“What are you doing?” she yelled at Boudreaux, who was at the starboard rail as well, further aft.
“Maggie, they’re gonna get carried that way,” he yelled back, bending and straightening his arm to indicate the mouth of the bay. “We’re gonna circle back.”
Maggie turned back to the water and leaned further over the rail, as though this would help her see better. Suddenly, she heard a commotion of voices from the seawall at the park, and she saw John Solomon, recognizable by the white apron, as he stepped off the seawall into the river, a life preserver from who knew where in one hand, a rope in the other. Another man stood at the seawall holding the other end of the rope. Maggie stopped breathing, as she watched John grab something that was lodged against one of the old dock pilings. As he threw it onto his shoulder, Maggie saw that it was a very large, very black arm.
The other shrimp boat angled over toward John at a crawl, as he pulled Mike’s arm through the life preserver, then brought it down over his head.
Maggie turned her attention back to the water’s surface. She could hear the firetrucks approaching from downtown, and she knew the Coast Guard and the fire boats would be there any minute to subdue the fire, but David wasn’t on his brand-new old boat that he’d saved for, and Maggie didn’t care about the fire. David was in the water.
About forty yards past the Jefferson, she felt the trawler slow and begin to turn to starboard and go back up river. Boudreaux and the other man ran to the port side to examine the surface, while Maggie stayed starboard.
A few moments later, she saw it. An arm, a mostly white one, lying on a piece of the hull. She traced it, saw the back of David’s green plaid flannel shirt. “There’s David,” she yelled, and had climbed up and dived off the rail before Boudreaux and the other man had turned around.
“Todd!” Boudreaux yelled, and when the bearded man turned around, Boudreaux pointed over in the direction in which Maggie was furiously swimming. Todd nodded and turned to starboard.
Wyatt came flying back from the bow. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” he yelled as he ran.
He met Boudreaux and the other man as they arrived at the starboard rail. Boudreaux opened one of the built-in boxes and pulled out a bright red rescue tube like lifeguards carried, a rope already tied at one end. He deftly tied the other end to the rail, never taking his eyes off the water.
Wyatt pulled a large, industrial flashlight out of the box and turned it on, pointed it at Maggie’s head as she approached the hunk of shattered wood.
Maggie took a deep breath and powered through the last few yards, struggling to swim across and up the current. She finally reached David, and grabbed onto the hull with her right hand. The back of David’s shirt was almost burned away, and the back of his head was bleeding and burned and missing some hair.
She grabbed the back of his collar with her left hand, and pulled him backward onto her chest. He started to slide downward, and she got her left arm underneath his, wrapped it around his chest, and cried out as she dragged him back up her body. Then she leaned backwards in the water, as far as she could without letting go of the piece of hull.
“I’ve got you, baby,” she gasped. “I’ve got you.”
David’s head lolled on her left shoulder, his face buried in her neck. She pressed her face against his as she struggled to keep her arm under his, and her grip on the jagged edge of the hull.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
The trawler lumbered alongside a moment later, its small wake pushing Maggie and David up against the hull, even as it pushed the hull further away. She loosened her grip on the broken wood long enough to get a better purchase on it.
The light from Wyatt’s flashlight blinded her suddenly as it shone in her face, and then the rescue tube slapped down in the water beside her. She let go of the hull, and she and David both went underwater a second, until she reached across their bodies and grabbed hold of the tube. She felt a sharp tug, and they were dragged toward the trawler.
As she came out of the focus of the flashlight, she saw the silhouette of Boudreaux as he pulled her in. Then she saw Wyatt pass the flashlight to Boudreaux’s man and then lean over the rail.
Maggie let go of the rope just long enough to grab it closer to the rescue tube itself, then wrap her arm around it a few loops to give her some buoyancy. Wyatt was leaning as far as possible over the rail, but even with his height, his hand was still too far away to grab hold of David anywhere.
Maggie let go of David’s chest just long enough to grab his left bicep instead and lift his arm.
“I got him,” Wyatt barked, as he grabbed David’s hand. He pulled David off of her, and pulled him out of the water up to his waist. Boudreaux leaned over the rail and grabbed David’s other arm. His crewman had a hand looped into the back of Boudreaux’s belt to steady him.
“Be careful of his back,” Maggie yelled, as they got David to the rail, then Boudreaux let go of his arm and grabbed his feet.
They carefully lifted David over the rail and laid him down, then Wyatt leaned over and stuck out his hand. Maggie reached up and grabbed it, and he hauled her over. She fell down to her knees next to David. Given the state of his back, his face looked surprisingly normal, but for the watery blood that dribbled from his nose and right ear.
As the engine revved and the boat sped up, Maggie put a hand on David’s chest. He wasn’t breathing. She pinched his nose shut, took a breath, and clamped her mouth down onto his. She felt his chest rise just slightly as she pushed the air into him. She did it again, only vaguely hearing Wyatt speaking. She took her mouth away one more time, started to take a breath.
“Maggie,” Wyatt said quietly, kneeling down on the other side of David. “Stop.”
“He’s been underwater, Wyatt!”
“It’s not the water,” he said, and laid a hand on top of hers, where it rested atop David’s motionless chest. She jerked her hand away, just as she felt a hand under her other arm and Boudreaux gently, but firmly, pulled her to her feet.
“He’s dead, Maggie,” Boudreaux said quietly.
Maggie pulled her right arm back and punched him in the face.
When the trawler pulled back in to the dock, a handful of paramedics and Maggie’s parents were waiting there, though Maggie didn’t really see them.
She sat on the deck, up against the side. David’s body leaned back against her, his head on her chest, and she had her arms wrapped loosely around him.
“My babies,” Georgia said, and covered her mouth as she burst into tears.
Boudreaux’s man threw the line to Gray, who tied it off before jumping down into the boat. Gray nodded at Wyatt, who was standing at the rail next to Maggie, cap in hand. Then he looked at Boudreaux, who was standing a few feet away. Boudreaux nodded, then Gray knelt down in front of Maggie.
He put a hand on either side of her face, but Maggie didn’t look at him.
“Maggie,” he said quietly. “Give him to me.”
Maggie didn’t move, and Gray put his hands under David’s underarms.
“Stop it, Daddy,” Maggie said quietly.
“Give him to me, sweetie,” he said more firmly, and pulled David to him, leaned him against his chest. Maggie reached out and grabbed a piece of David’s black and shredded shirt.
Two paramedics jumped down into the boat. They knelt down next to Gray, and Maggie had to let go of David’s shirt as Gray gently laid him down on the deck. The paramedics bent over David as Wyatt leaned down and put his hands under Maggie’s arms and lifted her to her feet.
Two more paramedics came aboard with a gurney. Maggie gently pushed Wyatt away, and stood and watched as the first two responders gently lifted David to the gurney.
David’s left arm slipped off, and as the paramedic carefully put it back on the stretcher, Maggie noticed for the first time the white strip of skin around his ring finger. At some point recently, he had finally removed his wedding band. It had taken more than five years.
That, finally, finished the breaking of her heart. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. Something loud and primal wanted to come out of her throat, so she clamped her lips shut. She could hear her mom crying quietly on the dock, and thought that she should go and comfort her, but she just couldn’t.
Gray put a hand on her shoulder as one of the paramedics, Boyd Watson, stepped forward. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
Maggie didn’t look at him, just watched as David’s body was strapped down to the gurney. There was a smear of blood next to his head, as large as the palm of a hand. She hadn’t noticed David was bleeding much, and she looked down at her yellow tee shirt. It was covered in blood.
She began to shake, and Boyd looked at Wyatt. “Maybe I should give her something,” he said.
Maggie waved him away, slipped out from under her father’s hand, and walked across the deck.
“Leave her alone,” Wyatt said quietly, and followed Maggie as she stepped up onto the dock.
Boudreaux’s eyes were flat as he watched them go, absentmindedly rubbing the left side of his jaw.
Maggie’s parents had driven her home. Georgia drove Maggie’s Jeep, and Maggie rode with Gray in his truck. Not a word was spoken on the way to the house. Once they got there, Maggie ignored Coco and Stoopid, leaned on Gray’s truck and steeled herself to go inside to her children.
She was incredibly grateful when her dad handed her his navy windbreaker. She had forgotten about the blood. She slipped it on and zipped it all the way to the neck.
A few minutes later, they went inside, and Georgia took Bella outside and sat with her on the steps to wait for her mom, while Maggie and Gray broke the news to Sky and Kyle. Kyle was alarmingly calm and quiet, but he crawled onto Maggie’s lap on the couch. Sky screamed, then cried on her mother’s shoulder, then was held for a long while by her granddad. When she came back inside, Georgia made hot tea and then looked around the kitchen for some other way to minister to Maggie and the children.
After a while, Maggie took a shower and slipped on some yoga pants. She tied her bloody clothes up in a Piggly-Wiggly bag and put it in the back of her closet. Then she went back out to the living room to be with her family.
Throughout this time, Maggie hadn’t shed a tear, though a torrent of them threatened continuously. She felt she needed to wait for some better time, some private time, when her kids needed just a little bit less for her to be strong.
Eventually, Sky stopped crying and curled up silently on Gray’s chest, next to Maggie and Kyle. Georgia could find no more to do, and settled into one of the armchairs across from the couch.
It was past midnight when Maggie realized how much her thighs hurt. Kyle was sound asleep in her lap, and she gently laid him down on one of the sofa pillows. His black bangs fell over one impossibly long-lashed eye. So much like David’s. Maggie saw David, eyes closed, lying on the deck, and pieces of her fell into the ocean.
She pulled her right knee up to her chest to flex the muscle, and Georgia gasped. “Oh honey, your feet.”
Relieved to find some way she could be useful, Georgia hurried down the hall to get the first aid kit Maggie kept in the linen closet. Maggie flexed her other leg and looked over at Sky. She was just inches away, but she hadn’t spoken to Maggie since her first few, unbelieving questions. She had spoken only to Gray. Now, she stared at an empty spot in the middle of the room.
Maggie reached over and put a hand on her daughter’s, where it rested on Gray’s thigh.
“Sky, baby,” she said. Sky pulled her hand away slowly, curled it against her chest. “Sky, do you want some of your water?”
Sky finally turned her eyes to her mother’s face. “No,” she said flatly.
Maggie reached up to Sky’s face, intending to touch her cheek, but Sky suddenly reached up and slapped it away. “Leave me alone!” she snapped, then jumped up from the couch.
“Sky—” Gray started.
“He only bought that boat because of you!” Sky spat at Maggie, then hurried past Georgia as she came back into the room. They heard Sky’s door slam down the hall.
Maggie swallowed hard, then looked at Gray. “Help me, Daddy,” she said softly.
Gray put his arm around Maggie’s neck and pulled her to him, buried his face in her hair and kissed her head. It almost broke her, and she straightened up, as Georgia sat down on the coffee table and picked up one of Maggie’s feet.
“Oh, my Lord,” Georgia said.
Maggie reached down with her right hand and gently took her mother’s hand away as she retracted her foot. Georgia snatched at her hand and turned it palm up. “Look at your hand!”
There was one fairly deep, jagged slice across Maggie’s palm, surrounded by several small scratches, from the splintered wood of David’s shattered hull. Georgia held onto Maggie’s hand as she flipped open the first aid kit.
“No, Mom,” Maggie said quietly, pulling her hand back.
Georgia grabbed the hand back and looked kindly, but firmly, at her daughter. “Will you be more useful to your children with a raging infection, Margaret Anne?”
Maggie looked away and swallowed, but she didn’t take her hand back. It didn’t seem right for her to have such minor wounds attended to. It didn’t seem fair for her to have wounds that would heal.
Georgia had cleaned, treated, and wrapped a strip of gauze around Maggie’s palm, and had just finished applying antibiotic cream to Maggie’s feet when Kyle stirred, then sat up.
“Mom,” he said, only half awake.
Maggie stood up and took his hand. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s get you to bed.”
Kyle stood, swaying just a bit, then Maggie followed him into the hall. He turned left instead of right, pulled back the covers, and crawled into Maggie’s bed, on the far side. He was still wearing his cargo shorts and a Third Day tee shirt. Maggie pulled the covers up over him, then went back out to the hall. Gray and Georgia were right there, heading for Kyle’s room.
“We’re going to sleep in Kyle’s room,” Gray said quietly. “You need to try to get some rest.”
“Wake us up if you need anything,” Georgia said.
Maggie nodded, then turned and went back into her room.
She crawled under the covers with Kyle, who was already asleep again. She reached out and ran her fingers through his bangs, but his likeness to his father, as he laid on David’s old side of the bed, was more than she could handle. She turned toward the door, and Coco jumped up, settled at the end of the bed, and rested her chin on Maggie’s feet with a sigh.
A few hours later, Maggie still hadn’t slept. Sky appeared in her doorway without a sound. Maggie strained to see her face in the dark.
“I didn’t mean it,” Sky finally said, and there was a trembling in her voice. “I don’t know why I said that.”
Maggie pulled the covers down, and Sky crawled in beside her, curled her back into Maggie. Maggie put her arm around her and breathed deeply.
Sky fell asleep within a few minutes, but Maggie never did. She blinked several thousand times, but never closed her eyes, and never shed a tear.
Ever since the rape, Maggie had been able to compartmentalize feelings that were just too much for her to handle. She could push them down, push them back, make them wait for another time.
Intellectually, she knew that it was considered unhealthy, a symptom of damage. She considered it a bonus, some kind of recompense for the occasional nightmares and flashbacks, this ability to protect herself. She refused to call it PTSD, to give Gregory Boudreaux anything more than he had already taken. And right now, she was as grateful for it as she could imagine being.
When the sky finally began to lighten outside Maggie’s bedroom window, she carefully climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. She could hear her father snoring faintly through Kyle’s open door.
After using the restroom, Maggie went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, more out of habit than anything else. Although she hadn’t slept,
she didn’t feel the lack of it. Once her coffee was made, she grabbed it and her cell phone and went outside.
Coco ran off to do her business in the trees, and Stoopid pell-melled across the gravel to announce that he had spotted Maggie, or that it was daytime, or that the sky had fallen. Maggie sidestepped him, gave him a rote “Morning, Stoopid,” then went and fed the girls. After the chickens had been fed, Coco followed Maggie up to the deck, and Maggie sat down to check her cell phone, again, purely out of habit.
She’d missed two calls from Wyatt, but couldn’t bring herself to listen to his voice mails. He’d called and talked to Gray last night, asked after their wellbeing, but Maggie hadn’t been able to talk to him. The man she’d loved her whole life was lying in the morgue at Weems Memorial. She just couldn’t make herself talk to the man she’d probably end up loving next.
Maggie spent the rest of the day going through the paperwork that she and David shared on wills, wishes and insurance. She talked to the insurance company about making arrangements for David’s cremation, as per his wishes, declined to answer her cell phone, and politely refused to speak to those people who decided to try one of her parents instead.
She also hugged her children a great deal, called the fire department three times to see if they had any news on the cause of the explosion, and was left with nothing other than that they were working diligently. She knew little about fire or explosions, but she did know a bit more about boats, and she and her father sat on the deck and discussed possibilities at length. The trawler carried a lot of diesel, but diesel was slow to ignite. Propane was much more sensitive, but David only had a large enough tank down below to fuel the galley.
Neither of them could recall if they’d seen any fireworks after that first, muffled whump. That moment inserted itself into Maggie’s mind hundreds of times that day, and she tried to make herself notice the sky in retrospect. But all she saw was David’s smile, and his wave, and all she could think was Jump! No matter how many times she remembered it, he never did.
Riptide Page 8
