Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,45
against the lifeline. I grab hold, but the next wave hits harder and hurtles me over the line, into the sea.
Beneath the surface I am panicked and disoriented.
Thrashing.
Unable to tell if I’m upside down or right side up.
The water is pitch black and the salt stings my eyes as I struggle to find the surface with no moon to guide me. My harness is still attached and when the boat lifts on the next wave, I slam sideways against the hull. Pain flashes from my shoulder to my fingertips, and my left arm refuses to cooperate as I try to pull myself along the harness line to the surface. The harness jerks and once more I’m lifted from the water. I grab a breath of air and the next second I’m smashed headfirst against the boat.
Stars shimmer behind my eyes.
I see my life unfold in bright flashes.
I see Ben.
Darkness pulls at the edges of my consciousness and I know that I am going to drown. My lungs burn from holding my breath. I can’t hold on, but I know that I don’t want to die to be with Ben. I would rather live without him.
foundering (18)
My eyes open to the soft golden glow of the cabin lights and Keane’s face hovering above mine, his dark brows knit together by worry and fear. The left side of my face pulses as if my heart has shifted into my cheek, and I feel a dizzying rush of blood to my head when I try to sit up. But unless my version of heaven includes Keane Sullivan, I am not dead.
“Who is steering the boat?” My throat feels as if I’ve been eating sandpaper and he hands me a tumbler of water. The boat pitches on the waves and I hear the sails flapping in the wind. The answer is no one. We are foundering.
“You fell overboard.” Keane ignores my question. “Do you remember?”
“No,” I say at first, but memory clicks into place and I recall being tumbled like clothes in a dryer and salt water choking my lungs. “I mean, yes. Some of it. What happened?”
“I woke when the boat veered off course,” he says. “When I heard thumps against the hull, I scrambled topside and hauled you out of the water.” He is not wearing his prosthesis. Pulling me from the water and getting me down into the cabin was nothing short of heroic. “I don’t think you’ve broken your cheekbone, but it’s swollen and bruised. You’ve dislocated your shoulder and likely have a concussion.”
From the corner of my eye I see the bump protruding beneath my misshapen shoulder, and the pain is a sustained throb that sharpens when I try to move my arm. I don’t look squarely at the damage because my mouth is already pre-vomit salty and I’m afraid I will faint. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths through my nose until the nausea subsides.
“This may hurt, so I apologize in advance.” Keane takes a roll of bandages from the first aid kit. “I would reset your shoulder myself, but I fear doing more damage than good. I’ll immobilize it until we can get to a doctor.”
He wraps the bandage snug around my shoulder before fashioning a sling from a blue bandanna to hold my arm against my chest. His fingers are gentle as he knots the sling behind my neck. My vision blurs with tears. “You saved me again.”
“It’s not as if I had another option, Anna.”
A small wet laugh slips out at the Keane-ness of his answer. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He tucks a strand of damp hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead. “Every time.”
“I want to go home.”
I am both healed and broken by the storm. Reminded how good it is to be alive, but tired of chasing after something I’m never going to catch. I don’t know what my life will look like without Ben, but it doesn’t have to be the pursuit of his dreams.
“Okay.” The word falls heavy from Keane’s mouth and I hear his disappointment. “But we’re far beyond making landfall in the Dominican Republic and we can’t turn back. We have to press on to San Juan.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice.”
We are still two and a half days from Puerto Rico, but the silver lining is that they have good hospitals and cheap nonstop flights to Fort Lauderdale.
“We have a bit of a problem,” Keane says. “My knees are aching, and if I don’t