Chapter Thirty-Six
The water is cold, colder than it ever has been before, and the surface of the lake is churning, throwing its chop in our faces. It’s a totally different lake than the one I have come to know.
We swim in a triangle formation, with Sue-Ellen in the lead, and Kei and me on either side of her.
For the first twenty or thirty minutes, it feels like my limbs are made of lead, every stroke, every kick, the ultimate effort.
But once we find our pace, my movements start to feel reflexive—muscle memory in action—as we make our way deeper into the lake.
Our progress is slow. There’s a current that I’ve never felt before, gently tugging us, and the roiling water has us choking on unexpected waves, causing us to stop every few minutes.
I look back. The campers are still on the beach, watching us as we go, and I’m surprised to see that we’ve drifted noticeably down the shore.
“Look,” I say, waving to get Kei’s attention. I point back at the shore. He looks, then grimaces, but keeps going. What else can we do?
We push onwards. The rain starts falling in heavy sheets.
A low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance.
Sue-Ellen flicks her head in the direction of the sound.
She doesn’t say anything, but she picks up her pace.
After a few minutes of trying to keep up, I feel myself flagging.
My mouth tastes metallic, and my muscles are once again leaden.
“Stop,” I yell, but my voice is lost in the wind. “Stop!” This time, Kei hears me, and he yells to Sue-Ellen. His deep voice must carry better than mine.
“I need a break,” I gasp.
Sue-Ellen nods and rolls onto her back into a restful float.
I do the same. I clench my eyes and mouth shut against the rain and use as little effort as possible to stay afloat.
After a few minutes, the burning in my lungs has subsided, and I feel rested enough to keep going. I right myself and look at Kei.
He’s treading water about eight feet away from me. There’s a pallor to his skin, and his eyes are glassy.
“Are you good?” I call to him. He doesn’t answer. “Kei? Are you good?”
He turns and gives me a weak smile. “I’m good,” he calls.
“We should keep going,” Sue-Ellen calls from up ahead.
Kei gives her a thumbs-up, which, a couple of weeks ago, would have been enough to land him on my Ick List. I must really have it bad for this guy, because beyond making me cringe the tiniest bit, I’m unbothered.
As long as he doesn’t use the thumbs-up emoji in a text—then we might really have a problem.
The thought of Kei texting me gives me a special kind of thrill. I guess I went on a reality dating show and found love after all. Who’d have thunk?
It turns out letting my mind wander to things other than the impossible task ahead of us makes the swim feel easier.
I replay every moment Kei and I have had together, creating a movie montage of our relationship, from that first night at the bar, to the steely look in his eye when he said he was going to do the swim, too.
With my mind occupied, my body goes on autopilot.
I alternate my stroke between a breaststroke, which is easier for breathing but causes my lower back to ache, and a front crawl, which is much faster, but difficult to manage because of the choppy water, and tires me out easily.
It’s a long while before I’m hit again with fatigue, but then it wallops me.
Every stroke takes everything I’ve got, and I’m not sure how much more I can do.
I stop to tread water. Kei has fallen quite a bit behind, so I wait for him to catch up.
I realize that we must be about halfway, because the shore from which we left looks about the same distance as the shore that we’re heading to.
It’s all terrifyingly far away.
The lake looks so much bigger here in the middle than it did from the shore.
In every direction, there’s just this huge expanse of water, stretching farther than I care to acknowledge.
I look back toward the beach, but it’s completely out of sight.
A cold thud of dread hits me when I realize how far we’ve drifted.
“Hey Sue-Ellen,” I call. She has a considerable lead on me at this point. Show-off. “Look,” I say, pointing back. She looks, and then turns and squints back in the direction we’re heading.
“Shit.” She comes to a stop.
Kei has almost caught up to me, and when he does, we make our way to Sue-Ellen together.
“Should we go back more that way?” I ask, pointing in the direction of the beach.
Kei shakes his head. “Going against the current will just be harder.”
“And it will add more time and distance to the swim,” Sue-Ellen adds.
“Let’s just keep going until we hit land. Then we can double back along the shore. We’re better off on land than in the water.” Kei’s voice is weak, like there’s something caught in his throat.
“Are you okay?” Sue-Ellen asks.
He nods. Thumbs up.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound agreeable, and not absolutely terrified, which is what I am.
Kei’s subdued energy is freaking me out.
Plus, this is already so much longer and further than I’ve ever swum, and my muscles are screaming.
My back and neck are rigid with stiffness that won’t abate, even when I change strokes.
The chilling thought hits me that if I can’t make it to the other side, then I can’t make it back to where we started, either. I might not make it out of this lake at all.
Fear-induced adrenaline gives me a surge of energy. My body is working again, but my mind goes to a dark place. I realize that the night Garrett came back, my body wouldn’t let me process everything that he said. It was too much—too much fear, too much shock, too much shame.
So much shame.
It happened to me again. A million red flags, waving boldly in front of my face, but me looking right past them, only seeing what I wanted and needed to see. Just like I did with Dylan.
It was too much to handle that night, when Garrett was spelling it all out.
Accordingly, I shut down. But now the full force of it is coming at me here in this lake, igniting a sense of self-loathing so caustic that I’m suddenly questioning this fight for survival.
If I live, I still have to be me, and that seems less appealing than my other options.
As I pound through the waves, I start to think about my mother.
How will I tell her that we’ve lost the house?
The worst part is that she won’t even be mad at me.
Her anger would be a gift, but she won’t give it.
She’ll feel bad for me, she’ll try to comfort me, and it will make me hate myself even more.
But what will happen to her if I drown in this lake?
I imagine her answering the door, seeing the policemen there.
Maybe she’s holding a coffee mug, the one that says “Jingle all the way,” which she uses year round.
I can see her dropping the mug, the porcelain shattering on the concrete of the step, when she hears the news.
Will she remember to take her meds? Will anyone check on her?
Will she be alone when they show up to repossess the house?
Fear gives way to panic. I feel my breath shorten, turning into a series of shallow gasps.
No, no, no, this can’t be happening right now.
I remember something my mom’s therapist taught me to do with her when she was extra anxious, to get her out of her head.
Five things I can see, what are they? Water, rain…
All I can see is water, in every direction.
Four things I can touch: water. Fuck, again, only water.
I can’t do this. My lungs are on fire, and I need oxygen.
And then my limbs seize up as a cramp rips through me. I cry out, but I’ve slipped underwater. I burst back to the surface, looking frantically for Sue-Ellen or Kei, but I can’t see them. I don’t know what direction I’m facing anymore. I flail, and I slip back under.
Maybe I’ll just give up. Maybe I’ll just stop fighting, and let the lake take me. I stop moving, letting myself sink down, down.
Everything goes quiet.
Yes. This is nice. This is fine. This is better.
And then—
Black.