hulls?

  She peered frantically for someone, anyone, near enough to remove this awesome responsibility from her shoulders. The other boats were completely out of range. None of their crews seemed to realize the problem. Even though the spectators watched with increasing horror, no one could possibly help—except to call for an ambulance when it was over.

  MaryAnn pulled parallel to her namesake and matched the runaway sailboat’s speed knot for knot. The two decks were a half-meter apart now. Payton knelt, gripping the rail with her left hand. She swung her right leg over and perched her knee on the outer parapet. One errant movement would catapult her into the icy water.

  Mere inches separated the two decks. Payton’s knuckles were white as she put a death grip on the rail.

  “Jump as soon as it looks safe!” MaryAnn yelled.

  What exactly did safe look like? Was it tangible? MaryAnn had to be freaking insane. So did she for even considering this.

  Payton pasted her eyes on MaryAnn’s deck, waiting for just the right moment. The crowd’s screams grew to a roar inside her head. Neither man had moved. The boom swung back and forth over Sean’s inert body. If he’d been hit by it wouldn’t he have regained consciousness by now? Surely the boom couldn’t have hit both of them.

  She tensed. And leaped.

  A wave hit. Zephyr pitched. The two decks crashed in a gut-wrenching fracture of fiberglass and wood. Payton felt herself heaved into the air.

  SEVENTEEN

  Payton spun in the air like a kid’s pinwheel. Whirling. Impotent.

  A jarring belly flop. The tidal surge pushed up, offered her to the sun. Momentary relief propelled instinct into her limbs. The surge withdrew, sucking her back under.

  White hull looming. Instinct battled terror. She swam, imitating the strokes she knew should save her. She plunged downward. MaryAnn’s hull raced across her spine, the hydraulic force propelling her to depths unknown.

  Wave-swell pushed her up again, lent more hope and a glimpse of shore. An ebb rescinded the dream with unabashed disregard. She moved her arms and kicked her feet in endless succession.

  A breath. Just one. The simple wish went unanswered inside the relentless noise. Horrifying power. Muddy taste.

  An endless circle. Lake Ontario enfolded Payton in its chilly embrace and sucked her into its womb. Darkness engulfed her senses, filled her up. Mother Lake’s caress was persuasive, comforting. Cameron beckoned. Handsome. Smiling.

  Reaching for her.

  Go to him.

  The lake swelled again. The tide rolled and shoved.

  Cameron’s love flowed over her with all the lake’s power. I’m coming! She stopped flailing and waited for the water to take her. Waited for the immense pressure in her lungs to subside. She wouldn’t need them any more.

  The wave crested, vomiting her upward, spewing her into the bright sunshine. Payton blinked, coughed, breathed and felt overcome by overwhelming sadness. It wasn’t time. She wouldn’t see her beloved.

  Her head broke the surface to the cries of the crowd. She was pushed higher, the lake’s compulsion to rid itself of her. Payton inhaled. The breath brought with it the urge for another. And another. Blue sky. Sunshine and life.

&n
bsp; Cameron pointed toward shore.

  She coughed. Swam. Someone screamed her name. Memory returned. The race. Sean. Frank.

  Ahead was a wall of white that was MaryAnn, her bow shattered against the rock barrier. The broken main mast lay atop the wall. The sail snapped angrily in the wind.

  People clambered across her deck. Two men stood at the rail, pointing at Payton. She waved. Choked. They pointed again and yelled something that the wind tore away. Yes, she was okay.

  “No!” They pointed left.

  A flash of blue rose, and grew, like shaving cream—denim jeans, legs. Payton sucked in a ragged breath. The wave waned and didn’t take her. For another instant she was sorry.

  More blue, then yellow. Sean!

  Payton summoned failing strength and plunged toward him. Fifteen feet was like miles. Her body ached to be done with this watery hellhole. Her lungs burned for air not mixed with lake water. There he was, blond hair arced around his face in an incongruous halo as he bobbed for a millisecond on the surface. The water ebbed, driving him toward her. Payton found his shoulder.

  He was dead. He had the same look as Cameron that night. Angry, but resigned to his fate. Payton felt the tears as searing heat on her cheeks. She wrapped her arm under Sean’s and around his chest as she’d seen Mitch do so many times on Baywatch. It had been one of Cameron’s favorite shows. She sobbed, a child now.

  Swim.

  Don’t want to, the child cried.

  Do it!

  If you insist.

  Payton and Sean were cast up on the next swell—a quick glimpse of sun and sky and life. She kicked, her left leg striking Sean’s body with every frontward motion. She drove with her left arm, muscles on fire, lungs saturated.

  Something touched her arm, just a tickle at first, then firmer. And a voice. It spoke in her ear, but elation forced the words away and left simple relief. Strong arms took Sean. More arms gripped her, holding her face out of the water. She was set on the tiny stretch of sand and turned over. Intense pressure on her back. Up and down.

  Water erupted from her lungs, burnt her throat. Just as the lake vomited her, she returned the favor. Anxious voices edged into her head. Sirens. The scent of seaweed. Grit in her teeth. She was alive.

  Not yet, love, Cameron said. You have a lot of living left.

  Payton rolled on her side, pushed herself up, sand biting her palm in a welcome chafe. The gentle hands guided her to sit. She coughed. Gagged. Hands pounded on her back.

  A face loomed through the brain fog. Suntanned skin, salt and pepper mustache, green searching eyes. “Welcome back. My name’s Dennis.” He pulled her head onto his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re safe now.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Payton lay in a lounge chair under the big white tent, a paper cup in one hand. Every breath produced an inferno in her throat. A sip of water cooled it—until the next breath. Water ran down her forehead, dripped off her nose. Someone dabbed it away. Anxious voices were distilled by the ordeal. A blanket fluttered and was tucked around her from shoulders to feet. She shivered, a deep down trembling that swallowed her whole being.

  “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

  She rocked her head right, toward the familiar voice. Helen’s face took shape through the blur. “We were so worried about you, dear.”

  Aden appeared on the other side, lines at the corners of his mouth loomed closer. He kissed Payton’s cheek.

  “Sean?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “He’s dead,” Aden said. “Frank, too.”

  Sean’s face, contorted in pain, bobbed before her. His body drove toward her. Her arms around a dead man. Saving someone she disliked. A roll of nausea blasted through her. A bucket pushed under her chin. A damp cloth wiped her mouth. She breathed deeply, swallowing the embarrassment.

  “Will someone take me home?” Her voice was hoarse, unfamiliar.

  “You should go to the hospital,” Edward said. “Let them look you over.”

  “You almost drowned,” Aden said.

  “Home.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Aden promised.

  Out of the crowd of concerned townspeople, a sea of tan materialized. Payton blinked the color into focus. A pair of stocky but very long legs. There was a tiny spot of something brown on the left thigh. A little higher, a shiny belt buckle with the initial E. Higher up Payton’s sight was obscured by a paunch above the belt. The legs moved, folded, and brought the torso into her line of vision. A round, fatherly face peered at her, smooth cocoa colored skin, maybe South American descent, dark solemn eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. A shiny silver name tag proclaimed him to be Sergeant Espinoza of the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department.

  “I’ll be working this case. Do you feel up to talking to us?”

  Case? What case?

  Because of his name Payton expected him to have an accent, and he did, straight out of the Bronx. She didn’t—couldn’t—smile even though this struck her as humorous.

  “Officer,” Aden said. “Can’t it wait? She’s not in any shape for this.”

  Sergeant Espinoza nodded and stood erect. “I’ll come see her later this evening.” He slipped a sheet of paper from his notebook and handed it to Aden. “Would you have her make out a statement?”

  Helen took the cup. Aden and Edward gripped her upper arms and helped her up. When Payton’s feet touched pavement, her knees buckled, but the hands held her upright.

  “I really think the hospital should check her out,” Edward said.

  “She doesn’t want to go. I’ll stay with her,” Aden said.

  MaryAnn raced toward Payton. Her face was flushed and she was out of breath. “Golly, are you all right? When you fell in the water—I’m sorry for suggesting—Oh, God, I could’ve been responsible…”

  Payton nodded, a little bobbing dog in a car window.

  “The boat’s battened down. Seymour helped.”

  She nodded again.

  “She’s full of lake water,” Aden said, chuckling. “I’m going to take her home and pump her out.”

  “I’ll watch the store. Take care. I’ll talk to you later.” MaryAnn gave Payton a hug.

  * * * *

  Payton lay against a mountain of pillows, a steaming cup of tea in one hand, Aden gripping her other. Outside the window, it was dark. Normally she’d have shut the shades by now. “I can’t believe they’re dead,” she said, for the tenth time.

  “We didn’t know what was happening until the race was over. We thought it was strange no one cheered for us as we crossed the finish line.” Aden gave a little laugh. “I didn’t think people felt that angry about us winning so often.” He took the cup and set it on the nightstand. “I can’t tell you how I felt hearing you’d almost drowned while I was having fun.”

  “Does anyone know what happened?”

  “Vaughn said it looked like a freak wave knocked them overboard and they drowned.”

  She closed her eyes. A mental tidal wave hit, cloaking her in its embrace. Her eyes flew open.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have some phone calls to make. Will you be all right for about an hour?”

  “Of course. I’m not a child.”

  He bent and kissed her cheek. “I know.” His lips moved across her face, to her lips. The kiss was short but let her know he definitely didn’t think of her as a child.

  She was so tired. She closed her eyes.

  Sean’s face exploded out of the water, eyes bulging, mouth open in a silent scream that prickled the hair on her arms. Payton flung off the bedclothes and sat up. Pain rocketed from every corner of her being. She closed her eyes and the aches melded into a single entity.

  After a moment, the clouds parted and she stood. She went to the sliders and stepped outside. Below, the harbor looked calm. Suddenly, the waves swelled. She ran back indoors.

  Payton sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the dizziness to
abate. She gave a longing look at the pillows and a wistful one at the deck, then got up and tiptoed downstairs. Payton dropped onto the loveseat in her sitting room. It was dark now. She could make out objects, but not details, outdoors. It wasn’t too dark, though, to see a State Police cruiser in Aden’s driveway and a light in his living room. Something tickled the back of her brain. They wanted to talk to her. About what? She hadn’t seen the accident. She and MaryAnn had been busy keeping their boat on course. MaryAnn was the one who spotted her namesake veering off course. And Payton swallowed every ounce of common sense and half the lake attempting to save Sean and Frank.

  Vaughn suggested a strange tidal surge knocked both men off the boat. They’d been the closest boat to MaryAnn if there’d been such a wave, wouldn’t she and MaryAnn have felt it?

  The police were coming. She should be dressed. Aden had helped her change into her worn but comfortable sweats when they returned from the lake. She didn’t want anyone to see her in these old things. A tiny laugh squeezed from her throat. She hadn’t wanted Aden to see her in them either. She hurried upstairs as fast as her aching body allowed.

  Twenty minutes later, Payton sat on a stool in her kitchen. Sergeant Espinoza stood across the counter with his notebook open before him. She noted a thin silver band embedded in the flesh of his left hand. An enormous high school ring weighed down his right. He turned to a blank page and wrote. She looked up from the statement she filled out.

  “Tell me what happened.” His voice sounded like a father asking his daughter what had gone on in school that day.

  “Isn’t that what I wrote here?”

  “Humor me. Where did your boat start in relation to MaryAnn?”

  “It was our first time on Zephyr and we got a slow start. Most of the boats were out ahead of us.” Payton stopped talking and tried to arrange the placement of the boats in her mind. “I don’t remember seeing Sean and Frank till we rounded the first pin. Something about their conversation made me think they were arguing.”