Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(71)

I tipped back my beer bottle and took a long pull while watching kids splashing around in the waves. A line of pelicans glided low over the water, searching for fish in the shallows. The beauty of the place started sinking in as I got out of my head for a moment.

And in the peace of it all, with my mind relaxed, my confidence grew. I didn’t have it all together. I probably wouldn’t do everything right the first time, but since my dad was still learning, I figured I didn’t need to. I just needed to want to, be aware that it would take effort and attention. A relationship wasn’t an autopilot, take-for-granted thing. And the rest would have to work itself out.

Someone shouted, sounding alarmed. I sat up, planting my bottle into the sand. A woman stood at the shoreline, shouting something in French while she pointed to an abandoned paddleboard floating on the surface about a hundred feet straight out.

I ran up to her as did others. Tears were streaming down her face. No further translation needed. I raced into the surf after another man, who’d already taken off toward the paddleboard.

By the time we made it out there, no one was around, and we began diving on separate sides of the floating board. The water was clear enough for me to see a form beneath the surface moving with the ebb of the tide. I grabbed an arm and pulled him up.

Thank f*ck I’d rowed crew and our coach insisted on Advanced CPR Certifications for the entire team. I swam quickly back to the beach, pulled him safely away from the waves, and laid him onto the sand as I yelled toward the small crowd gathered on the beach. “Tell the hotel to call for help!”

With no time to waste, and no pulse or breathing detected, I started with the breaths. The other man fell to the sand beside me and began chest compressions. He and I spoke no words, instinctually working as a team to save the man’s life.

After what felt like forever, but was likely only about ten minutes, an emergency crew arrived and took over for us. They opened up their automated external defibrillator, hooked the leads up to his chest, and asked us to step back. Seconds later, they pushed a button and his body jerked. When no response came from him, they checked his breathing and pulse. They repeated the process once more.

The crowd had pressed in around us as the man finally began to move. He coughed out water, and the emergency crew rolled him onto his side to help him clear his lungs.

I took a couple of steps back, hands shaking, as I tried to get my own breathing and racing heart under control. The French woman came up to me, one hand covering her mouth as the tears continued to stream down her face. She placed her other hand on my chest as she swallowed hard.

She looked too choked up to find words. That made two of us.

I pulled her into my arms, and she held me tightly while the emergency crew strapped the man onto a backboard to carry him to an ambulance that was parked on the edge of the beach.

As they lifted the man and began to walk off, she pulled away from me, speaking rapid French as she glanced between me and the other man who’d assisted me. I shook my head, not understanding, then nodded anyway and motioned toward the man we’d saved. She gave me a weak smile and ran off after him.

The other man who’d assisted in the rescue stepped closer toward me. “She thanked you. Thanked us. For saving his life. She said her husband is her world.”

My lungs froze. Then I forced in a deep breath. Moisture welled up in my eyes as I stared toward the emergency vehicle. Everyone around me faded away, dispersing into different directions as I stood alone.

Hannah was my world. It wasn’t about trying to fit her in to what already existed. It all needed to begin with Hannah.





29


Message in a Bottle


The Seychelles Four Seasons concierge had taken great care of me, making arrangements so I could take a flight back home two days early. At my request, I’d been supplied with a gel pen and parchment stationery. And during plenty of contemplative time on the plane, optimism ruling my thoughts, I’d drafted Hannah a letter—the most important of my life.

Although definitely no poet, I spoke from my humble heart, the boy inside me desperately needing the love of the girl inside her.

After traveling the long journey back to the States, I finally pulled the rental car into an empty angled space in front of Sweet Dreams during what I knew would be a slow time for them. Her fastback was parked out front in its usual space. My heart ached at the sight of her car, at a cherished piece of her.

Knowing how to open her front door without triggering the squeak that she’d been meaning to oil, I slipped into her shop without giving away my presence. I approached the front counter, deposited my message on the center of it, and gave the letter one last glance.

A rolled parchment page with a slender red bow stood inside of an empty wine bottle that the flight crew had been gracious enough to give to me. A cork they’d politely provided had sealed my message inside.

For a split second, I contemplated ringing the service bell on the counter, but decided against it. My needs were spelled out inside, and I wouldn’t ask for anything more, not even to disrupt her day. Hannah, or one of her employees, would find the bottle sometime this afternoon when a customer needed help.

I could wait. I’d been suffering for almost a week. I was willing to wait a whole lot longer.

So I left.

I should’ve gone to Kristen’s place to let my sisters and family know I was back and geared up to piss them off on a regular basis. Tired and hungry, however, I went back to my place.