and I fly off the side.
Falling. Quick breath. Water crashes on top of me with the force of a cabin cruiser. I plunge downward. Shit, the rocks. I tumble in so many directions, I have no clue which way is up. The snap of my surfboard being pulled in the opposite direction yanks my ankle, hard, searing into my skin. I try to grab my leg, but I can’t get my hands down there. After a few more seconds of pain, the leash breaks free. My board. Shit. I’m screwed. Lights flash through my head. I need air. I fight my way, trying to find the top. Can’t hold breath much longer. I burst through the waterline. Deep breath. Another wave crashes hard. Down, down I swirl. This time I’m pushed forward and down.
Bam. I slam into something hard—rocks. Sharp pain grates my skin. I cover my face and head with my arms. The current lets up; I kick hard to swim to the top.
If I don’t make it to the surface, if someone isn’t there …
lungs burn. My body hurts, but a surge of adrenaline helps me swim to the top. I think it’s the top. Can’t tell anymore. As I break the surface, I hear people yelling. I’m exhausted and trying to figure out where to swim, but the saltwater burns my eyes. A surfboard makes a beeline toward me, but I can’t focus so great and I’m doggie paddling just to keep my head above water.
A few more minutes, I tell myself. I can make it. Maybe. The board reaches me, and a pair of strong arms hoists me up, drags me onto something. A surfboard. Not mine. I don’t think. I don’t even know who the guy is, but I feel his weight on me as he paddles toward the shore. It’s comforting.
He says, “It’ll be okay. Hang in there a few more minutes.”
I don’t say anything. I lie there, eyes closed. Wanting sleep. I love the floating sensation of being on a board. I could drift here forever.
In a deep voice, he says, “We’re almost there. I’m gonna walk you in.” Then I feel a little shake and that soothing voice becomes abrupt. “Hey, are you okay? Stay with me. Open your eyes.”
But I don’t want to open my eyes. Drifting. Away from everything. Sounds so good.
I feel the weight of his arm across my waist. Then he lifts me off the board and I’m weightless as he cradles me in his arms. The thunk thunk of his walk jostles me. I wince. I was rescued by an ogre.
I whisper-croak, “Head hurts.”
“I’m sure it does, girlie. Bitch as much as you want; don’t go to sleep.”
Thunk, thunk. Jostle, jostle. Torture.
He stops and lays me down on the sand. A sea of voices buzz like a swarm of angry bees. It hurts my head so much. Someone peels my eyes open and shines a bright light in. I try to pull back, but the sand has me hemmed in.
I attempt to sit up, but my shoulders are pressed back into the sand. Someone holds a towel to my forehead. Why is there a crowd of people around? It’s not like I’m that important. Besides, if I can survive seventeen years in my house, what’s it matter if I get sucked over the falls?
“Everybody back the hell off.” The big blurry guy speaks sharply, motioning at my audience.
“The rest of you back way the hell off. I’m not going anywhere. She’s my girl.”
Ford. He’s here. His girl? My brain feels scrambled, but I like the sound of that.
“Grace, baby, open your eyes. Help us out here.”
His voice feels safe. It floods me with relief. I force my eyes open. He lifts a tangle of wet hair out of my face. I whisper, “Hey.”
sixteen
remorse: a gnawing distress arising
from a sense of guilt for past wrongs
—www.merriam-webster.com
Grace yawns, sprawled out across my living-room couch. “I’m cashed out. I’m not dying. Quit with the twenty questions and quit being so anal about keeping me awake.”
How can she be so irritating and lovable at the same time? “You could have fooled me. I was flipping out when Kahuna Pete paddled you in. You were limp when he carried you onto the beach. You barely responded at first. Gave me a freakin’ aneurism. If I hadn’t promised to take stellar care of you, they might have swung in the direction of the hospital instead of bringing you here. I swore I would keep