Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense

by Heather Balog

  I watch from the shadows, recording the liaison on my cell phone, biding my time until I get to jump out and give them both a heart attack. I chuckle as my fingers caress Roger’s nitroglycerin pills in my pocket. Maybe I’ll give them to him. Or maybe not. Maybe I will just watch as his face contorts with pain. And then he will know what it feels like to be me.

  “Mom, I think Colt is out too far,” Lexie is telling me matter-of-factly. I’m staring off into the horizon, plotting to bust Roger’s affair wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes on him all day, waiting for him to attempt to escape. So far he hasn’t even moved, other than to signal for the cabana boy to bring him a few beers.

  I squint my eyes to see where Lexie’s pointing and crap...he’s way out by the buoys. The water is not nearly as rough as the water we are used to at the Jersey shore, but I have no idea how deep it is out there. And aren’t rip currents everywhere? Colt is a pretty good swimmer, but man, that seems way too far.

  “Roger!” I slap my napping husband on the arm repeatedly. He swats my hand away like I’m a gnat. “Roger!” I call again, this time, much more frantically.

  Not wanting to waste any time, in case my child is in need of assistance, I leap from my chair and speed down to the water’s edge, flinging my flip flops off of my feet in the process. “Colt!” I call, cupping my hands around my mouth. His head turns toward the sound of my voice and then I see his hand pop out of the water, waving frantically.

  Crap! He needs me! I toss my sunglasses on the sand and plow through the gentle waves. As I hit mid-thigh depth, I realize I still have my cover up on and it is rapidly becoming soaked, the terry cloth material weighing me down as it takes on water. I wriggle out of it as quickly as I can and push it off of my body. It floats away from me on the next wave, looking like a dead body washing up on the shore. “Don’t worry, Colt!” I shout. “Stay calm! Mommy is coming for you!”

  I continue to trudge ahead until the sand underneath my feet gives away and I’m in over my head. If it’s over my head, it's definitely over my eight-year-old’s head. Paddling my hands, I bob to the top of the water—I don’t see Colt anywhere.

  Oh my God! He’s been swept out to sea! Panicking at that thought, I flap my arms frantically, clawing my way to the top. I feel like I’m swallowing an awful lot of water, the saltiness burning my throat and my chest. I break to the surface and gulp as fresh sea air floods my lungs. Suddenly, just as I catch my breath, a pair of muscular arms grip my abdomen, and I feel my body being jerked to the shore. I can’t seem to open my eyes to see who or what has gotten a hold of me, but I must stop them from dragging me onto the beach! I have to save Colt! He’s the one who needs help, not me!

  “Stop!” I manage to gurgle. “Not me! My…” I gasp for air at the same time that I attempt to wriggle out of the arms of my pseudo savior. Man, he’s got a tight grip on me! What’s he trying to do? Drown me? “My son!”

  I am ignored despite my protests and within seconds I feel the sand beneath my feet again. Latching onto it with my toes, I once again try to wrestle away from the vice-like grip I am being held in. As I get my bearings and stand up straight, I glance up to scream at the person who may be inadvertently responsible for the drowning of my child. However, once my eyes are fully open, I find that I can’t speak...coherent sentences, at any rate.

  Standing before me in all his bronzed god-ness is the most perfectly muscled and gorgeous specimen of mankind that I have ever seen. And believe me, I watch a lot of Channing Tatum movies. My mouth hangs open for a second while I try to breathe and speak at the same time. Instead, I get a mouthful of air and start sputtering.

  “Are you okay?” Bronzed god asks as he drops to his knees and grabs my hands. My heart begins to race in a pitter-patter fashion. Oh dear Lord, what have I done to deserve this attention? Why is this gorgeous man dropping to his knees at my feet? And why did he pull me out of the water to begin with? I was just trying to save...oh my God! Colt!

  I whip my head toward the ocean, but I no longer see my son bobbing there, waiting for my help. I lunge toward the surf. And I am unceremoniously yanked backward by the Bronze god's firm grip on my arm.

  “Let go!” I scream at him. “Colt!” I yell at the ocean as I try to pull away.

  “Yes, Mommy?” Colt’s voice surfaces somewhere near my elbow.

  I nearly get whiplash turning my head. There stands Colt right next to me, goggles affixed to the top of his head, absolutely NO signs of drowning or distress on his face at all. I fling myself at him, gathering him tightly in my arms.

  “Oh my God, Colt! I was so worried!” I am practically in tears, a combination of relief and fear.

  “Why?” Colt wrinkles up his nose.

  “Because you were drowning!”

  Colt shakes his head. “I wasn’t drowning! I was looking at the sea creatures under water with my goggles!” He points to the goggles on top of his head.

  Confused, I say, “But you were waving at me to come save you!”

  “No, I wasn't,” Colt replies. “I was just saying hi! I was fine. I could touch the bottom just like you told me to. Remember, you said, don’t go out any farther than where you can touch the bottom?”

  It’s at this point that I recall Bronzed god. Mostly because he is standing next to me...chuckling. Loudly. I jerk my head toward his direction and that’s when I see it. The red shorts, the whistle, the red paddle board by his feet in the sand. The whispering crowd that has gathered around us. I’ve been rescued by a lifeguard because I got in over my head trying to rescue my son who was absolutely fine. I shove my foot in the sand, hoping that I have hit some fault line and I will get sucked up in the sand like a hermit crab and never have to deal with this mortifying moment.

  “Well, then I guess everyone is all right,” Bronzed god, aka. Hottie Lifeguard Man, says. He offers me a smile and I just know he can’t wait to tell his buddies about the dopey middle-aged mom who nearly drowned herself needlessly today. They’ll probably laugh over at least a dozen beers and ten pizzas. Ugh.

  I offer him a halfhearted wave and grab Colt’s arm. “Come on, buddy. We need to be getting back.”

  As I tromp up the sand, Colt starts to whine. “But I wasn’t done! I want to swim some more.” People are staring at me and whispering, probably discussing my status of “most overprotective mother ever”, along with “jumps to conclusions without examining facts”. And as I drag him up the beach while he cries, they’re probably adding “most unfair mother ever” to my list of faults.

  I ignore his protests as I continue to drag him to where the rest of the family is stationed. Actually, where they are gawking. Aside from Roger, who is actually still napping. Allie’s face is beat red, and she looks like she wants to help me dig that hole to crawl into. Lexie’s eyes are wide and her mouth is hanging open. Evan is the only one who hasn’t seemed to notice the whole embarrassing debacle that just unfolded.

  “Oh. My. Gawd. Mother,” Allie nearly screeches when I am standing in front of her. “How freaking, unbelievably embarrassing!” She is shielding her eyes as if looking directly at me will somehow blind her.

  I bite my lip as I admit, “I’ve had more embarrassing moments actually…”

  “Not you! Me!” Allie throws herself on the blanket in a heap. “Now I can’t talk to anyone for the rest of this vacation!”

  “Well, that’s a little harsh! I’m sure I’m not the first person that the lifeguard has rescued...even though, of course, I didn’t need rescuing. It was Colt—”

  “I was fine, Mommy,” Colt chimes in.

  “Oh my God, you needed to be rescued?” I swear Allie could break glass with her tone.

  “Well, I didn’t need—never mind. The lifeguard was helping me. Isn’t that what you’re embarrassed about?”

  Allie whimpers and covers her eyes with her hands. “This just keeps getting worse!”

  I turn to Lexie, my slack jawed child. “What the hell is going on? What is her problem?”

/>   Lexie finally closes her mouth and points at my chest. She’s motioning frantically Thinking that a piece of seaweed is on me or worse, a poisonous jellyfish, I make a flicking motion with my hand to get it off. I don’t feel anything there, but Lexie is still staring, her eyes getting wider by the second.

  “What? What is it?” I finally ask, annoyed by her gaping mouth.

  She points again and manages to speak in a half whisper. “Your boob is...hanging out.”

  Shocked, my head snaps toward my chest. Indeed, most of my left breast, nipple and all, has popped out of the top of my bathing suit, on display for the world to see.

  ~Fourteen~

  After shepherding the entire family back up to the room following what will forever be known as “Mommy’s Wardrobe Malfunction”, I have decided that it’s time for a nap. As in, we all need a nap. I’ve spent the better part of an hour helping children remove sand from cracks and crevices where no sand should ever reside (how does one get sand up their nose exactly????), and everyone—except for me—has showered and is relaxing on the beds. Or open up sofa thingie.

  Now I am in the bathroom, debating about whether to shower at this moment or to wait until after my nap. Staring at myself in the mirror, I decide to just throw on a make shift cover up; a ratty tee shirt and sweat pants. I’m too exhausted (wind-blown, beaten up by the surf, embarrassed to death) to deal with the act of showering right now. As I pull off my bathing suit, a pile of sand is loosened from the crotch panel and plunks to the ground at my feet. Is that a seashell?

  The gritty sand is sticking to my entire body. As I try to push it off with my hands, it scratches my skin, causing me to wince. Fortunately, I remember a trick Beth taught me. Yes, occasionally she does have handy tips that she finds on Pinterest and whatnot. I grab the baby powder that is sitting amongst the other fifty two million items on the small counter surrounding the sink. Honestly, it’s only big enough for two toothbrushes and a bar of soap. Who are these hotel folks kidding?

  I dust my body with the baby powder and voila! The sand sweeps off of my body effortlessly. I splash water on my red and blotchy face, because, of course I forgot to put on sunblock and the skin underneath my eyes is very red and angry. Twisting my hair up in a messy bun, I decide that I am definitely ready for a nap.

  Exiting the bathroom, I glance around the room to discover that everyone is asleep. Except for Allie. She is feverishly texting on her cell. Probably sending out a tweet about how embarrassing her mother is or something.

  “No roaming,” I chastise, while I close the blinds, bathing the room in darkness. I half expect Allie to protest to the darkness, but the glow of her phone screen causes her to be oblivious to the reduced light in the room.

  Roger is on our bed, propped up on a pillow, hands folded on his chest, snoring away. In the middle of the bed. How is it possible to sleep so much in a five hour time frame? This is his third nap!

  Resisting the urge to put a pillow over his face, I shove him with my hip, resulting in him moving a quarter of an inch. Sighing, I flop down on the bed and curl up on my side. I’m only going to close my eyes for a couple minutes anyway…

  When I open my eyes, the whole room is a buzz of activity; squeaking bed springs, doors opening, laughing, drawers slamming, banging fists, cursing, and of course, crying. I bolt upward and blink my eyes several times before I can actually see. My eyes are goopy and feel like they have their own sand castles inside of them.

  Allie is the one slamming the drawers. She is also the one cursing. Something about Lexie keeping her f’ing hands off of her stuff. She is also throwing things in the air. A lacy demi bra—that is not mine—lands on my head.

  Colt is the one crying and banging his fists. He is in front of the bathroom door. It sounds like Lexie is the one on the other side of the door, cackling like a madwoman. And obviously, Evan bouncing is the source of the bed springs squeaking, as he happily hops from bed to bed, completely jolting me awake. I probably could have saved thousands of dollars on this vacation if I just took him to a bounce place or something. It would have been less stressful and aggravating, that’s for sure.

  “What is going on here?” I ask as I sit up. It’s been like the same loop of a movie playing over and over and over again in this hotel room. Cue the circus music and the organ grinder’s monkey.

  Colt and Allie start talking at once. Every other word seems to be “Lexie”. She has apparently wrecked a little havoc on her siblings—while I took my four minute cat nap—by stealing her sister’s tank top and beating her brother to the bathroom. (Dear Lord why are there not multiple bathrooms in hotel rooms? What sadist designed them? A bachelor without kids, I bet.)

  “Where is your father?” I ask, suddenly aware of Roger’s absence. Damn it! I lost track of him! I shouldn’t have closed my eyes!

  “He just left,” Allie tells me, shaking the lacy black number toward the door. I am hoping it is not hers. Crap! What if that’s Victoria’s? Gives a whole new meaning to Victoria’s Secret, doesn’t it?

  “He said he’d be back in time for dinner.”

  “Back for dinner?” I gasp for air. “What do you mean back for dinner? How long is he going to be gone?” Translation: How long is he going to be with that...slut?

  Allie gives me a weird look. “Relax, Mom. He said to meet him for dinner at 6:00.”

  I glance at the clock, expecting it to be 3:00 in the afternoon. Instead I am shocked to discover that it is 5:00. I was asleep for that long?

  “Where did he go?” I ask Allie. She’s returned to studying her cell phone with the intensity of a microbiologist discovering a new species. Her fingers are feverishly gliding over the keypad, her eyes burning with some girl drama. Oh my dear child, you have no idea what drama is. I rip the phone out of her hands.

  “Hey! That was important!”

  “I doubt that highly,” I retort, glancing at the screen and catching a few phrases like OMG and TBH and several selfies of Allie in a bikini. Yeah, really important. Making a mental note to check her Instagram account when I get the chance, I ask again, “Where did you father actually go?”

  Allie shrugs, stretching her fingers toward me and wiggling them. “He didn’t say. Give me back my phone.”

  The phone is buzzing violently in my hand and dinging every three seconds. It is the most annoying sound in the world. Well, aside from Victoria’s voice. Yeah, I only met her once, but I totally hate her voice. The urge to be a total bitch washes over me.

  I shake my head at Allie and stick her phone in my pocket. “No. I'm keeping it. I don’t want you attracting unwanted attention from boys by posting pictures of your scantily clad body all over the Internet.”

  Allie rolls her eyes. "Come on, Mom. Everyone does it. It’s fine.”

  “Oh no it’s not, Little Miss Naive. You have no clue what kind of people are out there in the world.”

  “Puleeeease,” she retorts with a toss of her hair. “Old Man Walter held a knife to my throat, remember?”

  Yes, of course I remember. How could I ever forget? It’s one of the many reasons I want to protect my kids at all costs. I know what evil lurks in the corners. Even the corners of seemingly safe neighborhoods. Even, apparently, in the recesses of our own home. My throat constricts and my chest swells at the thought of Roger with that...girl. I need to find him and catch him in the act. That way he will know he can’t hurt me. I am stronger than his betrayal. My mind is made up.

  “Stay here. Don’t leave this room under any circumstances,” I firmly tell my daughter.

  “What if the hotel is on fire?” my sarcastic child asks.

  In no mood for her nonsense, I reply, “Allie. I’m not playing games. And watch your sister and both of your brothers. I’ll be back before dinner.” I pivot on my heel toward the door when Allie grabs my hand.

  “But you have my phone! What am I supposed to do?” She actually looks terrified at the prospect of having to spend an hour with her siblings and no cell phone.<
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  I wave my hand in the air. “I don’t know. Play a board game or something.”

  I pull the door open and as it closes behind me, I can hear her wail, “But there are no games to play!”

  Maybe for you dear daughter, maybe for you. Mommy’s got a little game of cat and mouse to play.

  ~Fifteen~

  I skulk around the resort for less than five minutes before I find Roger. I guess he wasn’t counting on me waking up so soon or something, because he is right out front of the hotel where the driveway curves in toward the door for the valet and shuttle service. For some reason, he has a ratty baseball cap on his head and a pair of jeans, which seems completely out of place in the Caribbean heat. It is also out of character for Roger—it looks as if he is trying to hide. He’s standing next to a bush, and appears to be talking to someone, but I can’t see who because Roger is blocking my view.

  I can only see part of his face, but he is chatting animatedly and gesticulating wildly, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a big grin on his face. I don’t think I have ever seen my husband so damn...excited in all my life. Oh, except for the day they installed the fifty-five inch TV in the lounge. That day was legendary. He let us get our take-out delivered, he was so damn happy.

  I can’t figure out what’s got him so excited this time, until he steps to the side and I see who he is talking to. Victoria.

  My hands curl into fists at my sides, my teeth are clenched, and I feel my blood rushing to my face. I can hear my heart thumping loudly in my ears, the migraine from the morning returning in record time. Is he really that stupid to be carrying out the affair in broad daylight?

  As I’m watching, she leans forward, gently touching his arm while throwing her head back and laughing.

  Did he say something funny? I can’t imagine that he said anything funny since he is rarely even slightly amusing. She must be working it. God, I hope she doesn’t think he’s got money or something just because he’s a principal. She’ll be in for a shock.