Diving In (20 page)

“Bucket?”

“I had a therapist once. That was her word.” She might as well dump it all on him; she’d already admitted most of it. “All of us have a fear bucket. Every time you’re afraid of something, the emotion goes into the bucket so you can ignore it and carry on normally. If the bucket gets full, you freak out. That’s the fear spilling over.”

“Sounds messy,” he said.

“You have no idea.” She took a cookie from a plate on the table and took a huge bite. “So, basically, I have a really small bucket.”

His eyes flickered downward. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Hey, watch it.” She wiped the crumbs off her hands. “I have to empty my bucket often or it fills up, the lid gets screwed on top, and so do I.”

“Can you get, like, a trough? Or a drain pan?” He was studying her, probably for signs of distress, but she liked the jokes. Hell, she made them herself.

“She didn’t say. Totally wedded to her buckets. Maybe her family was in the bucket business.”

“How do you empty the bucket?” he asked.

“I have to do what I’m afraid of. If I avoid it too long, it becomes a
thing
. If I do it frequently, it fades. It doesn’t even go into the bucket at all.” She sat on a mesh chair. “Until two years ago, I thought I’d outgrown all of this—the phobias, the anxiety, the panic. I thought I was cured.”

“But then, when you were jumping out of an airplane with a Special Forces team, you were like, ‘Darn it, I forgot! I’m afraid of heights!’”

“Close. Pool party at the principal’s house. All my coworkers, a few former students, the superintendent, their spouses, everyone.” She sank into the chaise. “I couldn’t even join them on the patio. I’d been worrying about it all week—mistake number one—and then I started worrying about panicking—mistake number two.”

He sat next to her. “Mistake number one was counting your mistakes. That’s never a good idea.”

“They called an ambulance. I had a minute where I stopped breathing, and they figured it was an emergency.” She sat up tall. “Just like my malfunctioning body. Full flight-or-fight mode. It had nothing to do with reality. It came from here.” She pressed her knuckles into her diaphragm and then tapped her fingers on her temple.

They sat in silence for a long moment until he said, “
Wan tago King al Canowithy?
”

His transition was so abrupt that her brain took a minute to process his words into English.
Want to go hiking on a volcano with me?
She frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“Haleakala. No water. Just rocks, native plants, and panoramic views.” He looked up at the sky. “If we got going now, we’d have time to hike into the crater. You’ve proven your cardiovascular prowess.”

So tempting. She’d planned on hiking later in the summer as a reward for mastering the water; maps of the high country were already loaded on her phone. She’d get to spend some time in her comfort zone, returning to her hiking boots and cargo pants, savoring a dusty trail without wearing makeup or sundresses, not caring about looking like a girl or appealing to men.

It was too soon—and besides, he didn’t belong in her comfort zone. He lived in the big, red-hot, danger, danger, danger zone.

“Thank you, that sounds great,” she said, getting up to her feet, “but I can’t. I have to stay here near the water until I get over the fear.” She stood up, not looking at him.

“Without the crutch guy.”

“I’m just going in the pool. Two steps forward, one step back.”

“Steps? See, this is where you need my help,” he said. “They’re called
strokes
. If you try walking around on the bottom of the deep pool, you’ll drown. Clearly you’re not ready to swim solo.”

This was the moment, the chance to ask for a real favor. “If you really want to help, how about going on a snorkel tour with me? Next week, maybe Monday? That’ll give me enough time to practice.” She swallowed. “And get used to the idea.”

He smiled slowly, then nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Before then, though, I was hoping you could recommend a beach that has fewer waves than the ones around here. The pool just isn’t enough preparation. My guidebook lists some north of here that might be what I’m looking for, but I’m not sure.” Inside her head she crossed off each request with a mental checkmark, bracing herself for the last one she was about to make. “And it would probably be best if I brought a lifeguard with me.”

He nodded again. “I agree.”

“Great.” Her heart was beating so hard he could probably see it under the thin fabric of her dress, as if she were in an animated cartoon. “How about tomorrow?”

* * *

Nicki parked her car in the lot and eyed the sky. It was windy, with half of the sky filled with dark clouds, the other half a clear, sunny blue.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Ansel said.

Nicki nodded, more afraid of the beach than the way her body thrummed like a sitar whenever he was within fifty feet of her, which, given how she trembled when her toes hit sand, was saying a lot. “Thanks for coming.” She got out of the car, realized she’d forgotten the keys in the ignition, got the keys, stepped out again, and dropped her phone on the asphalt.

“There’s no hurry,” Ansel said.

Counting backward in Japanese wasn’t going to be enough. Clenching her teeth, she retrieved her beach bag from the backseat and pivoted away from Ansel as she dug her beanbags out from the bottom. “I just need a minute,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“No, I think it’s cool.”

“I mean,” she said, “do you mind not watching?”

“Why, are you going to strip?”

She shot him a look from under her eyebrows.

“Sorry.” He leaned against the car with his back to her and crossed his arms over his chest.

Meditation hadn’t been invented by calm people; it never would’ve occurred to them. It took someone like Phobic Phoebe to develop revolutionary stress reduction techniques.

She inhaled a calming breath and let the beauty of gravity and physics take over. Just a minute or two to lose herself in the rhythm. Back in high school, she’d done talent shows in full clown makeup.

God. What could be sexier than that? No fucking wonder she’d been a virgin when she’d met Ansel in college.

Capturing the beanbags, she turned, already better after only sixty-four rounds. Ansel bowed his head over his phone.

Nice of him to give her the privacy she’d asked for. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s get this drowning started.” She sang that in the same tune as the pop song.

“Great attitude.” He shoved his phone in a cargo pocket and pointed at the small harbor on the other side of the hotel’s lawn. “There’s your watery grave right there.”

“I like it. Show it to my parents when they come to mourn.”

“Seriously, though, don’t worry,” he said, taking her arm. They each had a towel around their necks. “I’ll be sure to tell them you perished bravely.”

She laughed—not as deeply as she’d prefer—and strode ahead of him. The average age of the children playing along the wide, curved shore was less than her shoe size. After meeting the turtle-befriending infant in the wet suit, however, she no longer underestimated the small ones. They were born to the water as she’d never been.

The sand slowed her death march to the water. Her rubber flip-flops, old ones from before her fashion transformation, slid out from under her heels. “No time like the present,” she said, kicking them off. She dropped the bag, flung the towel on top of it, and tore off her T-shirt. That, too, was an old favorite. If she still had her childhood blankie, she would’ve brought that, too. Every little thing helped.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Ansel said. He’d taken off his own shirt and stood there, hands clasped behind his back, wearing only a pair of gray-and-black striped swim trunks.

Since she’d never been the type to get turned on just by the look of a man’s bare chest, she was surprised the way her pulse, already accelerated, hiccupped into warp speed.

“Do?” she asked. The white surf—the existence of it in the previously blue, glassy bay—caught her attention. “Don’t do anything unless I ask. Or if I’m flailing around after my third breath. You know, as I’m going under.”

“Got it.”

She strode down the slope to the flat sand at the water’s edge. “I’m not afraid to get my feet wet,” she said, feeling the pressure build inside her chest as if a balloon were inflating with all the air she needed to exhale. “It’s…it’s… knowing I’m going in all the way.”

“Makes sense.”

She imagined herself wading up to her knees, how soothing the soft water would feel lapping against her skin. Visualization worked sometimes, sometimes not. This felt like a not. Although the air temperature was warm enough to melt butter, her hands were cold and getting colder.
 

Two tiny boys in flippers ran past, their knees bobbing up almost to their chins with each stride until a lump in the sand took the taller one down, and his body landed like a fly swatter smacking the kitchen counter. Knowing children, Nicki waited out the stunned silence until, sure enough, he began howling.

It was cute until the wave came in and got him. He tumbled away, fins and fingers spinning.

The hungry, merciless ocean had swallowed the boy whole.

Nicki galloped into the water to lift the boy, still crying, up into her arms. A minute later a bald guy with a goatee joined them, smiling like it was nothing, and took the tot from her.

“You’re fine, Nate, you’re fine,” he said, lifting him aboard his bald head like a baseball cap, holding out his hands so he flew like a snorkeling superhero above him.

With his sudden change in perspective, and his dad’s round skull pressing into his stomach, the boy laughed as his dad hauled him away.

Nicki, unimpressed with the parenting, stood up to her waist in the water, glaring after him. Although the waves were, she had to admit, much smaller now that she was measuring them against herself instead of a two-year-old.

 
“I’m having visions of
Baywatch
,” Ansel said, wading over to her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “That guy should take better care of his child.”

“He was right there.”

“People drown all the time in Hawaii. It’s much more dangerous than it looks.”

“If you hadn’t been in his way, the guy would’ve got to his kid before you did.”

She stepped down deeper into the water. It covered her chest—her vital organs—and waves brushed her chin. On sensory overload, panic and pleasure at war, it took her a moment to notice the sharp pain in her foot. Something sharp had poked her left heel during her daring rescue. She paddled her arms to get back into shallow water where she could lift her foot and inspect the damage. “It’s still dangerous. See? I’m bleeding.”

Christ, now the sharks can smell me.

“Nicki,” Ansel said. “The kids were wearing life jackets.”

“So? You’ve never heard of PTSD? Survival isn’t the only goal, you know. Some scars never heal.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Are you going to help me or what?” She waded over to him. “Turn around and take me for a ride.”

He laughed. “Oh, yeah, baby.”

“Focus, Hasselhoff. Give me those big shoulders to hold on to.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning, doing as she said.

The shoulders were even nicer than she remembered. The thrill of true adventure heightened her senses, making each muscle feel firmer, bigger. “Go back and forth,” she said, sliding her hands out to grasp the roundness of his biceps. “Please.”

“Don’t worry about being polite,” he said. “I can take a little dominating.”

After two minutes of bobbing up and down the shore at chest-level, she had to admit that the perilous surf… wasn’t. Only right at the shore were there any waves at all. Where they swam, the surface was as smooth as the pool. “I like this place,” she said.

“You haven’t seen the best part.”

She knew what he was talking about. Most of the action in the bay was under the surface. All around them, colorful pipes stuck out of the water as people of all ages looked at the life below.

Like the other day, however, her emotions had shifted away from cold, tight fear to hot, tight lust. She kicked the water behind her to keep herself from wrapping her legs around his waist, rubbing her chest along his shoulder blades, nibbling the tendon at the base of his skull where the hair curled up at his nape like black-and-silver parentheses.

Her mouth moved closer. “I’m ready,” she said in his ear, “for the, uh, mask, snorkel, all that.”

Rotating around in her arms, he captured her hands and slowly removed them from his shoulders while he looked into her eyes. The current pushed them into each other, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

Then he let go of one of her hands and pivoted toward the sand, pulling her with him until the water was only waist-deep, where he released her. “Great. Why don’t you take a break and get the gear?”

* * *

Ansel watched Nicki stride like a goddess, muscular thighs and round bottom pumping, away, away, away from him.

He should’ve been the one to retrieve their gear, but if he’d gotten out of the water just then, he’d get arrested for indecent exposure, even taking into account the shrinking effects of chilly water.

He’d been too tired, too tempted, to say no yesterday when she’d invited him. He was never any good at saying no, even when he wasn’t infatuated with the woman asking.

Infatuation. That’s what it was. He couldn’t give her what she deserved. Look at her, eyeing the water like a firing squad with its rifles drawn. That kind of vulnerability wasn’t something a guy could screw around with, no matter how his heart expanded like a marshmallow in the microwave to see her rush in to save a stranger’s kid.

She stood in the white surf, waving the fins, snorkels, and masks at him while he stared. “You doing this or not?” she called.

Such a good question. Anatomy in remission, he strode over to her and took his stuff from her. “It’s easier to get the fins on in the water.” He waded back in, donning his mask and snorkel, and bent over to put them on. Distracted by the sight of her jogging back to the towel for the life jacket she’d rented that morning, he dropped one fin and had to wait for it to bob to the surface. By the time he’d recaptured it and shoved his foot inside, she was wading out to him encased in a bright green vest, her mask pressing her cheeks down toward her jaw, the snorkel jutting out like a chubby antenna.