The Ocean Between Us (9 page)

With a laugh, Shea jumped up and went to join the others. She moved like a ship in a storm, and Emma imagined she could hear the sound of beer sloshing in the girl’s stomach.

“She can swim, right?” she asked Cory.

“Hell, in that condition, she can probably fly.”

“How much beer did she drink?”

He grinned. “The question is, how much of this did she have?” He held up a tiny Ziploc bag containing six pills marked with a
small but recognizable stemmed cherry. He slid one onto the palm of his hand. “Your turn, new girl.”

Emma hated being in this position. It was not a good idea to say no to the big man on campus. However, it was an even worse idea to mess with Ecstasy. “I’ll stick with beer,” she said, and tipped up her can of Rainier just to make her point.

“You chicken?” he asked.

Emma looked around and realized that she and Cory were alone by the fire. Everyone had abandoned them for the dock, and the deep night beyond the circle of fire lent the moment a certain intimacy.

“No,” she said with a laugh, and tossed her head. “You shouldn’t, either. Aren’t you applying for an appointment to the Naval Academy?”

“Hell, yes. It’s a tradition among the Crowther men.”

“Yeah? Last I heard, the Academy frowned on that stuff.”

He put away the bag. “I’ll clean up before my physical.”

“No, I mean, if you’re going in the military—” She broke off and waved her hand. “I’m all for personal liberty, but I’d rest easier knowing people in the military were clean and sober.”

“Dream on, new girl. Some of the best drugs on the market come through the military.”

She dropped the subject. She knew there was a drug problem in the Navy. Plenty of men and women in her father’s command struggled with it; some of them were barely older than her. Her father ordered sailors into drug treatment or AA, probably more frequently than she knew.

“So what about you, huh?” Cory asked. “You applying for college?”

A familiar but unsettling sense of indecision prickled over her like a skin rash. There was something wrong with her. She was sure of it. Other kids had at least some idea of what they wanted to do after high school. But when Emma considered her future, she saw no clear picture of any sort of life that made sense.

She slid a glance at Cory, considering him. He was probably
one of the best-looking guys she’d ever met. But you didn’t confess the secrets of your heart to a football god. He didn’t even notice that she’d failed to answer his question.

“Why are you looking at me like that, new girl?”

“Why do you keep calling me new girl?”

“Would you rather be called old girl?”

“I’d rather be called Emma.”

“Emma. That’s a nice name.”

He had a way of looking at her as though she really mattered. She couldn’t tell if that charm was genuine or if it was his way of flirting. The intimate sense of aloneness seemed magnified by the fire. She could hardly see beyond the pool of light, though she could still hear her friends laughing and splashing.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Cory?” she asked him.

“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“You’re sitting here with me on the last night of summer. If you had a girlfriend, you’d be with her.”

He turned to face her, and the breeze stirred his shining dark hair. His hand came up and lightly slid across her back. “Maybe I am,” he said, his eyes clearing, his all-American smile practically glowing in the dark. “Maybe I am.”

She laughed softly, though she felt a thrill of attraction. “You are so full of it.”

But she let him kiss her, anyway. She wanted him to. And he was good at it. He seemed to know just how to slant his mouth and circle his strong arms around her to heighten her awareness of his body. She liked a boy who understood the intricate choreography of a kiss instead of fumbling around and shoving himself at her the way some guys did. She’d missed this all summer long, missed the feel of a boy’s arms around her, his lips on hers.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth. The intimacy both shocked and thrilled Emma. A part of her—the part from the Grace Bennett School of Proper Behavior—compelled her to pull away. It was trashy to make out with a boy you hardly knew.

Reluctantly she put her hands on his rock-hard upper arms and
moved away. But that only made him hold her tighter, and another part of her—the wicked Emma part—indulged in the fierce sweetness of the kiss, letting sheer sensation block out common sense. She didn’t care who saw her or what they thought. It was the end of summer and she was about to be the new girl for the last time. And life was good.

Until Brian interrupted. Yelling like a maniac, he raced into the circle of light cast by the fire. “Go on in,” he yelled, spraying them with drops of icy water. “The water’s fine.”

Emma and Cory broke apart like a pair of negative charges. She straightened her shirt and glowered at her brother. Wearing only his shorts, he stood shivering beside the fire. His skin was covered in goose bumps, his hair plastered against his head and his eyelashes spiky from salt water. Darlene and another girl Emma recognized trotted along at his heels. The other girl’s name was Lindy, but Emma and Katie had another name for her: the Stalker. She was crazy about Brian and had been after him all summer.

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just getting warmed up for the next round.”

“So were we,” said Cory, laughing but baring his teeth in annoyance.

“Do me a favor, Crowther,” Brian said. “Next time you decide to grope my sister, don’t do it in front of me. It skeezes me out.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

“Try minding your own business,” Cory snapped, using a stick to stir up a shower of sparks in the fire.

“Hey, I know why you go out for football every year,” Brian said.

“Because I’m the best there is.”

“Because you’re too fat and slow to make the track team,” Brian said. As he spoke, he coiled into a runner’s crouch.

With a growl, Cory lunged at Brian. His big angry hands grasped at empty air. Like a cartoon Road Runner, Brian took off. Even barefoot, he managed to stay ahead of Cory. He led him on a chase all over the park, dodging behind trash cans and picnic shelters, veering and feinting in and out of the shadows.

Emma watched with mixed amusement and annoyance. Brian was both pest and protector. She wanted to explore the possibility of liking Cory Crowther, but at the same time, she couldn’t blame Brian for feeling protective. She felt the same way about him when some girl she didn’t like threw herself at him.

“Cory’ll kill him,” Lindy said.

“He’ll have to catch him first,” Emma said.

“Brian’s pretty fast, isn’t he?” Lindy gave a dreamy sigh.

“Nobody’s been able to beat Brian since we were in fifth grade.” Her brother had always run like the wind. But for that one glorious, preadolescent year, she had grown taller and could outrun him, much to his wild envy.

She watched their silhouettes chasing around the area. The kids on the dock started egging them on. Brian eventually enticed Cory to charge like an enraged bull at him. Smaller and quicker, Brian raced down the length of the dock and kept going even when he ran out of planks.

Too late, Cory seemed to realize where they were headed. Emma laughed aloud, imagining his oh-shit expression when he couldn’t stop his momentum. He caught himself at the end of the dock, wheeled his arms like a windmill, then lost his balance. His loud splash concluded the show.

Still laughing, Emma walked over to the dock. “Acme Hour is over,” she called, leaning out to watch the two sputtering boys swimming to the beach.

“You son of a bitch,” Cory said even as Brian guffawed. “My jacket’s ruined. My wallet’s soaked.”

“Big mistake,” Lindy said under her breath. “You should tell Brian to apologize.”

“He was just goofing around,” Emma said.

“Yeah, but if you piss off Crowther,” Lindy warned, “he’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Cory?” Emma shook her head. “He seems like a great guy.”

“He doesn’t like to be teased.”

Emma looked around to see if someone had a towel handy. It
was then that she noticed Shea’s UW Huskies sweatshirt lying in a heap at her feet. Funny. She didn’t see Shea amid the cheering group on the dock. The only two in the water were Brian and Cory.

“Where’s Shea?” she asked.

Nobody answered for a few seconds.

“I don’t see her,” someone said.

“Did she go in the water?”

“I saw her jump in like ten minutes ago.”

No one stayed in the fifty-four-degree water for ten minutes.

“Who’s got a flashlight?” Emma demanded.

“You think she’s in the water?”

“I think we’d better make sure she’s not.”

“I’ll go check the glove box,” Lindy said. “My dad keeps all kinds of gear in there.”

A few of the kids who weren’t reeling drunk yet scanned the water and called Shea’s name. Somebody turned a car’s high beams on the water and Lindy came running with a Maglite torch. Emma saw Brian and Cory emerge from the water, Brian keeping a safe distance from Cory. The two were hooting with laughter now, she noticed fleetingly. No one stayed mad at Brian for long.

But Shea was still missing.

Out on the water, the waves sloshed over the occasional floating beach log or snarl of seaweed. No Shea. Emma felt a hum of tension. It was probably nothing, but worry kept drumming at her.

“There.” Lindy aimed the beam of light.

“Do you see her?” Emma asked.

The beam flickered over a buoy about fifty yards away. “Guess not.” Lindy shone the light farther out.

“Make a pattern,” Emma instructed. “Don’t just sweep the beam randomly around.” Despite the increasingly frantic calls all around her, she felt a sense of cold and focused calm. Someone suggested that Shea had passed out in a car, maybe even on the ground somewhere, but Emma kept looking. Her gaze followed the scanning flashlight beam. Without taking her eyes off the water, she slipped off her sandals, peeled her shirt over her head.

“What, are you going to jump in and go looking for her?” Lindy asked.

“No. I’m going to spot her from here,” Emma explained, still scanning the water. “Then I’m going—” she grabbed Lindy’s arm “—back that way,” she ordered in a voice she scarcely recognized. She directed the beam to the left. Something was out there.

“Is that her?” Darlene asked.

“I can’t tell.” It resembled a clump of seaweed, maybe some floating debris. “Keep the light right there,” she said. “I’m going to check it out.”

“I think it is her,” Lindy said. “God, she’s not moving.”

Emma dove. The water was so cold that, at first, she felt nothing at all. Then it slid over her like a forest fire, an icy burn from scalp to toes. She was already stroking hard when she broke the surface. She kept her eyes open even though the salt water stung. The light trembled and shifted but stayed trained on the indistinct shape.

In search-and-rescue training, they told you not to think about anything but the task at hand. She focused solely on finding Shea. Pretty soon she couldn’t feel her fingers and toes; the water was that cold. She hoped Shea really wasn’t out here.

Trying to ignore her flagging strength, Emma pushed past a floating log, terrified that she’d been misled. But then she recognized Shea’s nimbus of long, dark hair and the bubble of her nylon shorts—possibly the thing that was keeping her afloat.

Training kicked in. She reached Shea and turned her faceup. She spoke her name, neither expecting nor receiving an acknowledgment. Shea’s limbs were cold and unresponsive as Emma took her in a life-saving hold and struck out for shore.

She had done her training under an off-duty Navy swim instructor in Texas, and she could still hear his loud voice in her head. He was so mean that half the people in the course dropped out after the first session. Not Emma, though. His barking, his constant drills, his insistence on memorization and recitation all had a point. To save someone’s life, you had to be able to perform under pressure. You had to remember procedure down to the last
detail, because making a mistake could be deadly. She had stuck it out through twelve intensive sessions.

Swimming with a victim was like swimming in a bad dream—slow, laborious. The water was like mud, sucking at her stroking arm, holding her back, dragging down the victim. Adrenaline alone kept her going. She heard herself breathing, an accelerated rhythm that rose at the end of each frantic gasp. She moved stroke by stroke, breath by breath, refusing to let herself think of failure. Still, she couldn’t help but picture the depths below, where it would be too dark for anyone to find her and Shea.

Her breathing came even faster, and she forced herself to kick and stroke again and again, knowing each pull brought them closer to shore. She was aware of the stars glittering, and the crescent moon glared in her eyes so brightly that it hurt. Then she realized the light came from the high beams of a car’s headlamps.

Her foot scraped bottom. Thank God, she thought. Thank God.

Brian and Cory splashed down into the water to grab Shea and drag her up on the beach. Between them, her body resembled a limp, crucified corpse. Emma staggered after them, starved for air, making a hungry gasping sound with each inhalation. “Put her down,” she said. “Lay her on her back.”

They lowered Shea to the damp sand. Everyone from the dock came running and then stopped a few feet from Shea’s unmoving form as though an invisible force field held them back. Emma dropped to her knees, straddling the victim.

In the wavering beam of a flashlight held in someone’s trembling hand, Shea lay like a figure carved in stone, her skin a flat gray, her lips two colorless shadows, her eyes eerily slitted open, rolled back in her head, no pupils showing. Her hands were puffy, like bloated sponges.

“Holy shit,” said Cory. “She’s not breathing.”

“Is she dead?” someone asked.

“She isn’t breathing,” someone else said. “That means she’s dead, moron.”

“Who’s got a phone? Someone call 911,” Brian said. “Hurry.”

Emma knew the average response time of the local emergency medical service was thirteen minutes, assuming they could even find the remote spot. Shea might be beyond saving by then.