Moonglass

the break point. The urge not to breathe underwater is so strong that your body does it automatically, but only until the break point. After eighty-seven seconds the need for oxygen forces the body to take an involuntary breath, even if it’s a mouthful of water. I remembered this because each time I heard it, I wondered if she had lasted that long, if she’d had that long to change her mind.
    I clenched my jaw tight and, with all the will in me, forced my eyes open in the churning, murky water. I saw no light to go by, nothing to give me any point of reference. There was nothing but gray, with blackness creeping in around the edges. I must have been moving, still tumbling, but I no longer felt it. Darkness closed in further, leaving only a tiny circle of gray in front of me. In my mind I screamed, fought, anything not to be like her. Dark closed in even faster. My lungs ached; my limbs tossed around me, deadened; and my body hung suspended while my mind fought every one of those eighty-seven seconds.

CHAPTER 26
    Thin, brittle arms dragged me from the water. They shook with the effort, and their owner grunted as my heels dug two wavy paths in the wet sand. Pain ripped around my head in a quick lap when I tried to look up. My eyes felt heavy again, and I struggled to focus on the rolling horizon that bumped and bounced in front of me.
    The arms laid me down gently, and shaking hands moved around my neck, searching. They settled on a tender spot and waited, still . Then, I felt a cold hand on my head and the presence of someone close to my face, listening. I tried to form words, to say that I was here, and when I did, I was suddenly aware of the bitter salt water that pooled in the cavity between my nose and mouth. I coughed and sputtered, trying to spit it out, and the hands rolled me onto my side so that I could. Another wave of pain shot around my head, and I spat onto the sand.
    “Go on. Get it out.” The voice was tired, out of breath.
    I forced my eyes open, then blinked hard to focus on the objects that swung and clinked gently in front of me. Their owner didn’t move, and once they stilled, I saw what they were.
    Crosses.
    “Do you know what day it is?” He looked from my head to my eyes, back and forth.
    This time I got the words out. Barely. “Sunday…. You’re here on Sundays.” Cautiously I lifted my eyes to his face, and I was surprised by what I saw. He wore a faded red bandana around a scalp that was buzzed close, showing only the faintest trace of silver stubble, which mirrored the unshaven skin of his face. His skin was tanned to a deep brown and worn, no doubt the result of hours of penance spent under the sun. It was his eyes, though, that pulled me out of my haze. They were piercing blue against the backdrop of so much gray. And so sad. He didn’t hold my gaze long before he looked down at the sand between us and finally started to catch his breath.
    After a long moment he spoke, without looking at me. “You’ve hit your head. We should call help.” I started to shake my head, but stopped abruptly because of the pain. “I’m all right. My dad’s right up there.” I motioned more with my eyes than anything else, but he got the point. Still, he didn’t say anything. He seemed lost in his thoughts for a minute, then he looked from me to our cottage and back again.
    “I’ll take you there.” And he inched himself up, until he was hunched next to me. It seemed his natural posture, and so I was surprised, both at the motion and the strength involved in it, when he pulled me to my feet and slung my arm over his frail shoulders. And slowly, without speaking, we made our way up the beach through the mist.
    Inside, muffled rain on the roof was the only sound. Our cottage was empty. Warm, but empty. The crawling man lowered me carefully into my green chair and covered me with a blanket. Then, almost against his will, he collapsed onto the couch. And we sat there and let it sink in. I had almost drowned right in front of my house. My dad would have come home and I would have been gone. History would have repeated itself.
    But it was Sunday.
    I looked directly at the crawling man, who now folded his arms over his chest and his crosses. He had been there. “You saved me.” It was somewhere between a question and a statement. Whatever it was, it brought his blue eyes to mine briefly before they scanned the water outside the window.
    He nodded vaguely.
    Again we were quiet, but my thoughts