Left Drowning Read online

  “What? No! I take real classes. Of course I do.” He steps aside as I keep walking, moving past him. This is so embarrassing. Have I really become invisible unless I’m funneling beer at parties? Yes, I accept, I have. It is pretty easy to pass unnoticed when you want to.

  Maybe I don’t want that anymore.

  Chris bounces ahead of me again. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I move a mile a minute and miss things. Miss people.”

  “Maybe there will be some good stones up toward the grass.” I move up the slight incline from where we are standing. “I’ll go check.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I know he is staring at me. “I’ll look in the shallow water.”

  We spend a few minutes silently collecting stones, and I wonder what sort of excuse I can come up with to leave. Clearly I have botched our entire exchange. It’s one that I never should have started in the first place, considering that I’m idiotically out of practice when it comes to basic social interaction. I try to give myself a pep talk. Perhaps this will be like riding the proverbial bike? If I keep going, maybe I’ll remember how to behave like a normal person again? I used to be good at this.

  “Hey, Blythe,” he calls out. “I found a bunch of good ones. Come down and we’ll get more, and you can show me what you’ve got.” His voice is deep, masculine, yet I hear compassion and humanity in each word he says. Hearing him relaxes me and undoes my self-consciousness in a way that nothing else has been able to since that one night four years ago.

  Four years. Jesus, I have been like this for four fucking years? I start to wonder what I have missed out on. Who I have missed out on. I am momentarily furious.

  But then I look to the water, to Chris, and his infectious grin meets me. This boy makes it impossible for me to be pulled under. I smile back at him with a real smile. “Yeah? You found more? Okay.” I step over the overgrown grass and the half-buried rocks to reach him.

  “Shoes off!” he commands.

  “What?”

  “Shoes off and pants rolled up! We’re going to get you in tune with the lake. Good stone skipping is not just about the stone. It’s about the water, and it’s about you. So, off with your shoes!”

  “It’s cold!” I protest.

  “Baby,” he teases as he starts removing his shoes.

  “Am not. I’m showing a measure of sanity.” The irony that I am saying this is not lost on me.

  “There’s nothing good to be said about sanity. It’s dull. Live a little. Come on.”

  I try not to smile back as he arches his dark eyebrows playfully.

  “Fine,” I say, kicking off my sneakers and rolling up my jeans. “To prove I’m not a baby.”

  “In we go.” Chris wades a few feet into the water and turns back to me. “It’s really not cold. Promise.” He holds out his hand. “Really.”

  I step forward into the cool water, and the soles of my feet sink into the grainy sand. It’s a striking feeling, one I’ve stayed away from on purpose for the past four years. Without really thinking, I place my hand into his. My eyes close, and I feel him tighten his fingers around mine. The dark world in my head begins to break into pieces, and flashes of old, forgotten memories break through. I find that I am taking quick, shallow breaths. Stop it. Stop it! I instruct myself. I focus on my hand in his, feeling his steady and solid grip. The flashes burst apart as I open my eyes and speak too quickly, hoping to recover from the moment, hoping to cover up my lapse. “You’re right. The water isn’t so bad.”

  Chris cocks his head to the side. “You okay?” He squeezes my hand.

  I nod. “Yes. I am now.”

  He studies me, more serious now. “Do we know… .” He can’t seem to finish his question.

  “What?”

  He shakes his head. “No, we haven’t met before. It’s just… . Nothing.” He slips a smooth stone onto my palm and closes my fingers around it for me. “Show me.” Chris steps back.

  The water splashes gently around my ankles as I position my body perpendicular to the line of the water. “Now don’t laugh at me. It’s been a while since I’ve even attempted this.”

  “There is no laughing in stone skipping,” he says, clearly dramatizing his voice for effect. “This is a very, very somber activity. You may now proceed with your first attempt.”

  I try not to smile at his mock formality, as I keep my arm level and fling the stone over the water. It veers off fifteen feet to the right and then shoots through the surface of the water like a bullet.

  “Well,” Chris says, “what you lack in skill, you make up for with sheer force.”

  I laugh. “That did not go as I might have hoped, but I appreciate your tact.”

  “Do a few more. I’ll back up in case things go really awry.”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny. Although that’s not a bad idea… .” I can feel him watching me as I try three more times, managing to get only one stone to produce a sloppy skip. “I’m hopeless, I think.”

  “No, you’re not. Why do you throw like you’re a little kid tossing a Frisbee?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Is that what I look like?”

  “Well you sort of throw your arm across your body like this.” He smiles and flings his arm out wildly. “See? That’s no good.”

  “Aha. I didn’t realize.” I think for a second. He is right. As intently as I was watching him before, I hadn’t noticed that he doesn’t do this.

  “Here, try it a different way.” Chris moves in and stands behind me. “You’re right-handed, so you’ll want to turn the other way so that your throwing hand is away from the water.” His hands touch the top of my arms as he slowly pivots me around, coming to stand so close to me that our shadows become one. As he steps away, his shadow emerges from mine and becomes distinct on the sandy ground. I turn to focus and throw my smooth stone.

  “It feels awkward,” I confess.

  “Sure, at first. We’re breaking a bad habit. Try again. Let’s wade in a bit more. It sounds corny, but you have to sort of unite with the water.”

  I sigh, doubtful I can do this, yet I sidestep a few feet until I feel the water hit the rim of my jeans. I give another attempt.

  “Better!” Chris says. “You got two skips. Do another.”

  I pull a stone from my pocket and aim. This time the stone soars off to the left and does not skip at all. “Ugh. I give up.”

  “No you don’t.” He is behind me again, and I can feel his chest just brush my back. He rests his hands on my shoulders as if to ground me, and I shiver. Not from cold and not exactly from lust. At least, that’s not the only thing making me tremble. “Look out over the water. Zero in on the skyline. Don’t think about where you want to hit the water.”

  I feel him run his hand down my arm until he reaches my wrist, then he lifts up my arm for me. I inhale and exhale slowly.

  “Then,” he continues, “make the stone hit where the water meets the sky.” He pulls my hand in closer to my body until my arm is crossed in front of me, a slow-motion rehearsal for how I will throw. “Be firm and confident. Remember that you’re not the boss of this. You and this stone are partners.”

  “We’re partners. Okay.”

  Chris stays where he is, inches behind me, as I follow his advice.

  Three skips.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers. “Do it again. Listen to your partner.”

  Four skips.

  He lifts my hand an inch higher and puts his mouth by my ear. “Breathe into it.”

  Seven skips.

  Holy shit.

  “Did you see that?” I can hardly speak. It is just skipping stones; there is no reason to be so awestruck by what I’ve done, but I am.

  “That was awesome! Really awesome!” Chris squeezes my shoulders. “Just gorgeous. Hey, I bet if you keep at it, you’ll be skipping across the entire lake in no time. It’s really cool when you skip so far that you lose count. The way the rings move farther and farther

  out… .”

  Chris continues to talk, but I c
an barely hear him. I am just staring at the spot where the stone finally broke the surface for the last time, dropping to the bottom of the lake.

  “Chris?”

  “ … one time I tried to show someone else how to skip, and he completely sucked. You’re so much better—”

  “Chris.” Without thinking, I lean my head back, resting it just below his shoulder. He is so tall and … somehow familiar. I roll my head to the side and take in the sunlight, stronger now, which hits the small ripples in the water and turns them bright white. My vision seems sharper, my thoughts less muted, than just an hour ago. This near stranger is inexplicably giving me more safety and security than anyone else ever has.

  “Yeah?”

  For no discernible reason, it feels unfathomable not to tell him. “My parents are dead.”

  He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even tense up at my words.

  It is the first time I have said this out loud in … well, ever. Could it be possible that I have somehow managed never to say this? Yes, I accept, it’s true. People from home didn’t need to hear it directly from me. They all knew. News like that spreads quickly. And no one at college has needed to know. I say it again. “My parents are dead. They died four years ago in a fire.” I step forward, suddenly shocked at how blunt I am being. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just told you that. I’m so sorry. It’s not your … I shouldn’t have…”

  I wait for him to do what everyone else did after my parents died. Spout off some conventional words of sympathy like, I’m so sorry. How awful. You poor thing. Terribly sad… and then run. People always do. Nobody knows what to say after the initial words of supposed comfort. Death and grief make everyone around you vanish because death and grief are intolerable.

  But Chris does not run. Instead, he slides his arm around my waist and pulls me in close until my back is tight against his chest. “It’s okay. Breathe into it.”

  “I have a brother. James. He hates me because of it. I hate me because of it. I am so tired.” I close my eyes and press my cheek into Chris’s shirt. His arms cross in front of me and hold me gently while flashes of that night roll over me. Flashes are all that I have. I remember sections of that night, but I haven’t pieced it all together. Maybe because I can’t or maybe because I don’t want the full memory. I can barely stand the pieces. The days immediately before and immediately after don’t exist for me either. They are entirely empty, and I prefer to keep it that way. I shudder in Chris’s arms. Right now I cannot control what is showing in my head, although I wish I could. The flashes of memory I’m getting now are more vivid and intense than I have ever experienced. I am remembering in a way that I have not before.

  Heat. Water. Glass. Dirt. The dock. The swim to the dock. The colors on the patchwork quilt.

  I am starting to choke. Why is this happening to me now? Why, when I start to have one vaguely tolerable morning, am I plagued by the past?

  His fingers tighten on my arms. “Breathe into it,” he says again. His voice helps; his touch helps. “Let it happen. I’m here.”

  The smell. The pictures on the quilt. Red. Red. Red. Trees. The ladder, the sound, the hero. The hero. My hero.

  It is enough. I can’t take anymore.

  Think about the dock, I tell myself, my eyes still closed. Think about the dock. This always calms me. I don’t know why, but when I picture the dock, it always helps me to stop spiraling. I imagine rowing to it, over and over. I am safe on the dock, and I feel stability and safety there, although I have no idea why.

  My eyes open and I feel my breathing slow.

  “I think,” I say slowly, “that we’re out of stones.”

  “There are always more. You want to keep skipping?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we will.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Breaking the Rules

  My sunglasses do little to block out the sun’s strength, so I shut my eyes. Part of me is scared to do this because I’m totally convinced that he’ll be gone when I open them. I test my theory and roll my head to the side for a quick peek. Chris is still there, lying next to me on the sand, both of us on our backs while we talk—or rather, while he talks. I make him do most of the talking since I’m so out of practice. Good thing that Sabin gave me a warm-up this morning.

  It takes everything I have to look away from him again, but I don’t want to be caught staring. I love his imperfect nose, his full lips, and the way he runs his hands through his black hair every so often, tousling the soft waves. Every time he does this, the muscles in his arm flex slightly, and I am disarmed.

  More than my undeniable physical attraction to Chris is the fact that I feel something else for him that I can’t explain. It’s more than a little confusing. I’ve read countless literary works that detail the longing and ache that characters have for someone they love, and over time, I have developed a strong belief that it’s just dramatic bullshit meant to entice readers. Today, however, I understand that it’s not bullshit. It’s very strange the way my stomach and chest are tight and fluttery and how his presence is so entirely magnetic. While it’s a decidedly wonderful feeling, it’s also terrible because I know that I am alone in this; there is no way that Chris can possibly feel what I am feeling. I push aside that thought because I’m not exactly in a position to barrel into any serious romantic entanglement anyway, even if he were interested. Which he’s not. I can tell by the way he’s just lying next to me on the beach chattering. So I will just enjoy this time with him.

  Part of my old self has awoken, and I am going to let this day happen.

  He does not ask about my parents or anything about my childhood, and I am grateful for that. I do the same.

  Chris has already told me that he’s lived “too many places to mention” and that he’s majoring in economics and minoring in English lit. We also spent twenty minutes discussing our favorite coffee drinks, a conversation that only cemented how fucking cool he is. How many college students have a French press and a milk frother in their rooms? One. That’s how many.

  “My sister has tried to steal the press on more than one occasion. I bought her one, but she claims the coffee mine makes tastes better.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “A sister and two brothers.”

  “How old?” I ask.

  “They’re all here at Matthews with me. Estelle and Eric, they’re twins, are sophomores, and my brother Sabin is a junior.”

  “Wait. Sabin?” There couldn’t be that many Sabins on a campus this small. “Tall, dark hair, a little … wild?”

  Chris laughs. “You know him?”

  “Just met him this morning. He stole my coffee. Apparently coffee-related thievery runs in your family.”

  “He’s a handful. Best brother you could ask for. Well, he and Eric.”

  “Sort of funny that you are all at the same school,” I say. The air is much warmer now, and I’m about to take off my sweatshirt when I remember that I just have on a T-shirt underneath. One that would show my left arm. I settle for unzipping the sweatshirt and dealing with the heat.

  Chris shrugs. “We’re pretty close, I guess. The thought of us all being spread across the country at different schools sucked, so here we are.”

  “How did you end up at Matthews?”

  “I saw it on a shirt once. Seemed like a good idea.”

  I impulsively swat him on the arm, aware of how comfortable I feel doing this. I’m amazed that I don’t feel any weirder about my freakish behavior earlier than I do, but I don’t. It seems Chris can tolerate my eccentricities. “I’m serious!”

  He tips his head to me. “So am I.”

  “That’s a weird way to choose a college.”

  He grins. “We’re a weird bunch.”

  “Your parents must have whopping empty-nest syndrome with all four of you away now, huh?”

  “It’s just my father at home. My mother died when we were all pretty young. A brain aneurysm. Totally random. No way
to see it coming.” Chris sits up, and his shadow travels across my stomach. “So we have something in common.”

  “Dead mothers.”

  “Yes,” he agrees. “Dead mothers.”

  So he understood what was happening to me while we were standing in the water together. That was the connection that I felt.

  “I’m glad that we don’t have dead fathers in common,” I say. “At least you still have one parent.”

  He says nothing. I roll onto my side and tuck up my knees, and Chris does the same so that we are facing each other. I don’t shy away from studying him, letting my eyes travel over his body. I am relaxed, thoroughly relaxed. And exhausted. I drowsily ask him anything that I can think to ask because I want to keep him talking. His voice is soothing and beautiful, and his face is all I see as I drift off.

  I sleep without dreaming, and when I wake up, Chris is still beside me, leaning back onto his elbows and looking out at the water. Slowly I sit up, and he smiles at me.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I busy myself with brushing sand off my jeans and redoing the knot holding my hair back so that he can’t see how embarrassed I am. It’s disorienting to have zonked out so completely. “How long was I asleep?”

  “A few hours.”

  “A few what?” Oh my God. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to sit here while I slept. I’m sure you have things to do.”

  Chris shakes his head. “Why would I want to leave? Beautiful day, happily snoozing girl? Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.” It’s an almost nonexistent occurrence, and I am positive that I slept so peacefully because of Chris. Asking him to sit next to me every night so that I can sleep without nightmares is probably unreasonable… .

  “Know what?”

  “What?”

  Chris bounces up so that he is looming above me. “I’m fucking starving.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I squint up at him. He likes to curse, too. “I should probably get going, too.”

  His hand stretches down to me. “Let’s go to lunch. I know a great place. Actually, that’s not true. It’s not a great place, but it’s an interesting place.” He picks up my backpack as he grabs my hand and pulls me to standing. “You’ve got to be hungry, too. It’s way past lunchtime, and I bet you didn’t eat breakfast.”