early September, soon after the girls had started school, Adam had a rare weekday afternoon off and asked me to join him on a trip to the springs. We left a note for the girls, in case they got home from school before we returned.
We drove out near High Springs and down a sandy road. Then we parked beside another car in a clearing. A mother and two small children picnicking on a blanket nodded their hellos. The children’s wet hair clung to their heads. Otherwise, we were alone. There were no paved roads near the Devil’s Springs then, no concession stands or bathrooms, just a path, woods, and the water.
I followed Adam to the back of the truck to help unload his diving gear. I didn’t see a snorkel, but there were two scuba tanks.
“Where is my snorkel?” I asked, my hands on my hips.
He picked up the tanks. “It’s not much different from snorkeling. And I know you listened to everything I taught Rosie. Come on.” He strode off toward the water, tanks and belts in hand.
“Only in the shallow parts,” I warned, as I followed him with the masks and fins.
Adam shot me one quick glance, but no response, as he plunged into the chest-deep water.
“Only in the places where I would snorkel. Nothing deep,” I added.
He stopped rinsing the tanks and stepped over to the bank where I sat. He touched my cheek very softly, his cool, wet fingers sliding up to my temple. “Only the shallow? But you like it deep.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes at him but returned his smile. “Not in the water.”
I slipped into the cold water next to him and let him hoist the tank onto my back. He showed me how to breathe, how to check the air, and how to share one mouthpiece if one of us ran out of air or got into trouble, repeating the lessons he’d given Rosie. The gear felt awkward, and heavier than I would have thought.
Scuba-diving in the chest-high river was pleasant. I had to admit Adam was right. Except for the change in buoyancy with the tank, it wasn’t all that different from snorkeling. Sunlight still warmed my back and shimmered silver-blue through the water. As I gazed down at the grasses, I knew I could surface in seconds. I was happy diving a few feet under to get a closer look at a rock or log, pleased with myself for having made my compromise with Adam’s enthusiasm for the river. Adam dived lower, glided along the bottom, and circled the small lagoon that surrounded the cobalt mouth of the spring.
When he surfaced and removed his tank and flippers, I assumed he was ready to go home, and began to take mine off, too. He held up his hand. “No, don’t. Not yet. I’m just going to the car.”
He came back with a light and a thick coil of rope. He had bought a new underwater flashlight recently. Seeing the expensive, shiny new light in his hand reminded me of how comparatively well off we’d been since selling that little corner of the farm before we left Clarion. But I was glad he had the new light. The old one had been secondhand and rusty. I hated to think of him suddenly without light, deep underground.
I leaned on the bank, watching him work his feet back into the flippers. I’d taken my tank off. It lay sleeping on the bank. I was done, I could relax. Adam smiled his happiest, most seductive smile as he adjusted his tank and checked the light. Sunshine streamed down through the trees, speckling the water.
He tied the rope to a tall, thick cypress knee, picked up my tank, and walked out into the water—I thought to rinse it. Instead he turned, holding it up toward me. “You just hold on to me. I’ll do the work.”
“Oh, no.” Panic tightened my chest. “You go on. I’ll wait here.” I was ashamed of my fear, even with him, and tried to keep my voice casual. But I had shrunk back, certain that he heard the unsteady jerk of my diaphragm in my words.
“It is no different from doing it right here. All you have to do is hold on to me and breathe.”
Tree roots and limestone dug into my back. I pressed my hands into the gritty, slick sand on either side of me.
“It is so beautiful, Evelyn. I just want to show you what I see