Life and Other Inconveniences(93)

That was all the impetus I needed, apparently, for the next thing I knew, I was slicing through the water, the salty brine familiar and bracing. The waves were almost nonexistent, the breeze gentle. My shoulder creaked a bit, and my ankles felt stiff, and my knees would punish me later, but I was swimming, turning my head every third stroke for a breath of air. Goggles protected my eyes, but I’d forgotten a swimming cap. Ah, well. My hair would survive.

I’d forgotten how much I’d loved swimming in the ocean. Or the Sound, as the case may have been. It was better than the ocean, even, as there were no riptides, no sharks or squid. I wondered how far I’d have to go before it would be too late to turn back. I was a good swimmer, and the water was warm, so hypothermia would take quite some time. I passed the end of the point, where I’d let dear Miller bury his wife, and kept going. The sails of a few boats dotted the horizon, but otherwise, I was alone.

I swam underwater for a few strokes. Could I do this? Could I just . . . stop? Wasn’t breathing something the body fought for at all costs? Would I have to load my pockets with rocks? A school of small fish swam beneath me, silver and flashing in the clear water.

Once, Garrison and I had taken the boys to Southern California, and we’d swum with seals and sea lions, and the fish had been so beautiful, their colors brilliant in the Pacific. Clark had been three and stayed on the shore with the nanny we’d taken along, but we had to nearly drag Sheppard out of the water. He’d been such a natural at everything.

I looked around now, wondering where the rocky cliffs were. Shouldn’t I be able to hear the sea lions now? Where was Sheppard? Where was anyone?

This wasn’t right! Where was I? There was something swimming at me. It seemed to be a golden sea lion. Very rare, I thought. Or was I imagining it? This didn’t look like the Pacific one bit. Or did it?

Suddenly, my head was underwater, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I was sinking. Sinking! The water was green, and I could see paws above me. It wasn’t a sea lion. It was a dog.

Kick, said a voice in my head, and I did, and then I was above water again, gasping. The dog barked at me and swam closer, and I grabbed onto its collar. There. Over there. A floating object nearby, a green and yellow thing with a rope on it. I couldn’t remember the word—boy?—but I knew to swim to it. I grabbed on, and it held me up, bobbing and slippery. The dog came with me and swam around in circles, barking.

Why was I out here? Who was watching me? Who would help me? Whose dog was this?

Had Sheppard drowned? Where was Sheppard? Was I supposed to be looking for him? He was lost, wasn’t he? Had he jumped in with me? How did I get here? “Sheppard!” I called, but my voice was weak.

“What the hell are you doing?” came a gruff voice, and I looked behind me to see a small boat—a Boston something—approaching.

“Paul,” I said, and then I was back in myself. It was summer, and I was old, and this was Emma’s grandfather, and we didn’t like each other because . . . because of a baby.

The dog barked again. He was mine. Maximilian. Mac. The dear, senile thing had swum out with me.

“Need help?” he asked.

“No,” I said, then immediately regretted it. “Actually, yes. I’ve got a . . .” The word was gone. “A crink.”

“A cramp, you mean?”

“Yes. That’s what I said.”

“Fine.” He turned off the engine, the boat bobbing dangerously close to me, and reached a hand over the side, his lined face scowling. “Come on, you idiot. Why the hell you’d go for a swim all by your lonesome is beyond me.”

“I have the dog for company, don’t I?”

“Yeah, well, where’s his boat?”

His hand felt wonderful, warm and solid. “Pull me in,” I said.

“You gotta help out, Genevieve. This is gonna be a group effort.”

My teeth were starting to chatter. “Just pull, Paul. I’m a bit weak from exertion.”

“Well, you shoulda thought of that before you swam a mile, shouldn’t you? Hate to break this to you, but you’re old.”

“Just help me on your damn boat, Paul, and save your lecture for when I’m not about to drown.”

“I wish you were about to drown. Maybe you wouldn’t be talking so much.”

He had all his hair, which was nice. It was completely white, like mine, and his beard made him look like the perfect New England fisherman.

“If you don’t get me on your boat, I’m pulling you in with me,” I said.

Finally, he heaved, and I was able to grab the side of the boat. However, my legs were not cooperating. “Just swing over,” Paul said.

“If it were easy, Paul, I’d have done it already,” I snapped.

He reached down and grabbed me—my inner thigh, his hand right where it shouldn’t be!—and hauled me on so that I fell onto the bottom of the boat in a rush of water and humiliation.

“There,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

“You put your hand between my legs!” I gasped.

“And I didn’t draw back a bloody stump, so we both win,” he said.

“How dare you.”

To my surprise, he laughed. He laughed. I felt my own mouth twitch a little bit.

“Guess we have to get this monster in, too, don’t we?” he said. “Couldn’t it have been the little rat dog?”