animal’s bray. “I don’t...can’t move...”
He was shivering helplessly, his muscles already seizing from the immense strain they had suffered. Agonizing cramps racked his arms, his legs, his belly. So tight was his grip on the dock, he felt as if the individual pads of his fingers had been nailed there. He didn’t think he could let go.
And, of course, there was the fear. The fear was still there, the terror, fresh as a bleeding wound. Getting out from under the dock meant that he would first have to submerge into that dark envelope of water again. And right now, he simply could not do that.
“No...” he sputtered, still gasping for air. “Stay here awhile...”
Dressed in her Danskin leotards, Krista dove into the lake. She came up under the dock and swam in next to her husband. She placed a hand on his forearm; the muscles were iron-stiff.
“Come on, honey,” she said. “Let’s get you out from under here.” There was a series of four partially submerged joists that had to be passed to reach the dock’s outer edge. “We’ll go one section at a time.”
Krista clasped his wrist and tugged, gently but firmly. She could see the fear in his eyes, a dull, winking shine, like headlights in a shrieking blizzard.
Reluctantly, Scott let go.
“Deep breath, babe, then let’s do it, okay?”
Gasping in air, Scott slowly nodded. Then, with Krista at his side, he submerged.
In a flash they were up on the opposite side of the joist, Scott lunging out so violently he struck his head again, this time on the edge of a metal joiner.
“Careful, sweetheart,” Krista said. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Three more to go, just three...oh, God, Scott, I thought you were...” Tears burned in her eyes. “Come on, babe, just three more.”
And one by one, they did it.
At the outer edge of the dock, Scott slapped up an arm and grabbed on. Utterly spent, he rested his cheek against the rough surface of the wood. Krista remained in the water beside him, stroking his hair, whispering. Bob and Fred crouched on the dock in front of him.
“Okay, chum,” Bob said. “Let her go and we’ll pull you up out of there.” He gripped Scott’s wrist. “C’mon, Doc. Leave her go. You’re okay now. C’mon.”
Slowly Scott’s fingers peeled away. Aided by Krista, the two old gentlemen lifted Scott’s stiff and shivering two hundred pounds out of the lake.
Scott flopped like a dead fish onto the water-slick surface of the dock. Shallow wounds like racing stripes branded his leg, but there were no obvious signs of a fracture. Krista knelt next to him, kissing his face, fingering his tangled hair. Temporarily forgotten, Kath stood on the shoreline away from the dock, two fingers poked into the curled-down corner of her mouth. After a while Scott noticed her there and felt his heart ache along with the rest of him.
Gradually that raw, mind-abrading panic abated, and he extended an open hand. Slowly, almost shyly, Kath came forward and took it.
They stayed that way awhile, Scott and his girls, Bob and Fred standing silently by. Then they all helped him to his feet and up the hill to the rec room, where you could still catch the faintest whiff of artist’s oils.
* * *
“I want to thank you guys,” Scott said, his face open and terribly vulnerable. He was still breathing too fast. “You saved my life out there. You really did.”
A half-hour had gone by. Bob had suggested they call an ambulance, but Scott vetoed the idea, insisting between sputters and coughs that he was fine, he just needed to rest. Krista had dressed his injured leg with snug-fitting gauze and Fred had gone upstairs to brew some tea. Scott had tried sipping his—he’d needed Krista to hold the cup for him, his trembling fingers still useless—but he’d vomited immediately, dry, gut-ripping heaves.
Outside, the sky had darkened to the color of slate, and now the first spits of rain dappled the patio flagstones. In the gathering squall the
He was shivering helplessly, his muscles already seizing from the immense strain they had suffered. Agonizing cramps racked his arms, his legs, his belly. So tight was his grip on the dock, he felt as if the individual pads of his fingers had been nailed there. He didn’t think he could let go.
And, of course, there was the fear. The fear was still there, the terror, fresh as a bleeding wound. Getting out from under the dock meant that he would first have to submerge into that dark envelope of water again. And right now, he simply could not do that.
“No...” he sputtered, still gasping for air. “Stay here awhile...”
Dressed in her Danskin leotards, Krista dove into the lake. She came up under the dock and swam in next to her husband. She placed a hand on his forearm; the muscles were iron-stiff.
“Come on, honey,” she said. “Let’s get you out from under here.” There was a series of four partially submerged joists that had to be passed to reach the dock’s outer edge. “We’ll go one section at a time.”
Krista clasped his wrist and tugged, gently but firmly. She could see the fear in his eyes, a dull, winking shine, like headlights in a shrieking blizzard.
Reluctantly, Scott let go.
“Deep breath, babe, then let’s do it, okay?”
Gasping in air, Scott slowly nodded. Then, with Krista at his side, he submerged.
In a flash they were up on the opposite side of the joist, Scott lunging out so violently he struck his head again, this time on the edge of a metal joiner.
“Careful, sweetheart,” Krista said. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Three more to go, just three...oh, God, Scott, I thought you were...” Tears burned in her eyes. “Come on, babe, just three more.”
And one by one, they did it.
At the outer edge of the dock, Scott slapped up an arm and grabbed on. Utterly spent, he rested his cheek against the rough surface of the wood. Krista remained in the water beside him, stroking his hair, whispering. Bob and Fred crouched on the dock in front of him.
“Okay, chum,” Bob said. “Let her go and we’ll pull you up out of there.” He gripped Scott’s wrist. “C’mon, Doc. Leave her go. You’re okay now. C’mon.”
Slowly Scott’s fingers peeled away. Aided by Krista, the two old gentlemen lifted Scott’s stiff and shivering two hundred pounds out of the lake.
Scott flopped like a dead fish onto the water-slick surface of the dock. Shallow wounds like racing stripes branded his leg, but there were no obvious signs of a fracture. Krista knelt next to him, kissing his face, fingering his tangled hair. Temporarily forgotten, Kath stood on the shoreline away from the dock, two fingers poked into the curled-down corner of her mouth. After a while Scott noticed her there and felt his heart ache along with the rest of him.
Gradually that raw, mind-abrading panic abated, and he extended an open hand. Slowly, almost shyly, Kath came forward and took it.
They stayed that way awhile, Scott and his girls, Bob and Fred standing silently by. Then they all helped him to his feet and up the hill to the rec room, where you could still catch the faintest whiff of artist’s oils.
* * *
“I want to thank you guys,” Scott said, his face open and terribly vulnerable. He was still breathing too fast. “You saved my life out there. You really did.”
A half-hour had gone by. Bob had suggested they call an ambulance, but Scott vetoed the idea, insisting between sputters and coughs that he was fine, he just needed to rest. Krista had dressed his injured leg with snug-fitting gauze and Fred had gone upstairs to brew some tea. Scott had tried sipping his—he’d needed Krista to hold the cup for him, his trembling fingers still useless—but he’d vomited immediately, dry, gut-ripping heaves.
Outside, the sky had darkened to the color of slate, and now the first spits of rain dappled the patio flagstones. In the gathering squall the
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