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No! Not today. I’m going to find the shore and when I get there I’ll find a phone.
I’ll remember Leo’s phone number. He made me memorize it in case I ever lost my phone. It’s the only one I know by heart.
Country code first.
One.
Nine.
All you have to remember is to say amen. It’s nothing, Daphne. A few words.
That’s not a phone number.
The water is welcoming now. I was wrong about it before. Instead of pulling me down, it’s holding me up. I could lay my head down. Rest for a minute. Remember that phone number. The surface is like a pillow. But no—no. That would mean giving up. I would sink. My eyelids are heavy, though. It’s a tempting thought.
I wish Emerson was here.
My legs drift down and I kick them in a frantic burst. What is it they say about bad signs? They come in threes. One, two, three. The waves are coming in more than threes. This is not good.
So much for the first line of a book. So much for the color wheel. The water grows dark underneath me. Dark in the sky, too. They reflect each other. Salt and ice try to force themselves between my teeth.
Keep kicking, Daph.
Jesus, it’s hard. I want him now. Desperately. Emerson’s strong and he could let me rest.
I really don’t know where the shore is. The cloud turned out to be a wave. Actually, there’s no difference between the clouds and the waves. A bolt of fear shoots down to my toes, which struggle for the bottom. It’s not there. I’m in over my head.
Something darker than the sky and the waves flashes at the corner of my eye.
My mouth is full of water. Can’t breathe it. Can’t breathe. My chin tips skyward like some invisible fingers tap at the soft underside, but the water is a frigid halo. Come on, feet. Kick. I’m a puppet on strings. Arms rising to the surface. Someone else has taken control of my body. Maybe this proves the existence of God.
Then again.
I’m still sinking.
Salt stings my eyes. Through the pain, shiny fabric comes into view.
It’s a black wetsuit against dark gray water. A person on a paddle board.
Emerson on a paddle board. Wearing a backpack slung over one arm. It’s so strange. A laugh comes out onto my tongue but it’s replaced by another lungful of water.
His hands fly in the dark and he hauls me into his arms with shocking strength. The waves are so high. How does he have his balance? The board is smaller than I thought, but he’s here with me. Thank God he’s here.
“Sit up,” Emerson orders. “Sit up, little painter.”
I can’t. It’s so much work. His arm locks around me and pulls me upright. He feels so warm, somehow.
His weight shifts, and Emerson curses. We both tumble back into the ocean. My head goes under but an irresistible force pushes it above the surf. I didn’t see how high the waves were before. I have no idea how to deal with waves this high, but Emerson does.
“Fuck,” he says. I can’t answer. At the edge of my vision, something white disappears into the waves.
Emerson’s board.
I can’t kick anymore, but we’re moving. It’s all Emerson. He drags me along with him with powerful strokes. The current catches at my feet and tries to pull me under. I want to ask him how he got to be stronger than the undertow. I never find the words. The swells lift and fall below us. My stomach turns.
Leo was right. I am a naive fool. I thought I could survive this, though I could do this one thing for myself, but I was wrong. I’m captured again. All I feel is relief. Emerson’s here, and I don’t have to swim.
Black rock rears up from the ocean. I gasp and choke on water. Where the hell did it come from? Were we this close to the shore all along? He’s swimming us toward a black void and I have a terror of falling in and never resurfacing. But then more rock arcs overhead.
