incredibly soothing sound of the waterfall. What Nicole doesn't know is that I am lying here trying to decide if this is the moment to tell her that we do not have a future together. I don't want to have that conversation before I am really sure, because once we have it there will be no turning back.
suddenly, despite having decided that this is not the right time, my mouth starts to speak. “Nicole, we need to talk.”
She tenses up. “Don't, Andy. No one ever says ‘we need to talk’ when they're going to talk about something good.”
I can't pull back now. “Nicole … everybody always says marriages don't work because people grow in different directions. But I don't think that's the case at all.”
She is now just waiting to see what I'm getting at, though I think she already knows.
I continue. “I think we were always very different. Sure we've grown, but I think those same differences have always been there. I think that as we get older we notice them more. We're less willing to paper over them.”
“What are you saying, Andy?”
I pause for a moment, because I'm having trouble breathing. I remember there being more air at Harper's Point. “I'm saying that it's over, Nicole.”
Nicole starts to unpack the lunch, as if behaving normally will negate the conversation. “Andy, don't do this. Please. You're making a mistake.”
I feel terribly sorry for her, and for me, but I wouldn't be doing anybody a favor by backing off now.
“No. I'm not.”
She's still emptying the picnic basket, and she drops a fork on the ground.
I lean over to pick it up, and as I do I hear a strange sound. For a moment, I think that Nicole must have dropped something else, and it is the sound of that other item hitting the ground. I look around, but there is nothing there.
I sit back up and notice that Nicole has a strange look on her face. And then I see an expanding dark red spot on her shoulder, coming from what looks like an open wound.
“Nicole?”
“Andy, I …”
It is not until she falls forward into my lap that I truly register what has happened. Nicole has been shot. My mind goes from wild panic to crystal clear focus in an instant, and I realize that I don't know where the shooter is, and that he certainly can shoot again.
I pull Nicole down behind the rocks, hoping that they will shield us, but I can't be sure of that, since I don't know where the assailant is shooting from. I take a look at Nicole and her eyes are rolling back in her head, as if she is losing consciousness. I have no first-aid experience whatsoever, but I have this vague feeling she could be going into shock, and I know that I have to get her help quickly. The question is how.
I peer out from behind the rock and another shot rings out, ricocheting inches from my head. It is clear that we cannot make it to the car, and just as clear that we can't stay here and hope to survive. It flashes through my mind that this is the time in the old Westerns that the hero turns to someone and says, “Cover me.”
I position Nicole so that she is anchored securely and protected by the rocks. I then move along the rocks, keeping them between me and the shooter. When I think I am out of his possible line of fire, I get into the stream. I know from past experience that the water must be very cold, but I don't even feel it.
I let myself be carried along by the current, which is very difficult as the water becomes more turbulent as it goes downstream. About a hundred and fifty yards away, I grab on to a branch and pull myself up to the bank.
I work my way inland, planning to go up the hill and come down behind the gunman. I'm going to have to surprise and disarm him. This is not exactly my specialty, but I have a curious lack of fear. Maybe I'm too scared to be afraid.
As I head to where I estimate him to be, I hear a car engine start. I move quickly toward the sound, and I reach a clearing just as the car is pulling away. It is a late-model BMW, and I am able to see the license plate, CRS-432. It etches itself indelibly in my mind.