The Elizas: A Novel(2)

Bill clears his throat awkwardly. “You were found at the bottom of another pool last night.”

I blink. In a way, I’m not surprised. This is, what, the fourth time I’ve almost drowned? The fifth? No wonder my family seems fatigued.

“The one at the Tranquility resort?” I ask tremulously.

“You don’t remember.” Bill says it like a statement, not a question.

I glance at my mother. She’s staring down at her chest, biting her lip, so she doesn’t see when I shake my head—but then, it’s clear she already knows. I hate that I’m disappointing her—scaring her—but . . . I don’t remember. Again.

“Where’s my phone?” I ask.

My mother’s face shifts into a mix of anger and annoyance, her favorite way to deflect fear. “Eliza. The last thing you should be worrying about right now is your phone.”

Bill leans forward. “It’s true. The doctors want you to rest. You need to get your strength back up.”

I crane my neck and look at Gabby. Her expression is grave behind her round glasses. A sliver of memory from last night suddenly wriggles through. It’s nighttime, a few hours after my minibar and room-service binge. I am standing on the pool deck at the Tranquility, but I don’t know why. Every other time I’ve been at the pool, it’s been pleasantly crowded with lounging bodies, but in this memory, the area is empty, as though everyone has just evacuated. Waves bob tempestuously on the water. Towels are thrown haphazardly across chairs. An upended cup sits on a table, a balled-up napkin printed with the resort’s logo has missed the trash can and lies on the concrete. The diving board wobbles, as if someone has just jumped off . . . and dissolved into nothing.

The sky is very dark in the memory, opaque black velvet. The air is a cleansing kind of chilly, like there was a sudden drop in barometric pressure wicking away all the humidity. I can practically feel my heels ticking against the hard tiled pool deck. I stand near the water, looking around frantically—for what? And I feel scared—but why? And then I hear footsteps. There’s a confusion of movement, and I trip. There’s a yelp—my yelp—and a stranger’s laugh. The water is shockingly cold when I hit it belly-first. My useless limbs flap, I try to paddle, but I quickly give out. Air leaves my lungs. My shoes fall off my feet as I sink to the bottom. I can’t swim. I never learned.

I inhale and detect the faintest hint of pool chlorine in my nostrils. I hear that “Low Rider” riff again. A cold sweat breaks out on the surface of my skin. “Did they find him?”

My mother’s lips part. “Who? The person who pulled you out of the water?”

Once again I feel those strong hands pushing me from behind. Once again I hear that laugh. A high-pitched, mocking, satisfied laugh.

“The person who pushed me in,” I whisper.

Gabby’s blonde head shoots up. My mother’s face turns red, and she pokes her head into the hall. “Nurse,” she says in a panicked voice.

Now I am shaking. “No, seriously, someone pushed me!” My voice grows louder. “Someone pushed me into that pool! We have to find him! Please!”

“Eliza.” Bill’s face is large and close. “No one pushed you. You jumped.”

“Like every other time,” my mother murmurs into her hands with a sob, just as a nurse walks into the room with a gleaming syringe.

I cower back on the bed. My eyes bulge as the nurse steps closer. “No!” I cry, but it doesn’t matter. The nurse isn’t listening, and neither is anyone else. It’s not so crazy they think I jumped. I have a bit of a track record of this kind of behavior. But I didn’t go into that water willingly—this I know for sure.

Someone wanted me dead.

? ? ?

The clock on the wall of my hospital room says 3:15, and judging by the sunlight, I have to assume it’s now Sunday afternoon. I must have fallen asleep from the shot the nurse gave me because, she claimed—they all claimed—I was having another episode. The whole way down, milliseconds before I lost consciousness, I argued with the room this wasn’t a repeat performance. I wasn’t delusional like all those other times. I was telling the truth.

Now, the room is silent and still. I don’t know where anyone is—maybe my family has left. In many ways, I hope they have.

I feel around on the little bedside table, hoping my phone is there. It’s not. It’s discomfiting not to have my phone by my side, like one of my senses has been taken away. I’ve missed hours of news. I’ve missed random snaps from celebrities I’ve never met and friends I never see and distant family members I don’t really like. I’ve missed emails about shoe sales, makeup sales, and emails that proclaim Free shipping today and today only! Maybe I’ve even missed an email from my editor or agent. I want to Google this hospital to make sure it’s reputable and search for news of last night’s incident at the Tranquility. I want to Google the meds in my IV drip, and ask Siri why all hospitals smell like sadness, and also confirm with Siri that my family actually drugged me to keep me quiet.

Okay, it had been a major slip to drink. I’d promised my family I wouldn’t after my surgery and treatment. Only, it had tasted so good. Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. I’m not really very good at refraining, to be honest. Willpower isn’t my strong suit. But drinking was my only slip, and it didn’t dull what I know. Everything I’d said to them about someone pushing me is true. It happened. I know it.