When My Heart Joins the Thousand(79)

Above me I can see a faint light through the water, but it’s dwindling. The ache in my lungs has sharpened to pain. My mouth wants to open, but I keep my lips clamped shut, knowing that if I give in to the urge, it will be over. Finally, in a burst of panicked strength, I force the door open.

A cold hand grabs mine, pulling me down. I struggle, kicking out. My nails rake over the thin, gripping fingers, but they won’t let go. I claw and kick and pry until finally the grip loosens and slides away, into the blackness.

I kick out against the water and shoot like a bullet toward the surface.

My head breaks through, and I gulp in air. A wave crashes over me, roaring, shoving me back under. The roar fills my ears and drowns out my thoughts. I kick to the surface again, and another wave drags me down, as if the lake is alive. My head breaks the surface and I drag more air into my lungs. Choppy waves break all around me, and foam swirls.

Where is Mama?

Dizziness bursts inside my skull, and my vision blurs. My legs and arms strike out blindly, fighting the water. The shore looks so far away, but I push myself toward it, even as the lake roars around me.

Mama. Where is she?

I remember a hand tugging mine, then slipping away. Slipping down into darkness. Then the memory vanishes, too.

Another wave roars down on me. The rush of water is all around me, and a current pulls at my legs. A bit of information—the Great Lakes are the only lakes that have currents—spins through my head like a leaf on the wind. I fight, arms wheeling. The shore is receding. I’m being pulled back and down.

It’s hard to see anything, but for an instant I think I glimpse a figure on the shore, beckoning me.

Mama.

When a current has you, you’re supposed to swim sideways. Teeth gritted, I dog-paddle, struggling against the pull. The current releases me, and I lunge toward the shore. My head goes under again. More water fills my mouth. My limbs go heavy and weak, but I force them to move. Mama is waiting for me on the shore. She’ll take me home, and this will all be a bad dream.

At last, I crawl onto the sand and collapse. A fit of coughing wracks my body, and cold black water floods from my mouth. Weakly I lift my head and look around. But Mama is nowhere to be seen.

My head drops to the sand. I don’t know how long I lay there, dizzy and sick, floating in and out of a dull fog.

Two figures stumble into my view. One of them is a teenage girl, laughing. A boy follows her, shoving his hands underneath her shirt. “Brad, stop! Someone will see us!” she gasps.

“Nobody here but us chickens, babe.” He peels off her shirt and squeezes her boobs, and they fall to the sand, him growling like a dog while she giggles and squeals.

A weak moan escapes my throat.

Their heads turn toward me. Their mouths drop open.

“Holy shit,” the boy says, “is that a kid?”

My vision goes blurry again, and darkness folds around me.

There’s a long stretch of nothing, and then a bright white room. For a while, I don’t know where I am or what’s happening. Doctors drift in and out of the room while I drift in and out of the dark fog in my head. There’s something covering my mouth and nose, and my breathing sounds raspy.

I hear a man say: “Amazing that she managed to swim to shore on her own. That takes some strength. She’s a lucky girl.”

And a woman’s voice replies, “I wouldn’t say that.” A pause. “Her eyelids just flickered. Is she conscious?”

If the man responds, I don’t hear it. I’m already sinking back into the void.

Later, a nurse is looking at the machines around me, writing things down on a clipboard.

“Where is Mama?” I whisper.

She looks at me and doesn’t say a word. Her lips tighten, and she quietly leaves.

I remember the car driving over the edge of the pier. I remember a cold hand sliding out of mine and into the nothingness below.

Everything clicks into place. For a moment I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. A blinding red pain fills my whole body, like every nerve is screaming. Then all at once, the pain is gone, the nerves dead and cold.

Alone.

I’m alone.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


I find myself on the shore, gasping and shivering.

My throat is raw and sore, as if I’ve been screaming. I don’t remember screaming. I should be feeling something, shouldn’t I? I’ve just ripped open my deepest wound, turned myself inside out—but I’m numb.

My clothes are still neatly folded up where I left them. Fumbling, I dress myself, get into the car, and start the engine. I can’t feel my feet or fingers, but somehow, I manage to get myself home.

When I open the front door, the lights are on. Stanley is there in the living room, in his wheelchair, his eyes wide, his face pale. “Oh my God. Where have you been?”

I moisten my numb lips. “How long have I been gone.”

“Three hours.”

I glance at the clock. Four thirty. “Sorry.”

He wheels toward me. “Alvie. You’re drenched. Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The door swings shut behind me, shutting out the darkness and cold. I know it’s warm inside, but I can’t feel it. “I . . .” My voice emerges hoarse and cracked. I swallow and try again. “I went to the lake.”