Authors: Nancy Thayer
“Her name was Jessica Beckett. She was an intern in his firm’s office. She was lovely—actually, Maggie, she looked a lot like you. Cameron wanted to do the right thing, and so he married me when I told him I was pregnant. When he saw Serena’s black hair, he was suspicious, angry, but he didn’t want to embarrass me, send me out into the snowstorm clutching my babe like a Charles Dickens heroine … and we did care for each other. We worked hard, trying to love each other, trying to make a family.”
Watching the girls play, Maggie reminds Emily: “You did make a family for five years. Serena is a happy child.”
Lost in her own thoughts, Emily muses, “Jessica Beckett’s name was on the manifest of the plane that crashed. The firm had a memorial service for all seven people on board. I met her parents. We sympathized with each other … of course they had no idea.” Emily puts her face in her hands. “It shouldn’t have happened, Maggie. The plane shouldn’t have crashed. Cameron and I could have divorced, and Serena would have been fine, she hardly saw him anyway, and he could have married Jessica and been truly deeply sincerely loved. I could have come back here …” When she looks up at Maggie, her face shines with tears. “It’s not fair. That I’m here, in this place I cherish, and poor Cameron is dead.”
Reaching across the beach chairs, Maggie hugs Emily. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t cause it. You couldn’t have prevented it. We don’t know
everything
, Emily. Perhaps Cameron is happier now in some other universe—”
Emily sniffs. “I don’t believe that stuff.”
“That’s your prerogative. Lots of scientists do.” Pushing up off the chair, Maggie opens the cooler, takes out two Diet Cokes, hands one to Emily and keeps one for herself. “The point is, you are not responsible
for the plane crash. You
are
responsible for her.” She nods toward the edge of the water where the two little girls kneel industriously in the sand, creating their sand city.
Heather senses her mother looking and waves. Serena tells Heather something. Both girls run up the beach to their mothers.
“We want to swim!” They’re silly together, clapping hands, jumping up and down, making a racket.
“Fine,” Maggie agrees. “Let’s put your water wings on.”
“I don’t need water wings,” Serena boosts. “I passed the test at the pool.”
“This is not the pool, Little Missy,” Emily assures her daughter. “This is the ocean, and you’re wearing your floaties.”
“I’m a water fairy! I’m a water fairy!” Heather lifts and drops her water-winged arms, pirouetting a slow circle in the sand.
“Whoever heard of a water fairy!” Serena scoffs, but she relents, allowing her mother to fasten on the water wings.
“I’ve
seen
water fairies!” Heather brags as the girls run toward the water.
“You mean
mermaids
!” Serena insists.
Emily glances fondly at Maggie. “I wonder where Heather gets her imagination.”
“Or Serena,” Maggie grunts in reply, shoving herself to her feet.
“Are you going in the water?”
“Of course. I never let Heather swim in the ocean unless I’m right next to her. She’s only five. She’s a great swimmer, but the currents can be wicked here on certain days.”
“Oh, really?” Emily responds with a tang of acid. “I had no idea.”
“Stop. I realize you consider this
your
beach—”
“I swam here every summer, growing up.”
“Really?” Maggie teases. “I did not know that.”
Emily links her arm through Maggie’s. “Seriously, you great big water fairy …”
“Water buffalo, more like,” Maggie jokes.
“
Can
you swim in that condition?”
“Honestly? Not far, simply because I can’t catch my breath as easily. But the water’s buoyant. I can float on my back like an otter. The girls won’t go out very far. I’ll be fine.”
The wind comes from the east today, puffing in intermittent gusts, rippling the surface of the white breakers that slowly roll in to the beach. Heather and Serena are wading into the water, shrieking with glee as the cold froth splashes against their ankles, knees, bellies. Maggie wades in up to her thighs, stretches luxuriously, then gently lies down in the water, surrendering her body to its rhythms. A few feet away, Emily walks out farther, then dives underwater, swimming parallel to the shoreline.
Maggie bobs on her back, lifting her head to check on the girls.
“Mommy looks like a seal!” Heather calls, pointing at Maggie, whose short back cap of hair gleams glossily in the sun.
Emily backstrokes to her daughter. “Swim with me.”
“We’re baby whales!” Serena yells, throwing herself facedown in the water, splashing along vigorously next to Emily.
“Fairy circle?” Heather paddles up to Maggie, her little body appearing to be all flapping arms and legs, tiny, vulnerable, and energetic.
“Sure,” Maggie agrees, although she hesitates to leave the Zen-like calm of her float. Shifting her body around, she searches for the surface of the underwater sand with her feet. She’s farther out than she’d thought. The water comes to her chest. “Give me your hands.”
This is one of Heather’s favorite games. Holding hands, arms stretched full length, Heather lies faceup while Maggie slowly twirls in a circle, singing a song with constantly changing words about water fairies who spin in circles in the ocean to make magic. Maggie changes the tempo, sometimes swirling slowly then suddenly whirling fast, and Heather screams with delight.
Beneath Maggie’s feet, the firm wet sand is as familiar as a wooden floor, the wash of waves against her torso a cool rocking motion, lifting her up and setting her down. The sun pours down on the sea in a buttery light, igniting water, beach, hillside, town, cottages, dunes, sea grass, shoreline, water in a loop so bright she squints against such blaze. Had she ever thought she would be here, at this beach, with her own daughter, and with her childhood friend Emily, and Emily’s own daughter? No, they had never dreamed of such abundance, such happiness, such treasure.
“Mommy, do that to me!” Serena pleads with Emily, who takes hold of her daughter’s hands and begins her own revolution.
“Okay,” Maggie tells her daughter. “That’s all, Buglet. Mommy’s tired. Let’s go back closer to shore.”
She releases Heather’s hands in order to wipe her face dry of the salt water that’s splashed into her eyes, stinging and almost blinding her.
That’s when it happens. Later Maggie will blame herself. She knows this beach, these waters, the ocean’s fickle, sudden currents that shoot unexpectedly from nowhere, blasting away from the shore, out to the deep Atlantic. She should not have let go of Heather’s hands.
A white-tipped wave, higher than any others she’s seen this morning, rises up in front of Maggie and slams her down, smashing her into the sand several feet below the surface. Maggie struggles through the flooding, glistening water to stand. The constant shove and suck of the tide disorients her, dizzies her. She slips and with great effort rights herself.
Wiping her eyes, she searches for Heather. Her heart is thudding hard from her exertions, and it triple-times as she sees the heaving water empty of any sign of her child.
“Maggie!”
Maggie turns toward Emily, who is staggering as if drunk a few
yards away. “What the fuck!” Emily screams. “What was that? It ripped Serena right out of my hands.”
“I’ve lost Heather!” Maggie screams. She sees color bobbing not far from Emily. “There!” Pointing, she directs Emily’s eyes. “There’s Serena.”
Emily heads off in a steady, determined crawl.
Maggie scans the water again and now she sees Heather, a streak of blond hair, a blotch of bright green water wing.
Holding her arm as high as it will reach, Maggie waves, yelling, “I’m coming, Heather!”
As she swims toward her daughter, Maggie silently assures herself of Heather’s skill. She’s been swimming in this ocean since she was a toddler. She’s been dunked and flipped and knocked down by strong waves plenty of times. She knows the ocean. She won’t be afraid.
But she hasn’t been caught in a current before, Maggie realizes, as her efforts to reach Heather tire her but appear to take her no closer. The current is frigid, much colder than the water near shore, propelling Heather aggressively south, carrying her tiny body, like a piece of flotsam, away from the safety of land. Heather flails with her small arms, her head bobbing up and down as the waves lift and drop her. Maggie’s tiring. Her belly weighs her down, it is another force she has to fight against.
The current is inexorable, a roaring freight train of energy. Terror explodes in Maggie’s chest. Redoubling her efforts, she battles on into the icy cold, into deeper water, where the sun’s warmth can’t penetrate.
“Go back!”
With salt-reddened eyes, Maggie sees Emily swimming next to her. “Go back! I’ll get her!” In a long ivory gleam, Emily shoots past Maggie, her strong arms carrying her out farther and farther from shore.
Maggie treads water, reluctant to give up the struggle to save Heather, seeing—when the waves aren’t splashing her face—how quickly Emily is covering the distance to the child. Maggie’s heart beats so fast it blanks a blackness over her eyes, signaling her to rest or faint. She treads water. She watches.
A glistening turquoise hill breaks over Maggie, thrusting her into the depths. She swims upward into the light. She sees Emily reach Heather, grasp Heather’s wrist, tug her toward her. Another wave slams Maggie’s face, blasting her entire body backward—and then she’s free of the current. Waves rock her up and down as she watches Emily grip Heather faceup, in a lifeguard’s head hold.
Calming, Maggie looks back at shore. Serena stands on the edge of the sand, her arms wrapped around herself. Maggie swims. She will reach Serena, wrap her in a sun-warmed towel, and hold her tightly as they watch Emily tow Heather back to safety.
She staggers onto the sand, weak, shaking, gasping, trying not to throw up.
She hears voices.
She is on her hands and knees. “Serena?” she croaks.
A man is with Emily’s daughter. He’s squatting in the sand next to her, handing her a towel, speaking to her softly. He’s not touching her—he knows she doesn’t know who he is, and he doesn’t want to frighten her. Serena hurriedly wraps the towel around her shoulders. She’s listening intently, nodding her head as the man talks. Her black hair gleams in the light, exactly like Ben’s hair gleams as he speaks to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Ben.” Maggie collapses on her bum, allowing herself to focus on catching her breath. After a moment, she says, “Serena. This is my brother, Ben. Ben, this is Emily’s daughter, Serena.”
Serena is still shivering. “Is Mommy getting Heather?”
Maggie holds out her arms. “Come here, honey. We’ll warm each other up. Ben, would you please bring me a towel?”
“Sure.” Her brother stands and heads up the beach to their little nest, returning with a large striped towel, which he wraps around Maggie’s shoulders.
Serena runs to sit in Maggie’s lap. Because of Maggie’s belly, she has to sit sideways, and her pointed knees jab into Maggie.
“I was scared!” Serena tells Maggie. “The water swooshed me off away from Mommy. I couldn’t see her, but then she found me, and she pulled me back to shore, then she saw you and Heather, and she ran into the ocean, she swam so fast. Did you see her swim so fast?”
“I saw her.” Maggie squeezes Serena tightly against her. “I saw her swim so fast, Serena. I’ve never seen anyone swim that fast. Look,
here she comes, I can see her face, I can see Heather’s head. They’re coming closer.”
Serena gawks at Maggie, alarmed. “You’re crying!”
“It’s all right,” Maggie assures the little girl. “They’re happy tears.”
Ben sits next to them, his large, warm body’s presence a comfort. “Drink,” he says, handing them each a bottle of water.
Dutifully, they sip the water, although Maggie feels guilty taking this relief when Emily is still out in the ocean, fighting her way back. But Emily has reached the safety zone where an adult can stand on the sand, with her head above water, and Emily does this for a moment, resting, breathing, holding Heather, whose arms are around Emily’s neck.
“Mommy!” Serena jumps off Maggie’s lap and runs to the water’s edge. “Heather! Mommy saved you!”
Ben stands and extends his hands to pull Maggie up. “You okay?”
Maggie can’t speak. She runs to the water, to gather her little girl in her arms.
Emily sprawls facedown on the sand, her rib cage expanding as she wheezes, breathing in the air for which her lungs are starving. One hand still grips Heather by her wrist.
“Emily. I’ve got her.” Maggie pulls Heather to her, framing her face in her hands, checking the color of her skin, her eyes.
Heather is panting, crying, and shaking so hard her teeth rattle. But she’s breathing, her color is good, she’s not vomiting, she’s not unconscious, she’s only very frightened. “Mommy!” she cries as she hurls herself against Maggie, hugging Maggie hard.
Serena runs to her mother. “Mommy, Mommy, are you okay?”
Maggie can see Emily’s back heaving as she regains her body’s equilibrium. Emily rolls to a sitting position, reaches out, and brings her daughter onto her lap.
“Mommy, I was really scared,” Serena cries.
Emily’s voice is low when she speaks to her daughter, low because
she hardly has the strength to speak. Maggie can see this, how weak Emily is, how she’s battling not to let Serena know, and she wishes she could help her, but she can’t move, pinned down with her wet, rescued, shuddering daughter and her own lumpy, fright-weakened body. Maggie opens her mouth to say, “Ben, help her,” but before she can speak, Ben goes to Emily.
“I’m going to pick you up, Emily,” he says. He turns to Serena. “I’m going to carry your mother up to her beach chair. Run and find the biggest towel you can to wrap around her.”
While Serena scampers up the beach, Ben squats down, slides his arms beneath Emily’s body, and stands, holding her in his arms. She submits, resting her head on his chest. To Maggie, they look like lovers.