Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3)

by Tammy Falkner

  I walk with her to the part of the road that’s out of the water, and I turn my body so that the boy slides free and she drops gently onto the concrete roadway. I lower the baby into her waiting arms.

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” I yell against the noise of the water.

  “We’re fine now,” she says, tears streaming down her face. I turn and watch as the rail on the bridge finally gives way and her car teeters on the edge. “But the other one—” She extends a finger to point toward the bridge just beyond her car and I see the taillight of a car that’s completely submerged as it blinks twice and then goes dark.

  “Is someone in there?”

  She nods. “A woman!” She now has both her children clinging to her. She’s shaking and shivering, her teeth chattering as she looks beyond me toward the car.

  The lights on the car are out, and the rescue team hasn’t gotten out of their vehicle yet, so I start toward the car. I half jump and half swim to the submerged car, and I realize that I can’t open the doors of the car against the rush of the water. A woman is slumped in the seat, as the car has already filled with water. I hold on to the car as I make my way around to the other side, using the remaining submerged rail as my guide. I can’t open the door on the other side, either, because there’s no clearance. I climb on top of the car and see that she has a sunroof, so I look around frantically for something, anything, and grab a nearby log as it floats by, lift it, and slam it down against the sunroof as hard as I can.

  It takes three nerve-wracking tries before the sunroof shatters, and I kick away the remaining glass from my perch on top of the car, reach inside, and try to pull the woman out by grabbing under her armpits.

  She budges only slightly. I tug again, and the constant resistance makes me realize her seat belt is still fastened. Taking a deep breath, I duck inside through the broken sunroof and fumble around until I find the release and depress it. The belt floats in the water and I try again to get underneath her armpits to pull her out.

  I groan as I lift her, because she’s unconscious—hopefully still alive—and she’s completely wet, dead weight. By now my lungs are burning for fresh air and I don’t know how long I can last. At last I manage to pull her out enough that her head is no longer submerged. I take deep shuddering breaths to revive myself, holding her all the while, and after a few seconds I’m able to get her out of the car, but I can’t let go because the water is still rushing and it could still carry her away.

  So I just hold on, keeping her head clear of the water, until one of the rescue squad members climbs up to take her from me. He hooks a belt around her and secures her with a carabiner.

  “Stay put, Ethan,” he says to me. “I’ll come right back for you.”

  I nod, and I brush my wet hair back from my eyes. I have long since lost my hat. I sit there on the car, my feet inside the broken sunroof and my hands clinging to the opening. The water is nearly to my waist now. I watch as the rescue squad rallies around getting the woman to safety, and they begin life-saving procedures on her. The man comes back to get me, for which I’m grateful. The water is up around his neck now, and it’s still getting higher. I can barely see the outline of the submerged car.

  He’s struggling against the rapid current, and I recognize him as one of the people from the meeting. I don’t know his name, though. “Put this around you,” he calls out as he tosses me a strap. I catch it and slide it over my head and push my arms through, and he tosses me a length of cable with a carabiner on one end. “Secure it!” he yells.

  But just as I get ready to hook the carabiner on the cable to my strap, a downed tree sweeps against the car, knocking the cable from my hands. The force is so great it shoves both me and the vehicle and I tumble around, no longer feeling the car under me and thrashing about to grab hold of something. My mouth and nose fill with water and the swift current keeps pulling me under then pushing me back up, and it’s a struggle to keep my wits and not panic, to grab for little bursts of fresh air when I can.

  On one resurfacing, I see that the rescue volunteer has been swept away with me, and I reach for him as he rushes past me. I grab on to his jacket, find the cable he’d offered me, pull it through my free hand until I get to the end, and somehow manage to hook us together. We rush down the swollen river, and another tree trunk hits us hard. Suddenly, the rescue volunteer is just bobbing against me, and I can tell he’s been knocked unconscious. I pull him against me, wrapping my legs around him, and hold on tight, trying to keep his face above the water as we rush down the swollen creek—which is now more river than creek. Eventually, the water slows enough that I can feel the shoreline of the lake under my feet as I swim us both toward shore.

  I use the last of my energy to drag his unconscious form with me. He’s wearing a life jacket, so at least he floats. I manage to get both of us out of the water, then I listen closely at his chest and I find that he’s still breathing, thank God. He moans softly as I run my fingers across the lump on the back of his head. “You’re going to be fine,” I tell him. “Just fine.”

  He moans again, and I lift him with my good arm, because I’m pretty sure my left arm is broken. My side stings like someone poured salt in a wound, and I look down but see nothing. It’s dark now, there’s no moon, and there’s no light here. I wade through the weeds at the bank of the river, pulling the injured man into the tall grass, and I collapse next to him.

  That’s when I hear the shouts. “Ethan! Ethan!”

  I raise my head and find Jake running toward me. Mr. Jacobson is driving his four-wheel drive truck right over to where we are, shining his headlights so we can see.

  “Is he alive?” Jake asks. The water isn’t rushing quite as fast here, so I can hear him.

  My breaths heave in and out of me, my heart slamming so hard I can barely talk. “A tree hit his head.” I touch the back of mine. “Back here.”

  A few rescue workers rush up with a backboard, and they load him up as I watch.

  “What about you?” Jake asks me.

  “I’m fine.” But my side is burning like it’s on fire, and I blink my eyes heavily as they blur.

  “Ethan!” Jake calls out. I lie back against the grass and stare up at the cloud-darkened night sky. “Ethan!” I hear him call again, but it sounds like it’s very far away. So far.

  I try to speak, but I can’t. All I can do is gasp, as the fire in my side moves up and down my body.

  “We got you, Ethan,” Jake says as another team arrives. They roll me onto a stretcher, and I try to talk. My son needs to know I’m all right. I need to call Abigail to tell her I’m fine. I need to tell her I love her. I need…her.

  But I can’t speak. Nothing comes out.

  “Gently, boys,” I hear Mr. Jacobson say. “I’m with you, Ethan. Everything is going to be okay now.”

  I try to nod but I can’t. My body feels so heavy. I can tell they’re loading me in the back of an ambulance, and Mr. Jacobson climbs in with me. He never lets go of my hand. He barks orders at the ambulance workers, and he curses when they don’t move fast enough.

  I want to laugh, but I can’t. I can’t do anything.

  And then it all goes dark.

  38

  Abigail

  I rush through the emergency room doors and find the lobby full of rescue workers, their wives, and townspeople I’ve seen here and there. The waiting room is also full. Ethan’s mom is sitting in a chair, chewing on her fingernails. I’d called her as soon as Little Robbie came to get me, and I assume she drove herself here.

  I rush over to her. “How is he? Have you heard anything?”

  She shakes her head. “He’s in surgery. He has a ruptured spleen, and a really bad gash on his side.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So, we wait.” I sit down on the floor next to her.

  A woman sits right in front of me, and she’s clutching two children against her like she’s afraid to let them go. She’s all wet, and her hair is stuck to her face. Her children are wearing ho
spital-branded pajamas, and she sits there shivering.

  “Are you all right?” I ask her.

  She nods as her eyes fill with tears. “We are now. He saved us. He saved all of us. We would have drowned without him.” Her teeth start to chatter. “He just came right out there, no life jacket, nothing. And he carried us all out.” She lets out a wet laugh. “He carried us all at once like we weighed nothing.” She looks down at her baby then at her young son. She runs a hand tenderly over his head. “He’s a hero.”

  I look at Ethan’s mom. “Is she talking about Ethan, do you think?”

  Suddenly, the fire chief, Ethan’s father-in-law, rushes into the room. Tears are streaming down his face. “She’s going to be okay,” he says to anyone and everyone. He sinks heavily into a vacant chair as if his legs won’t support him anymore.

  Little Robbie Gentry has come into the waiting room too. I motion for him. “Who is he talking about?” I ask.

  The whole room is silent. Everyone looks away.

  “Imogene,” Little Robbie says. “It was Imogene, his wife, in the second car. The second person Ethan saved, the woman in the submerged car, the one who wasn’t breathing… That was Ethan’s late wife’s mother.”

  The whole room remains silent. No one says a word.

  Suddenly, Derrick gets up, grabs Ethan’s mom and jerks her up into a hard hug, whispering, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over.

  She pulls back from him, glares into his eyes, and slaps him across the face. He goes absolutely still, his face drained of color aside from the red hand print she just left there. She strikes him again, and no one makes a move to stop her.

  When she finally quiets, he grabs her hand and draws it against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should have done better.” He sinks into a chair again.

  The doctor comes into the doorway and calls Ethan’s name. His mother and I get up, but she walks out into the hallway. The doctor has no choice but to follow.

  “Those people don’t deserve to know his status,” she says, and her voice breaks. I take her hand and give it a squeeze.

  Jake and Mr. Jacobson join us in the hallway with the doctor. And that’s fine with me.

  “Ethan came through the surgery just fine,” the doctor says in one big rushed breath, obviously aware that we are all anxious to know his status. “I’d say his condition is serious, but I feel confident, barring any other issues, that he will recover.”

  Ethan’s mom teeters on her feet. I hold her tightly. Jake wraps his arm around Mr. Jacobson’s shoulders as he lets out a heavy, joy-filled breath. “Thank God,” he breathes.

  “If you hadn’t gotten to him when you did…” the doctor tells the two men, trailing off.

  “He never should have been in the water to start with,” Mr. Jacobson grouses. “Hard-headed ass.”

  The doctor smiles. “He has a broken arm, but we were able to stop the bleeding on the ruptured spleen, and we stitched up his side. He needed fifteen units of packed cells, so if anyone feels like donating blood, we’d be grateful.”

  “We’ll donate,” Mr. Jacobson says. “They’ll donate,” he adds, tilting his head to indicate the packed lobby and waiting room. He has that look on his face like he’ll hold every single one of them in a chair while they do it if necessary.

  “So, we should just wait?” Ethan’s mom asks.

  The doctor nods. “From what I hear, your son is a hero. He saved two children, two women, and one rescue worker, all of whom could have certainly drowned if he hadn’t been at the right place at the right time and willing to do whatever was necessary. You should be very proud.”

  Her eyes fill up with tears and she doesn’t even try to blink them back. Her voice trembling, she says, “I’ve always been proud of him, every day of his life.”

  I wipe my wet face, and we go back out to the lobby.

  Mr. Jacobson addresses the crowd. “They need blood donors. I’ll expect you all to line up.” He sits down as people start to roll up their sleeves, and the nurses form lines for donations, since so many people are willing.

  Finally, when things have settled a bit, Mr. Jacobson stands up.

  But Derrick stands up at the same time. He talks over Mr. Jacobson when he opens his mouth to speak. Mr. Jacobson scowls at him, but Derrick continues. “I was wrong,” he says. His voice rings out loud and clear. “I treated that poor man horribly. And for no reason. And tonight, he didn’t think twice about saving Imogene.” His voice breaks. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

  “You should tell him when he wakes up,” Mr. Jacobson says quietly.

  “I will. I just wanted to say it publicly so everyone would know. I was wrong. I shunned that man, and I convinced a lot of you to shun him too. That was wrong. This town has treated him just awful, and it’s my fault.”

  Some are nodding as a small rumble moves through the crowd.

  “I was wrong,” he says again decisively. He swipes his hand down his face.

  The doctor comes to get him to take him to his wife, who is in recovery. But it’s about an hour later before they come and get us to take us to Ethan.

  When I walk into the room, Ethan looks to be asleep. His face is pale, his lips dark in stark contrast to his skin tone. He’s wearing a hospital gown. His mother walks over, brushes his hair back from his face, and kisses his cheek. His eyes flutter open.

  “What…?” he asks. His brow furrows. He looks around, confused.

  “You’re going to be fine, son,” his mother says softly.

  “Mitchell?” he asks.

  “He’s with my grandmother,” I say quietly from behind Ethan’s mother.

  He tries to smile when he realizes I’m in the room. “Abigail,” he says, his voice weak. He lifts his uninjured hand slowly, and I rush over to take it.

  “I told you not to go, you stubborn man,” I say. “You didn’t listen.”

  He shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. “I didn’t die. Dying is not very healthy.”

  I snort out a laugh, and he grins.

  “My arm hurts,” he says, as he tests the cast, lifting it an inch before letting it fall with a grimace.

  “You broke it. Along with your spleen. And you got a slice up your side somehow which they had to sew up,” I explain.

  “When I do it, I do it right.” The nurse injects something into his IV, and his eyelids grow heavy. “Don’t leave,” he says, and then he falls asleep.

  I lay my forehead on his good arm and suck in a breath. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  His mom smooths my hair. “Just wait until it’s your son lying on the table.”

  I look up at her. “Are you okay?”

  She nods and looks at me thoughtfully. She says nothing for a moment, but then she says very softly, “I was worried that you weren’t the right one. That you were only using him on the rebound.”

  I smile at her. “Are you still worried?”

  She shakes her head. “Not at all. You’ve been good for him.”

  “Can you believe he just jumped into the water like that?” I still can’t believe it.

  “I’m not surprised. It’s who he is. He’s a good man. Sometimes he just forgets that fact. Or in his case, people convince him differently.”

  “Don’t think we’ll have to worry about that anymore.”

  She smiles. “I don’t think we will.”

  And I stay there the whole night, just waiting for those fleeting moments when he’s awake. His mom stays too, and Derrick’s there but he doesn’t try to come into the room. Instead, he lingers in the hallway just outside Ethan’s room and occasionally looks through the window to check on him. Jake and Mr. Jacobson leave as soon as they both give blood, but they promise to come back tomorrow.

  I hear Ethan’s mom whisper to Mr. Jacobson as he hugs her before leaving, “You always believed in Ethan, didn’t you?” she asks him.

  He doesn’t reply. He just pops a toothpick in his mouth, winks a
t her, and leaves, with Jake following along behind.

  39

  Ethan

  Three days. That’s how long they keep me in the hospital. On the third day, I’m going stir crazy lying in the bed. Even having Abigail around doesn’t help much. I want to go home.

  “Would you stop fidgeting?” she gripes. She’s slouched in a chair next to the bed with a book in her hands, her feet resting on the bed next to my hip. She sets the book to the side. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  I toss the covers back. “Yes, please.”

  “Hang on,” she warns as she tugs my hospital gown down a little. “You’re going to show your junk to all the nurses.”

  “Do you think they’d be impressed?” I can tell I’m feeling better because my dick is perking up just because she’s talking about it.

  “No, I think they wouldn’t be able to see it because I would have stabbed their eyes out first.” She brings my slippers over. My mom left them for me yesterday, along with some pajamas. The nurses wouldn’t let me change into the pajamas since I occasionally need pain meds by injection. I’m trying not to take them, though, unless I really need them. They muddle my mind up too much.

  “Thanks,” I say as I slip my feet into the slippers.

  My side really feels better, and I don’t feel my spleen at all. My arm, on the other hand, has its own very painful throb at times. It hurts. I hold it close to my body as I get up. Abigail helps me drape a robe around my shoulders.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  I nod.

  We walk slowly toward the nurses’ station, and one very smart brunette smiles at me as I walk by. “You got some more flowers, Ethan,” she says as she points to a bouquet on the counter. I heave in a breath and let it out. I have gotten no less than twenty flower arrangements from well-intentioned people in the community, all of whom feel guilty about the way they’ve treated me.