Sam’s adrenaline kicked in. He didn’t think he loved anything better than the intensity of making a save.
When he was as far out as she was, Sam turned sharply and swam toward the female swimmer across the narrow rip current, kicking hard, holding the torp in front of him with outstretched arms. Though the woman’s dark hair was matted to her head and her blue eyes were huge, he assessed that she wasn’t in such distress that she couldn’t understand him.
“Grab the handles and I’ll pull you to safety,” he called to her. When he was close enough, he helped the woman latch onto the flotation device and then guided her out of the lane of the rip current.
Sam had to give her credit; she was breathing heavily but she was alert and hadn’t panicked—her skin wasn’t clammy and her pupils looked okay. She was a fighter, that was for sure.
“Hang on,” he said to the woman. “Just a few more yards. I’ll stay with you until you can touch bottom. Then we can walk in to shore together.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted through clenched, chattering teeth. “I can handle it on my own.”
He said nothing in response. They would talk again when they were safely on shore and he’d called in a medical team to assess her.
His feet hit the sandy bottom, and he shifted one hand to the waist of her red bathing suit. Soon they were sloshing through the shallow waves together. He kept his hand on her waist, guiding her in.
“Let go of me,” she hissed.
“Your legs might be shaky. You’ve been through a rip current.”
“I had it under control,” she muttered. “I don’t need you.”
“Maybe so,” he answered. “We’re just being careful. Rip currents can be quite powerful and tough to escape from.” He went into science teacher mode. “In this case, they’re formed by a depression, or low point, on the ocean floor, which in turn causes a strong surface flow of water running from the beach back to the ocean.”
“I know all that,” she snapped. “I’ve had plenty of science classes in my day.”
He nodded and remained silent, just walking in with her. Once on shore, she bent over and gave herself a little shake. He could tell she was a bit stunned from her ordeal, but it was obvious she’d be okay.
He motioned to Jeannie McLaren to take out her radio. The new lifeguard looked at him owlishly. She seemed frozen.
“We’ll review the procedures again in training tomorrow,” he said quietly to McLaren. “But right now, it’s customary to call the medical team. They’ll check the lady over. Then I’ll make a report to the lifeguard captain. Typically, just one person is needed to handle a save like this, but since it’s the beginning of the season, I wanted you all to learn and get experience firsthand. As such, all of you will get credit.”
Charlie perked up. “Credit?”
“For the save,” Sam explained.
The lady he’d rescued shook her head at them. “No one saved me. I’m fine. And if you call any EMTs...”
She paused and gazed toward the direction of the cottages. They all did. A woman in a business outfit—skirt and sleeveless blouse—was picking her way across the sand toward them. She carried her shoes in one hand. Across her shoulder bounced a briefcase.
“...then I will sue you,” the lady they’d rescued continued, turning back to smile at them triumphantly. “And if I’m not mistaken, here is my lawyer.”
Sam squinted. The lawyer with the briefcase looked an awful lot like the only lawyer he knew in town, Natalie Kimball. Or had her name changed since she’d married? He couldn’t remember. In any event, she wasn’t his lawyer because she didn’t handle child custody cases.
While he was ruminating over name changes and custody cases, his “distressed swimmer” staggered off toward Natalie. Sam’s two lifeguards looked at him expectantly, as if to say, “Now what?” To add to the fun, most of the people who’d been soaking up the sun nearby wandered over, too. Everybody liked a show.
“What did you mean by ‘credit for a save’?” Charlie asked him. “Does that get us a cash bonus or something?”
“No, Charlie.” Sam sighed. “It just gives you bragging rights at the end-of-summer banquet.”
Charlie looked disappointed, but honestly, all lifeguard groups that Sam had ever known set up friendly competitions during the season. However, Sam didn’t need to be explaining all that with an audience of civilians gathering before them.
He slid a gaze back over at the lady. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to her lawyer, but could very well guess.
“Okay, good news—our distressed swimmer is obviously feeling better,” Sam said to his green staff, wrapping this lesson up so they could disperse the crowd as soon as possible. “The takeaway for the day is that we can’t force a person to go for treatment if they don’t want to. This is all perfectly normal.”
Charlie and Jeannie nodded in unison, along with some of the people in the crowd.
Usually, the medical team with the resulting paperwork would have been here by now—even if just to handle the victim’s refusal of treatment—but the season was still young and Sam supposed the recent hires were getting used to Wallis Point lifeguard protocol. In any event, he’d seen new teams being a bit clueless before. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
The radio on his all-terrain vehicle squawked. Sam’s boss. Sam headed over to answer the call. Probably, Duke had heard about the save. McLaren had radioed it in, and now there would be a report due.
Damn it. Sam still needed to get the victim’s information for the save statistics.
He glanced back up at the angry lady staggering away from them. He would have to follow her.
Again, nothing he couldn’t handle. In his years as a lifeguard, he’d seen many different types of victim reactions before.
Keep things smooth and easy—that was Sam’s motto.
* * *
SARAH CONTINUED HER march toward Cassandra’s cottage, her aunt’s lawyer beside her. She tugged tighter on the beach towel she’d wrapped around her wet bathing suit. The towel smelled strange, and the flimsy material of uncertain provenance felt gross against her skin.
“...and it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Natalie was saying breathlessly as Sarah strode through the sand. “I don’t know if you realize it or not, but Cassandra showed your magazine article to everyone in the office. I love reading about strong female role models. We all think it’s wonderful. My daughter, Hannah, is six, and I hope women like you will be an inspiration to her.”
“Yeah, well—” Sarah stopped herself from a biting retort and glanced sideways at the lawyer. They were approaching Cassandra’s cottage now, near the tired-looking wooden deck without any railings, and the lawyer didn’t appear to be sucking up to Sarah or even blowing smoke. Natalie seemed strangely, provincially sincere. Sarah needed to adjust her expectations. She squeezed the towel tighter around herself. “Where is my aunt, anyway? She was supposed to be here to let me in. She knew what time I was set to arrive.”
“Yes. She asked me to handle that for her. I’m sorry I got held up so long.” Natalie pulled her briefcase from her shoulder. Daintily, she balanced it on the arm of an Adirondack chair as she opened a side pocket. “Here, I have a note from Cassandra explaining the situation to you. And your copy of the house key.”
“What situation?” Sarah spit out as she grabbed the letter with one hand and the key with the other. “Why is she always so damned dramatic? You should tell her to get a phone like regular people.