Sunset gleamed off the Atlantic Ocean, blazing the crest of every wave. Late, and the Florida beach was oddly quiet. Too cold for the locals, but visitors from New York still played. Two girls splashed, one in goggles and the other perched inside a pink circular inflatable. A pile of clothes, towels, and an asthma inhaler waited on the sand.
A call came from the beach house where their family stayed. “Stephanie! Jamie! Dinner’s ready!”
“Okay, Mom!” Stephanie called back. She swam toward the beach until a cry stopped her.
“Steph’nie!” Jamie shouted. “Wait! Pull me back with you!”
“You can swim back on your own!” Stephanie said over her shoulder.
“Steph’nie!” Jamie shouted again. “Please pull me back! My floaty is sinking!”
Stephanie sighed and reversed, swimming toward her little sister. Halfway there, her lungs locked tight. Her head slipped beneath the water for a moment, and her throat narrowed to a tiny straw. Arms and legs shot out in erratic movements, and she turned, kicking herself toward the beach. She slipped under the water again, coughing through her shut windpipe. Her head broke the surface; get through her shut throat. Knees slammed into the sand under the water, and she reached for her inhaler, fumbling it closer before grasping it and sticking it between her lips.
Medicine hissed into her mouth, and her throat relaxed. She coughed, spitting out water, and took a couple of deep breaths, relief flooding into her body. Turning, she went back to Jamie.
She swam a few feet. “Jamie?” she called. “Where’d you go?” Stephanie turned toward the house, where her parents and grandparents set the table, peering through grimy goggles for her little sister, dragging her deflated floaty.
The little blonde head hid. She dove into the warm water, heart pounding in her throat. Shafts of orange light barely penetrated the water.
How long has it been?
She swam under the water, head snapping back and forth, eyes open for a pink floaty. After another minute, she swam to the beach and raced past the pile of clothes and towels.
Her mother was arranging the salads on the house’s picnic table. Stephanie’s little feet pounded toward her. “Mom! Mom!”
“There you are,” her mother said, turning. “Go and—where’s Jamie?”
“I can’t find her!” Stephanie said. She pointed at the ocean.
Stephanie’s mother stood stock still for a moment. “Dylan!” she screamed at the top of her voice before sprinting toward the water. A moment later, Stephanie’s father tore after her.
Stephanie’s heart stopped. She cried, trying to get enough breath to sob, and her throat tightened again. Her parents jumped into the water, and she doubled over, coughing, crying as the world tilted around her, trying to breathe, drowning.
#
Exactly seventeen years later, Stephanie scanned the pool in front of her as she sat in the lifeguard’s chair. Evening light came through the dirty windows. After leaving her first job at a dull call center, Stephanie watched over the pool. Kids played in half, paddling around or throwing balls. Heavy lanes sliced the other half into strips, where swimmers went from end to end. Shouts and splashes echoed off the smooth walls and lofty rafters. Moisture fogged the windows.
Brad came to relieve her, and she changed into her civilian swimsuit. She tucked loose hair into her cap and picked up her goggles, slipping them over her head–a smooth, thoughtless motion after decades.
She sat on the pool’s edge, feet in the water. She kicked her legs to warm up her muscles, then slipped in. Pressing the soles of her feet against the pool wall, and grabbed the edge, stretching her hamstrings. Her towel, water bottle, and inhaler sat piled on the tile.
Her backstroke sliced through the water. The ceiling flowed past, high above. A quicker front crawl finished warming her up. Every time her left arm shot out of the water and speared back down, she turned her head to breathe. That’s just the way it works.
Don’t let them catch up. Faster, faster. Tilt the world.
Laps, shower, change, home through busy New York streets. Make dinner, watch TV, get ready for her morning shift at the call center, change for bed, sit on the edge of her bed and stare at the picture of Jamie she kept on her dresser among her swimming trophies.
Six years old and smiling at the camera. Already missing a front tooth. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wore a denim skirt and a bright pink shirt. She held a clod of dirt in her fist, for some reason absolutely ecstatic about it.
Stephanie returned the picture to the dresser. “What am I doing?” she said, voice barely making it past her lips. She slumped forward, leaning on her dresser. “What am I doing, Jamie?”
The next morning, she would have to wake up and go to the call center, sit and wait for the phone to ring or for emails to ask inane questions. Eventually, she’d leave and go to the pool. Not as a lifeguard this time, just to swim. Home. And then she would do it all over again.
Stephanie wiped her face, eyes burning. “What am I doing?” she said again, tears cracking her voice.
She took a deep breath and picked up the picture again.
“Where’s Jamie?”
“I can’t find her.” Stephanie stared at the picture. “Sorry, Jamie,” she said for the billionth time in the last seventeen years.
Keep moving, or you’ll sink, she thought as she crawled into bed. Keep moving. Keep moving. Breathe, stroke, breathe, stroke.
She stared at the ceiling.
Any ideas, Jamie?
Sleep. Dream. Wake up, drowning.
Her hand shot out for the inhaler on her bedside table, knocking over a glass of water and pushing her glasses onto the floor. She opened her mouth for air, spewing a strangled sound. Fingers hunted for the small object as lights flashed in her vision–brain struggling for oxygen. The inhaler rolled away from her. Turning onto her shoulder, she stretched her hand for it, grasping it, jamming it between her lips, pressing the button. Soothing chemicals flowed into her mouth and down her throat. Trachea muscles loosened, and she took a deep breath.
It was past two. The window let in a slice of silver light from a streetlamp. Stephanie took a few more deep breaths before putting her feet on the floor. One of them landed in the damp spot from the glass of water, and she grumbled as she went to the kitchen and gathered paper towels.
Mess cleaned, she stood in the bathroom, gripping the counter around the running sink. Light from the hallway cast shadows off the tap and toilet. She breathed in, out, in, out as warm water filled the sink. Shutting the water off, she lowered her face into the water. After she had relaxed, she would dry off, go back to bed, and fall asleep again.
Water soaked her to her feet. She shot downward through a dark, narrow opening, scraping against her shoulders. A surprised scream tore out of her mouth in a bubble of air; she pressed her eyes shut and locked her body into a dive. Gravity shifted, rocketing her back up. Still through water, but a wider space. Her legs and arms acted on their own, driving her up.
She broke through the surface, hair whipping water around her. Gasping for air, she blinked and tread in a circle, still dressed in pyjama pants and a t-shirt. Darkness clustered around her; waves lapped against her shoulder. Salt water ran into her mouth. Stars glimmered far past clouds. Miles away, a city skyline spreading a haze of light.
It wasn’t New York. No Empire State Building, no One World Trade Center. Unknown buildings twinkled into the water like a dream.
She spun, clothes weighing her down. No boats around her, no swimmers, no anything. Waves and darkness and salt and nothing. The darkness squeezed her. Unseen waves struck her ear, ringing it, putting her under for a moment.
Heart pounding, she faced the distant, unknown skyline and swam. Her sleepy body struggled for a few moments. Easy. Warm up. Not a race. A relaxing backstroke–until the cold reached deep into her muscles, into her bones. Shivers took over, and she seized. Her right calf cramped, then her left foot. As she cried out in pain, her mouth slipped beneath the waves. In an instant, a lungful of chilled water swept down her throat.
She landed on the floor of her bathroom, coughing. Her throat burned down to her lungs. White webs crawled across her vision; she coughed until she curled into a ball with her elbows and knees on the cold tile floor, coughed until she thought she would vomit.
#
Mick, Stephanie’s desk neighbor, paled when he saw her. “Steph, what happened? Are you okay?”
Ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and voices filled the call center, but Stephanie and Mick’s corner was quieter. Dusty fluorescent lights turned everything pale. Their monitors radiated a warm bubble. Stephanie put her bag down and collapsed into her chair, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“What was it?” Mick asked. He adjusted the collar of his extra-large polo.
“I….” Stephanie rubbed her eyes. “Yesterday was the anniversary of my sister’s death.”
“Ah, geez. I’m sorry, Steph.”
“Something else. I woke up in the middle of the night with an asthma attack. After I used my inhaler, I went into the bathroom and filled the sink with warm water.”
“Uh…why?”
She dove into the warm water, heart pounding in her throat.
“It’s relaxing,” Stephanie said.
“I…okay.” Mick wheeled himself closer to her desk. His chair let out a loud creak, and he motioned for her to continue.
“So I did that. I put my face in the water, and…I went somewhere. Like I got pulled through a pipe and landed in the middle of the ocean. Dark, cold, salt water. There was a city.”
“Steph, you had a dream.”
She shook her head and ran her fingers through chlorine-brittle hair. “It wasn’t a dream.”
Mick scoffed. “Okay, what next?”
“I swam toward the city, but I got a cramp in my leg.”
“So, not a dream–a nightmare.”
Stephanie stared at her monitors. “Freezing water. I’d just woken up…wasn’t prepared. I sank. As soon as I swallowed water, I was back in my bathroom. Laid on the floor, coughing, trying to breathe for five minutes. I wasn’t wet except for my head.” She paused. “I went to bed after that.”
Mick took a long breath. “Sorry, Steph,” he said. “But, all things considered, I still think it was a dream.” He leaned back; his chair protested noisily as he crossed his arms. “I mean, what else could it have been?” Leaning forward, he put his elbows on his knees. “You have a race coming up, right?”
“Thursday.”
“So you’re stressed out.”
Stephanie looked at her screen. No emails yet. She put her chin in her hand and blew out a long breath. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Here, something to help you relax.” Mick handed her his phone. It had a picture of a three-month-old with a puppy. “Nate met his first doggy yesterday!”
#
After work, Stephanie drove to the pool, showered, changed, and sat at the water’s edge. A few strands of hair refused to sit still under her cap. Brad came over to say hi before continuing his rounds.
She slipped into the chlorine-heavy water, working the kinks out of her muscles. Backstroke, front crawl, and a little butterfly. Back and forth through the water as her mind slipped away from her, drifting across waves until it reached the dark coast, miles from the glowing city. She hit the end of the lane and turned, focusing on her stroke. Then climbed onto the starting block.
Stay ahead of them. Faster. Faster. Tilt the world.
When the big clock on the wall reached six. She hauled herself out of the pool, collected her things, and left. Shower, change, home through the drowning.
Her throat slammed shut as she sat behind the wheel. She pulled down thin, frantic breaths, reaching for her purse in the passenger seat. She dumped it out, panic rising over her, knocking the contents onto the floor. Her car veered out of its lane, and she got both hands back on the wheel, pulling over. Coughs forced air out of her closed-off throat; her entire body struggled to get it back. Where, where, gym bag.
Turning in her seat, she pulled the bag from the back, tearing it open and shoving her hand inside, reaching fingers around until her hand hit the small object. Tears dripped off her chin as she forced the opening into her mouth and hit the button. The spray hit the back of her throat.
She sat for several minutes–seat belt twisted around her arm, contents of her purse everywhere–as her body realized it wasn’t drowning.
#
“It was sudden,” Stephanie said the next morning, staring at her monitors, leaning on a hand. “Asthma attacks aren’t normally like that. I usually feel them coming and get my inhaler before they’re an issue. Your throat slowly constricts; the muscles of your chest tighten until it’s too hard to breathe. Your lungs can’t draw any in.”
“I love talking about this,” Mick said as he typed.
“Sorry. This attack was different, though.” Stephanie snapped her fingers. “It was instant. It’s never happened that way before.”
“So you were driving and then you just…couldn’t breathe?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Mick rolled closer to her desk, elbows on his knees. “Were you scared?”
Stephanie shook her head. “I’ve had it all my life. The worst part is I couldn’t remember where I’d put my inhaler. I was a little frantic, but that’s what happens if you aren’t getting any oxygen.” She turned toward him. “Imagine you’re swimming.”
Mick leaned back.
“Water climbs over your head. Air’s there; you can’t get it. Your brain…freaks out. Evolved response. We need air, and we panic if we don’t get it. Even if it isn’t rational. That’s what it was like.” She stared at the far wall. “Thankfully, I can hold my breath for a pretty long time.”
“Is that…because of your sister?”
Stpehanie hesitated. “We both liked swimming,” she said quietly. “Yeah. That’s why.”
“Sorry, Steph. Drowning sounds like….” He shook his head. “Have you ever…I mean, before you got really good…you know what, never mind.”
Stephanie gazed into the middle distance. “I had a coach who almost drowned once. It’s why she became an instructor.”
“Steph, you don’t need to–“
“She was playing in the river when she was twelve, and the current grabbed her. She swallowed water and lost control of her body. She could barely see anything. Her brother saw her and jumped in after her. She said that the water around her changed color…it turned a bright, painfully bright blue. And then everything turned white. After that, it was black, and the next thing she remembers was her brother dragging her out of the water.” What I should have done. Stephanie pulled a leg up and hugged her knee to her chest. “People have studied it, you know. There’s something called a break point–it’s at about eighty-seven seconds for most people. There’s enough carbon dioxide in your blood that your brain forces you to take a breath. It thinks ‘not taking a breath is killing me. Breathing might, but it might not.’ You’re still conscious then, and it’s agony. Water fills your lungs, and you start drowning. Really drowning. If something that isn’t air touches your voice box, you get laryngospasms. They make it impossible to breathe, even if the air is there. For most people, you breathe water, and that’s it. Unless you get out immediately, you’re….” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “As soon as that happens, you lose control. You sink. The very way drowning works…makes it almost impossible to stop.”
Mick, pale, swallowed. “You okay?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Have you, like, talked to a doctor about your attacks?”
“I was gonna call today.”
“Good.” Mick sighed, shaking his head. “I need to think about something else. Are you still going to do your race on Thursday?”
“Don’t see why not.”
“Good. Pat was looking forward to getting out of the house. Thought we’d come and cheer for you.”
#
Horns blared to signal the start of races; swimmers dove off platforms into the pool. Swim fans crowded on the cold metal bleachers, cheering as their friends or family surged through the water. Event organizers called out teams and individual names for the next race; Stephanie used her inhaler. She put it on top of her towel and swung her arms, stomped her feet to keep her muscles warm. Mick and his wife Pat waved from the stands. Pat held their son, Nate, against her shoulder.
Tuesday and Wednesday had passed without incident. Stephanie kept herself warm until the event ahead of hers finished. In short order, she hunched on the starting block, body tensed to explode forward, staring through her goggles at her lane.
The horn crashed through the room, and Stephanie dove. She sliced under the water to the 15-meter line and surfaced, snapping into a front crawl. Water crashed against her ears–faster, faster, push! They’re catching up!
She tilted the pool, turning it into a stream flowing down the side of a mountain toward the sea. Rapids crashed every time her arm plunged into the water. The end of the pool neared. A final stroke; she curled into a ball and flipped, pressing her feet against the pool’s wall. Driving all of her strength into her legs, she fired back toward the starting block, tilting the world again, moving downhill.
Her airway slammed shut in the middle of the pool. She convulsed, trying to suck air into her lungs with every ounce of will. Her inhaler waited at the end of the lane. Thoughtless, desperate for breath, she dove toward it.
The water sucked her straight down, yanking her through a narrow tube, pressing around her and locking her limbs straight. After a few seconds, gravity turned on its head, and she shot up through warm, salty water, eyes squeezed shut.
She broke through the waves, gasping for breath–it flowed without issue. Clear, bright air rushed through her body, and her chest heaved until panic subsided.
Hazy clouds blocked the sun; fog crawled around her. A wave buoyed her as she spun. Her heart pounded.
A splash came from her right. Hands lifted out of the water as if trying to climb a ladder. A face–thick black hair hiding features–gasped for air.
Stephanie dove forward, swimming to the figure. She wrapped her arm around his waist and hoisted his head out of the water. A man, younger than her, coughed and gagged, panting for breath as he clung to Stephanie.
“It’s okay,” she said over the waves rolling around them. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Just get your breath back.” She turned her head, peering through the fog. It split for a moment, revealing a beach a few hundred yards away.
She tilted the world again, pointing her and her passenger downhill. Her feet fluttered behind her, and her remaining hand began a sidestroke; each pull moved them a few inches. A wave hit them from behind, throwing up spray and rolling them forward, even as the trough sucked them back almost the same distance. Tiredness struck Stephanie. The world tilted uphill toward her. Fog buried her, and waves surged from behind. The shore drew away.
You haven’t won yet. Don’t let them beat you. Tilt the world. Swim downhill. It’s all downhill.
Stephanie’s hand shoved water behind them, and her legs snapped out straight, chopping water. The man on her shoulder sucked down ragged breaths, coughing them back out, and the shore grew. Buildings came into sight behind clouds of fog.
Weight pressed on her body. Moment by moment, her arm and legs worked more slowly, churning less water. Waves climbed up past her eyes.
Her knees slammed into gritty sand, less than a foot under the water. Her grip faltered, and the man fell next to her. People rushed across the beach toward them, calling out.
Blood pounded in her ears. She panted, trying to move her limbs again as tiny waves washed over her legs. Pushing herself up to her hands and knees, she crawled to the young man.
Curly black hair, a narrow nose, and hollow cheeks. Darker skin than hers flushed; he dragged down frantic gasps.
She took a long breath, shuddering. “Are you all right?” People pounded toward them, still shouting. He turned to her; water splashed over her.
Strong arms pulled her out of the pool and onto the slick tiles. She sucked down air, coughing. Water spilled out of her mouth and nose, pouring onto the tile under her face as she gagged it up.
#
After the EMTs had checked her and all the other racers, and Brad had told her how much she scared them, Mick and Pat approached as Stephanie took deep breaths, hunched over on a bench against the wall. “Really glad you’re okay, Steph,” Mick said.
“Are you all right?” Pat said. She sat next to Stephanie and hugged her. Stephanie’s goggles rested against her collarbone; she gripped her inhaler in a tight fist.
Stephanie breathed easy. “I’m….” Blood pounded in her veins. She twisted her head at Mick. “How long was I in the water?”
Mick and Pat glanced at each other. “You mean when you had the attack?” Stephanie nodded. “A few seconds. People started screaming right away. The lifeguard dove in immediately.”
“How long in total?”
Pat shrugged. “Maybe fifteen seconds.”
“Why?” Mick asked.
#
Stephanie sat next to Mick at work, bored out of her skull as Mick searched. “I found something,” Mick said, a little past noon.
Stephanie rolled her chair to his desk. Mick covered part of the screen with his hand.
“Why–“
“Just watch,” he said, clicking play on the video that took up most of the screen.
A handsome reporter, wearing a polo shirt and beaming under coiffed hair, stood on a foggy beach. Stephanie’s heart jumped. “That’s the beach!”
“Shh,” Mick said, still covering part of the screen.
The reporter spoke: “When Chance Fuzzo went swimming this afternoon, he didn’t expect to find himself in mortal danger, and he didn’t expect a mysterious rescuer.”
It cut to a young man with curly black hair, dark skin, and a narrow nose. He sat on the lip of an ambulance with a heavy blanket around his shoulders. “That’s him!” Stephanie said. “That’s him, I’m sure of it!”
“I was swimming, and I think a riptide got me,” Chance Fuzzo said, speaking with a West Coast accent. “I couldn’t swim back. I was trying to call for help, but nobody heard me. I panicked, and then I started sinking. I was so tired…it got harder to keep my head up.”
The local reporter spoke over a sweeping camera shot of the foggy beach. “When all hope seemed lost, Fuzzo heard a voice.”
“A woman grabbed me,” Fuzzo said, again in the shot. “She said everything was okay and that I should try and get my breath back. She started swimming toward shore. And then she swam all the way back…it felt like a mile, but she didn’t even slow down.”
Pins and needles grew in Stephanie’s arms. Fuzzo continued: “We got to the shore, and a bunch of people ran at us–I guess they saw her coming.” He stopped to take a breath. “She got me out of the water and asked me if I was okay. And then….” Fuzzo shook his head. “She was gone.”
The reporter returned. “Eyewitness accounts all state a similar story. The woman dragged Fuzzo up the beach, spoke to him, and then disappeared.”
An older woman, with white hair spinning in the breeze, appeared in the video. “I guess she saw everything was okay and left. I can’t believe she did that. Maybe she thought there were more people in the water, though?” The woman shrugged.
Fuzzo reappeared. “She had a suit on, like a professional swimmer. And she had goggles and a swimmer’s cap, so I didn’t really see what she looked like. I hope she sees this. I want to thank her.”
The shot cut to the reporter again. “Chris Hargrove reporting for Santa Monica KTTV, Fox 11 news.”
Stephanie reared back. “Santa Monica?!”
Mick uncovered the screen, showing the location. “It was posted this morning. Mr Fuzzo says it happened a few minutes before 2:30, Santa Monica time. Adjust for time zones….”
“Right when I had my attack. How, Mick?” Stephanie crossed her arms. “How did that happen? Santa Monica is…it’s….”
“It’s about three thousand miles from here,” Mick said. “Cannonball run. I made the drive once; better to fly. What about the doctor?”
“I’m going tomorrow,” Stephanie said. “Is it too much to hope he knows something about this?”
“About getting an asthma attack that whisks you to the other side of the country?” Mick snorted. “Yeah, I think it is.”
“I can hope, can’t I?”
#
“I didn’t ask him,” Stephanie said, the next day, Saturday. She held a beer bottle on Mick’s patio. Mick grilled chicken. They stood in the summer heat. Pat rocked Nathan back and forth in a patio chair. Nate drank from a formula bottle. “I didn’t want to be committed.” Stephanie looked over the small lawn, hemmed inside a wooden fence.
“Stephanie, have you ever heard of confabulation?” Pat asked.
Stephanie stared at her, blinking, hand running through her hair.
Pat shifted Nathan to her other knee. “It’s the creation of false memories. Kids can be tricked into ‘remembering’ something if they’re urged enough. They’ll believe something really happened, even when it didn’t. Maybe your asthma attacks, your time in the water…Mick said you and he were talking about what it’s like to drown the day before, right?”
“Everything lined up,” Mick said. “I don’t see how that’s possible unless she was there in Santa Monica.” He checked the chicken.
“I know it’s incredible.” Stephanie shook her head. “But I remember everything!”
Pat put her hand out toward Stephanie. “I’m not casting shade or anything. I’m offering alternatives.”
Stephanie sighed. “Anything’s possible. But it seems like it really happened.”
“Chicken should be about done. Steph, mind helping to set the table?”
Stephanie carried bowls full of fresh fruit and tossed salad to the patio table, taking her seat as Mick produced a platter of grilled chicken. They ate chicken, potato salad, fruit, and greens. Pat told a story about when one of her patients demanded to bring her mother to a therapy session. Mick explained the chicken’s sauce, and Stephanie had an asthma attack.
Mick shot to his feet as Stephanie pitched forward, hands going to her throat. Chewed food fell from her open mouth. Mick shouted something, and Pat responded; Stephanie couldn’t hear it. Air whistled through Stephanie’s closed-off trachea, and her mind screamed at her.
You’re drowning!
Stephanie is sprinting into the kitchen. She turned on the faucet and scooped water into her hands, splashing it on her face.
Her feet left the tile. She swept through a tight space, sucked along with the water in the bowl, and this time she forced her eyes open.
Brilliant pink water flowed around her as she shot down, and then the world tilted. She hadn’t changed direction–more like she flowed through the world itself until gravity shifted. The color changed; she shot toward the surface and broke into hot air. Panting, salt burning her eyes, she splashed in a circle. Fluffy clouds dotted a bright blue sky; boats and jet skis roared, spitting up sprays and creating narrow white wakes. Cabanas and palm trees and sunbathers covered beaches; yachts tooled lazily.
People shouted from the closest boat. Their voices rose in short, frantic bursts. Stephanie forced herself into a front crawl, feet snapping behind her and arms slicing through water. She reached the yacht in ten seconds and hauled herself up, clothes heavy. Three people were clustered at the other side of the deck, two women and a man. Another man, in the yacht’s cabin, spoke into a radio.
A child’s lifejacket lay on the deck.
Stephanie tore off her t-shirt and pulled her shorts down. Racing forward, she grabbed a pair of goggles off a counter and jammed them on her head. “Move!” she screamed; the people ahead of her jumped out of the way. She dove into the warm water.
Her eyes spun for a flailing figure. Where’s Jamie? The sun penetrated down to the sand. Shorebirds and ships cast flickering, stretched-out shadows through the water. Fish darted in colorful schools, and Stephanie spun back toward the yacht.
It cast a long, wavering shadow. A small creature struggled below it–tiny arms and legs spun as it sank. The little mouth opened and closed, sucking down bright blue water. Stephanie snapped toward it. She grew closer by feet; the child’s mouth released bubbles as she opened her mouth–at her break point.
Steph’nie! Please pull me back!
Stephanie’s hand reached out, shoulder straining forward, fingertips brushing skin.
Snatching the child up, she reeled her in. She kicked out from under the yacht, surging up until burning sunlight exploded around her in a spray of water. She lifted the child, lungs screaming. The child coughed and gagged, forcing out water in wet, sad, harrowing sounds. One of the men, wearing a lifebuoy on a rope, took the child; the others dragged him back. Stephanie swam after him to the yacht.
The child, with damp little pigtails limp on the back of her head, cried. One of the women hugged the child to her chest as she kneeled on the deck, sobbing. The yacht picked up speed, turning toward the closest marina. Stephanie climbed the yacht’s ladder, hair dripping and underwear soaked through.
The other woman pulled her up and draped a towel over her. “Bless you!” the woman said in a southern accent. “Oh, bless you! Coming out of nowhere and saving her, I can’t believe you–“
Stephanie grabbed the collar of the woman’s lifejacket. “Stephanie,” she said, panting. “My name is Stephanie.”
Liquid buried her, back through the pink water. She fell onto the floor of Mick and Pat’s kitchen. Mick pushed the inhaler into Stephanie’s hand. Her breath came easy; she lay on the floor and sobbed.
#
“I looked away for one second,” the girl’s mother said on the TV, eyes red, “and she was gone.”
The shot switched to one of the men. “We’re all freaking out, and then this woman appeared on the deck, pulled her clothes off, and dived in after her.” The man took a big breath. “Didn’t hesitate. She was like a dolphin!”
A female reporter’s voice, solid and unemotional, rose over shots of the marina. “The woman swam under the yacht to find Alexandria, quickly surfacing with the child and returning her to her family. And then something even more incredible happened.”
“She handed Alex to Kay,” the second woman said. “I gave her a towel, and I was thanking her, and then….” The woman shook her head, eyes wide. “She grabbed me and said, ‘My name is Stephanie.’ And then she–” a bleep covered the word– “disappeared! Right in front of me, into thin air!”
The reporter’s voice returned: “All four of the adults, including Theodore Johnson, in control of the yacht, saw the woman disappear.”
The four adults stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Alex’s mother held the girl. “Whoever thought that there was an angel named Stephanie?” the mother said.
The reporter’s voice spoke: “Alexandra Johnson is in good health thanks to the interventions of the woman known as Stephanie. Jennifer Richmond reporting at Southern Point Marina, Key West, Florida.”
Mick shut the TV off. He and Pat sat on the couch. Nathan slept in another room. Stephanie sat in a plush chair, staring at the carpet between her feet. The sun had sunk as the three of them scanned news sites. “They’re not asthma attacks,” Stephanie said. “This whole time. Ever since that first one Sunday night. They…they were….”
“Are you okay, Steph?”
Stephanie rose. Arms crossed, fingers pressing into her biceps, she paced the living room. She took a deep breath, letting the air flow in through her lips and out through her nose. She imagined swimming through the pink water, reaching out for a drowning girl. Her voice trembled. “You know my mom thought I was crazy when I wanted to join a swim team? But it was the only thing that made sense. And I just kept going. I’d go all day if I could. I could barely stop. It’s where I belonged.”
She stood in the middle of the room and looked at the couple. “Two hundred and thirty-six thousand,” she said.
Mick tilted his head. “What?”
“The number of people who drown each year around the world. That’s more than ten a day in the States. Just in the States.”
Mick opened his mouth; Pat silenced him with a hand on his arm.
Stephanie brushed chlorinated hair out of her eyes and took a breath. “I know what it’s like to drown. I know what it’s like to want to breathe so much it’s the only thing your brain can do, even if there’s no air. There’s air, but you can’t get to it. It’s right there, and you’re drowning.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’ve spent seventeen years underwater. I feel like I can breathe again.
“Two hundred and thirty-six thousand. So far, I think I’ve only had people near the U.S. That’s ten a day. It’s always in salt water. Most drownings are in lakes or swimming pools. Few are in salt water. They’re my domain. Jamie takes me there.” Her heart pounded, and she imagined her tiny little sister holding her hand, pulling her through the pink water. “I don’t know how, but she’s doing it. She knows what it’s like to drown, too. She wants to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else, so she takes me there. It’s where I belong.”
Artwork Courtesy of Youssef ElNahas
