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Delta regarded her dazedly as she screamed, “Jesus Christ!” in Delta’s face.
Behind her, Zora was crying, her hand pressed to her mouth, unable to stop the sobbing.
Bailey was scrambling after the chaperones, barefoot, having kicked off her shoes. Some of the guys came out of the water, dripping, staring after those who’d gone under the rope and the group running and slipping along the muddy pathway. As they watched, Freddie fell or jumped into the water.
McCrae barked at Bailey. “Go get your dad!”
“My dad?” she repeated blankly, even while turning toward the stairs.
“The police,” he clarified.
“The police?” That squeak-shriek erupted from Amanda.
“Damn it, Amanda,” he snarled. “People could die!”
He was already heading toward the stairs himself, nearly overtaking Bailey. Amanda whipped around to follow him, and Delta brought up the rear. Her face was wet, and she realized she was silently crying. She gazed after the swimmers who’d reached the first curve of the river, which turned and turned again, racing down the rapids and eventually dumping out into Grimm’s Pond with its treacherous undertow.
Delta was good and frightened. Still . . . Tanner couldn’t die. He wouldn’t. He was too good a swi
mmer. Even weed and alcohol compromised, he was an athlete. An amazing athlete. Carmen too. They would just go with the rapids . . . and come out on the other side.
She swallowed hard. They were going to be okay. They were, she thought fiercely.
She was more worried about bringing in a rescue team, the police . . . What if Tanner’s drug use was found out? He could jeopardize everything he’d worked for. And he would freak out if he couldn’t play football.
Oh, God . . . What an idiot! His dad had already paid that price. Tanner wanted to be a doctor above all else. Was he trying to purposely screw things up? She wanted to scream at him, tell him to wake up and think about the future.
But more than that, she wanted him in her arms. Cradling him, kissing him, finally making love with the man she loved more than anything . . .
“My dad is going to shit,” Amanda moaned at the top of the cliff.
McCrae was at the golf cart. “Does this damn thing have a key?”
Amanda stalked toward the cart and got it going.
Delta wanted to run after them but couldn’t walk. Her toe was bleeding, one flip-flop ruined.
Zora was hovering next to her, teeth chattering, whispering, “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God . . .”
“Shhh.” Delta shushed her. She couldn’t just stand here. She had to do something!
After several tense moments, she tried to put her flip-flop back on, but it dangled from her foot like a hanged man. Her frustration morphed into fear. What if she was wrong? What if something happened to Tanner?
She started hobbling toward the house, her tender foot scratched and jabbed by thick grasses till it was bloody and wretchedly sore. Zora kept beside her, silent now, but sniffing back her runny nose as she cried silently. It took nearly twenty minutes and was full dark by the time they got back to the Forsythe manor. Delta hobbled to the back patio and stood there in anxious horror.
“You’re hurt,” Zora said, seeing the blood trail coming from beneath Delta’s right foot.
“Where do you think they are?” Delta looked through the pane of one of the French doors that led into the kitchen nook. The room was empty, although all the lights were on.
Zora tried the door, and it opened beneath her hand. She stepped in, but stopped when Delta didn’t follow.
“I don’t want to bleed all over their house. Go on in. Find out what’s going on.”
“I . . . smoked some dope. Do you think they’ll know?” Zora quavered.
“God, Zora. Please . . . just get help.”
Delta felt like crumpling down and crying. Her foot throbbed, but it was her heart that hurt the most.
