Maybe it was being on this beach that had affected her. This was the last place she remembered enjoying herself before it had all turned to muck. The most fun thing she remembered from back then was running into the waves and bodysurfing with other kids she’d met at the beach.
Sarah decided to go for a swim. She wouldn’t mind that her limbs moved more stiffly, more heavily, than they had when she was a girl. The wind was still in her face and she would brace her body for the shock of the cold New England ocean when she felt it.
* * *
SAM WATCHED THE woman as she sprinted for the surf. He didn’t make a habit of checking out women while he was on the job, but there was something about this one that drew his eye.
He paused on the driver’s seat of the ATV. Duke had asked him to check in with the newer guards. For about half of them, it was their first summer, and Sam, at thirty-two, was an old hand. He was practiced at constantly scanning the water and the beach. He knew when swimmers ventured too far out; he would summon them in with a whistle and a wave.
Very few people were swimming today. In June, the water was frigid and the air wasn’t hot enough to drive people into the water seeking relief. Farther up the coast, the surfers would be wearing wetsuits. Here, at the fringes of the family beach, still not quite on the main boardwalk section, there was little incentive to wade in beyond one’s ankles.
It was a sleepy, easy day. Great for a lifeguard new to the job. Not too many kids—it was still early for family vacations, and school was still in session in some local towns. Midweek was prime time for retired couples, groups of moms with preschoolers and the odd pair of early vacationers relaxing here and there with their books.
When the woman appeared again in his peripheral vision, he couldn’t help turning to watch her pass. Of everyone on the beach, she stood out. It was the way she moved. One thing that had always fascinated Sam was watching the different people in the grand parade of humanity that passed up and down the shoreline in summer.
Some people strolled. Some marched. Some lolled. Some shuffled. Others strutted—the young, usually. Teens slunk along in too-cool-for-school groups. Little kids skipped or danced. Young couples walked hand in hand. His own daughter strode with purpose.
This woman—she commanded. It was the only word he could think of, the only action that described her.
He liked that she was confident and powerful. She strode toward that water like she wasn’t afraid of it. Like she was going to possess it and make it her own.
He paused, aware that he was smiling. The first lighthearted, happy moment he’d felt all day. His cares lifting, he leaned back and waited to see what she would do when her toes hit the frigid water. Her pale skin suggested she didn’t get much sun. The grim set of her jaw told him she was determined to bathe in the sea.
The foamy tide surged toward her. He watched, waiting. With her ankles submerged in the chilly surf, she paused. Where others shivered and hugged themselves, she was stoic. A look crossed her face, a small, sad smile. He wondered why.
She was someone he would like to talk to. Not here. Not now. But if he were across the world, in Scotland, say, hiking on the West Highland Way (as he had planned, but he wasn’t going to think of that), he definitely would have found an excuse to catch up with her. To match those powerful, determined steps. To walk beside her and make light conversation.
And later that night, to take her into his bed.
With a sudden set to her jaw, she shocked him by surging forward. With great, long-legged, awkward steps she raced through the cold water as fast as she could. When she was waist deep, she thrust her arms over her head and made a graceful, curving arc. She dove directly into the wall of a large, nearly breaking wave.
It was magnificent.
But she didn’t come up right away. Frowning, he stood up straight, on alert.
And then he noticed what he should have noticed, if he’d been concentrating on the water and not on the woman.
The water was dark and swirling—a single lane that led from the beach out to sea. On either side of the lane were tiny ripples of white waves.
The woman had entered straight into that dark tunnel.
“Damn,” he said aloud. He jogged to the guard’s chair, knocking on it. “Charlie? Radio to chair nine, tell Jeannie McLaren to get over here and join us ASAP. Tell her to bring her rescue equipment.”
The young man gaped at him. “Why?”
“Rip current,” Sam said grimly, gazing toward the woman. Her head had appeared. Already she was being pulled farther from shore, but she might not have noticed that yet.
“Rip current?” Charlie repeated, shading his eyes and staring at the surf ahead.
“Yeah, we talked about it yesterday. Do you remember what we need to do to save her?”
“Yeah.” The kid set his jaw. “Yeah, I’m on it.”
“Call chair number nine,” Sam instructed again. And then he grabbed a rescue torp and sprinted toward the woman who’d thought she could master the sea.
* * *
AT FIRST SARAH decided to swim out past the waves to where it was calmer. Swimming seemed easier than she remembered.
How long had it been since she’d swum in the ocean? Funny, but she’d lived in California for over twenty years now, and she’d never once taken a dip in the Pacific.
Catching a glimpse of how far out she’d come, past where the waves were breaking, she paused. Immediately, without her blood pumping as hard, she started to shiver. This water really was freezing, and she couldn’t ignore that any longer. She tentatively stretched her legs, but her toes didn’t touch bottom. Or maybe she just couldn’t feel it.
In any event, as she realized how far out she was, it was pretty obvious that she must be way over her head.
And the longer she watched the shore, the farther out she appeared to get. The beach was receding by the second, and that wasn’t her imagination.
Taking a breath, Sarah started to swim directly to shore. The salt water stung her eyes and her lungs burned with the effort. But when she looked again, she seemed farther out, if that was even possible.
It simply made no sense. She felt like she was in a science fiction movie, lost in a twilight zone. Or on some strange planet where the laws of nature didn’t apply.
I’m just out of shape. I need to do something about that. Now I have all sorts of time to remedy it.
Hysterical laughter erupted from her throat. But it did no good; she was being swept farther and farther out as the seconds ticked past.
I might die here, she thought.
Panic bubbled in her chest.
Flailing, she tried harder to swim and make progress. Stroke, stroke, stroke, she told herself. Kick, kick, kick. Her lungs ached with the effort. She couldn’t control her breathing any longer—oh, to be able to count breaths and meditate! Another small, hysterical laugh broke from her mouth, and with that, a snort of seawater went down her throat.
She choked, sputtering. But she couldn’t hear herself panicking, because the roar of the ocean filled her ears.
Don’t give up, Sarah! Work harder! Fight harder!
She stroked and kicked with all her might.
Until she couldn’t anymore.
SAM’S