The Lifeguards(71)

-4-


    Salvatore


SALVATORE GAVE HIS NANNY the day off and picked up Joe and Allie himself. He spotted Joe outside school, staring at his non-snazzy sneakers. Kid after kid ran to a car driven by a mom. Salvatore ached to text Mae Mae and flee.

Salvatore typed, SORRY FOR LAST MIN TEXT BUT CAN YOU STILL GET KIDS? I NEED TO

Joe looked up before Salvatore could finish the text. He grinned and began waving. “Dad!” he cried. “Dad! I’m over here!”

Salvatore held the phone in his hand. He could still send the text, pull away, go to a bar, go for a hike, go to work, go hire someone to hold him, buy some running shoes, run until he collapsed.

But it was time to accept Jacquie’s death, to embrace the memories of his life with her, and move forward. What remained was his son, his girl, and the memory of Liza Bailey’s kiss, the person he’d been once, ready for love. Could he be that man again? Life wore you out either way. Loneliness left you empty, and love pierced you with the worst pain and the best joy.

Joe yelled, “Dad!”

Salvatore had a choice.





-5-


    Liza


I TEXTED WHITNEY AND Annette in vain, telling them Charlie was AWOL and I was scared. Despite our hundreds of wine-soaked nights, our promises and conversations, afternoons spent caring for each other’s children, it was becoming clear that when it mattered, we’d immediately reverted to protecting our blood. Was all the quiet I’d thought was a safe weave of community watchfulness—of love—nothing more than expensive houses with personal alarm systems to alert the owners of an outsider coming too close?

I sat on my front step, feeling completely alone. I remembered my childhood neighborhood—trashy, sure, but I was never lonely. I missed the chaos of Bluebird Acres, the way everyone knew our business. Oak Glen was barren in the blinding sunlight. None of the new houses had front porches, just high gates and backyards hidden from view. I had always felt safe in this quiet corner of the city, but now I felt isolated and scared, wishing someone would wander by and ask me how I was doing.

When Mack was sick, I had waited for help. When my mom was too drunk to make dinner, I had waited. But no one had come to help me then. And, it seemed, no one was coming now.

In the middle of the hot afternoon, I remembered the “Big Mother” app I’d installed on Charlie’s phone after reading about the start-up in the Austin American-Statesman. How could I have forgotten? I opened the app, and watched as it pinpointed Charlie’s location. I squinted, confused. Charlie was…on the greenbelt?

I donned flip-flops. A breeze rustled the leaves of my oak trees, and I felt panic rise in my throat. Following the glowing orb on my phone, I began to run from my house toward the place where, not long ago, a crew of EMTs had carried the body of a woman named Lucy out on a stretcher inside a body bag.

It was so hot.

The paved road ended and I stepped over a metal divider and into the greenbelt. The ground was muddy, overgrown bushes almost hiding a small trail. But I knew the path was there. I walked along it, breathing in the pungent scent of stone and water and dirt. As always, I was struck by the presence of such a wild place so close to the city. But instead of feeling thankful, I was terrified. Anything could happen down here. I knew it. I peered at my phone, praying I would not lose cell service.

I followed directions, approaching the Cliffs, but then my path toward Charlie veered off the trail, descending a steep embankment. I was still at least twenty feet above shallow pools of water and rock bed. I stumbled, almost falling headfirst off the rim, and vowed to step carefully. I was dizzy and overheated. When had I last eaten anything? I couldn’t remember.

I made my way along a narrow precipice high above the creek bed. One wrong footfall and I would tumble off the outcropping. As I walked carefully—so carefully—my eyes grew blurry with unshed tears. The trail followed the cliff line and then turned. I saw a crevice in the rock, felt my way around the edge and leaned into a dark space.

Adrenaline made my heart thump wildly. I tried to make sense of the app, which was now having trouble connecting. From what I could tell, the dot showed that Charlie was inside the rock.

Impossible.

I pushed deeper, wedging myself into a crevice, breathing hard with exertion. I forced my body between two boulders, gasping, feeling woozy, as if I might pass out. The stone was cool on my flushed face. My eyes adjusted and I looked around. I was standing, it seemed, in a cavern. White and light brown stalactites and stalagmites glowed with refracted light. I looked around in awe.

Secret Cave.

For years, I had heard stories about Secret Cave, a place where speakeasies had held parties during Prohibition, where teenagers hosted raves, where children disappeared and never returned. I had never believed it was real.

Yet here I was.

I started to cry, overwhelmed. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t want to be here.

No one is coming.

No one is coming to help you.

No one.

I wanted to sit down. I felt like that girl again, desperate for anyone to take over, to hold me. But I did not sit. I moved forward as fast as I was able. The cave narrowed and grew darker. I lost track of the turns, at one point dropping to my hands and knees to pull myself along a passageway. Water ran around me; I could hear it. I emerged into a large space that smelled of cool moss. It was completely black.