In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(18)

Jack...Jack had gotten divorced after eight months of marriage.

And then he heard the car. Judging from the sound of the engine, it seemed as if the car was going at least sixty miles an hour in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone.

He turned away from the water and waited, oddly calm. The car would crash. How could it not, going that fast?

Then again, he’d had that same thought hundreds of times. Maybe thousands.

None of that ever happened, but the instinct—to watch over, pay attention, be alert, be ready—was a reflex. His rational brain knew how unlikely it was that what he feared and watched for would come to pass.

But he looked up the hill anyway. In another few seconds, he’d be able to see the car as it came down the curve on Lake Shore Road, thirty feet up the hill from Keuka.

Later, when people heard about the accident, how Jack of all people happened to be there at that exact moment, they said the usual things—everything happens for a reason, it was a miracle, God works in mysterious ways.

To Jack, however, it was more of a statistics thing. All these years not being there had to end eventually.

Almost automatically, he processed what might happen: the car swerving off the road as the driver tried to handle the curving road, the vehicle rolling over and over into Blue Heron’s chardonnay vines, which were closest to the road. Or the car would smash into the same telephone pole he himself had scraped when he was sixteen.

Worse, the car would hit the big maple at the base of the entrance to Blue Heron. The driver was a teenage boy, Jack guessed, because there was no one on earth who believed in his driving skill and immortality more than a teenage boy.

Hopefully, everyone in the car was wearing a seat belt. The windows would be closed, since it was January, so no one would be thrown from the car. Going that fast, though, even with air bags...

The engine screamed with a downshift as the hotdogging kid played with his life.

And here it was. The screech of brakes applied too late. Jack tensed for the crunch of metal as the car rolled or hit a tree, the subsequent, constant blare of a horn.

The sound came, but it wasn’t what Jack expected.

Instead, there was a sharp, oddly clean noise, and Jack felt his mouth drop open as the car burst through the guardrail, snapping off the topmost branches of the hillside trees. It sailed over his head, its engine still revving, tires spinning. Jack had a detailed view of the chassis.

And then there was a tremendous whoosh as the car hit the water nose-first—the lake wasn’t frozen; it was too deep for that. There was a massive slosh, and a crow screeched from a tree and Jack saw the white, terrified faces of two boys. Yep, teenagers.

The car was a silver coupe. An Audi. The nose started to sink almost immediately, the headlights shining down into the lake. The sky was red and purple, helluva sunset, his boots were off and he was diving. He much would’ve preferred to do this in August, and holy mother of God, the water was cold.

For a second, the frigid shock slammed all other thoughts from his head as every muscle in his body contracted in shock even as he was cutting through the water (thank you, United States Navy; they’d trained him to act first and think later).

His bones already hurt from the cold.

The boys were screaming, their voices muffled by the closed windows. Damn. The best thing would’ve been if the windows were already open, giving them an exit. One boy was pounding it with his fist. Pointless, since that wouldn’t break anything except a bone in his hand. The electrical must’ve already gone out, if they couldn’t get the windows down by pushing the button. Or they were just panicking and not thinking of it.

Now the boy was hitting the door with his shoulder. Also pointless with several tons of water pressing against the doors. No, they’d have to break the windows and get out that way, or let enough water in to equalize the pressure and then open the door.

But they don’t teach that in high school, and, yes, Jack thought he recognized one of the boys as a classmate of his niece, Abby. Seniors or thereabouts.

The thoughts shot through his head rapid-fire.

The water would be flooding in through the front of the car.

They maybe had five minutes before the car was submerged. Maybe eight, but that’d be pushing it. That is, eight for hypothermia. Obviously less time if they couldn’t breathe.

Jack’s arms already felt heavy and dead. Not good. No, strike that, no negative thoughts permitted. Just move. He made it to the car, which was now halfway into the lake at a forty-five degree angle, the water up to the middle of the windows. Four boys, two in front, two in back, one with blood on his face. The driver was slumped over the wheel.

“Help us! Help!” the bleeding boy pleaded, and it wasn’t like Jack wasn’t trying.

He fumbled in his jeans pocket for the window breaker he had on his key chain. Ten bucks on Amazon, and not only did he have one, but every member of his family did, too. His dexterity was off, thanks to the cold, his fingers clumsy and slow.

One of the kids had his iPhone out. Good. Help would be on the way. Then again, by the time the fire department got here, the boys would be drowned. They’d all drown, Jack included, or die of hypothermia. How many minutes had he been in the water? One? Two?

The car was slipping deeper.

There. His numb fingers closed around the little device. Pressed it against the window, his hands shaking hard, and it slipped right off.

“Hurry! Hurry!” the bleeding boy screamed.