Chapter 10
HEN, ROOSTER, CHICKEN, DUCK!
Alba, Rose, and I scream in unison as we run, with our hands all locked together, into the frigid lake. The phrase is new for me—apparently something Rose’s family says to get each other to duck into the water. But this is one of my favourite items on the Christmas Countdown: a polar bear plunge.
It actually started with my mother, who saw in our teen years that the Countdown had Alba and I truly bouncing off the walls in excitement, and knew we needed to burn off some serious energy.
But it’s turned into a tradition for a lot of people who live in the area, and there’s a small group of us here today.
That, of course, includes Alistair, who I feel too embarrassed to acknowledge among the crowd.
I felt wrung out when I came back from the cemetery yesterday, but Alba and Rose were waiting for me when I got back. Alba had been pacing by the front window and Rose cradled me in her arms the second she saw my red, puffy eyes.
But this morning, something in me feels lighter. Like a jaw unclenched.
The ice-cold water helps, too.
From the lake house, we could at least jump into the water off the dock. It’s a hell of a lot harder to submerge yourself at this temperature when you have to run in from the beach.
But the rush has me feeling exhilarated, wild, free. I feel grateful that the weather hasn’t been cold enough to fully freeze the salt water yet. I haven’t felt this way in a long, long time—and despite how truly cold I am, I find myself grinning.
I turn in the water, and see that Rose has already run back to shore and is wrapped up in a big, pink towel. Alba, of course, is also competitive, and won’t get out until I do. We have a silent conversation. You cold yet, Cousin? I snort and roll my eyes, Not a chance, Albs.
The ends of her short, blunt bob have dipped into the water, and I shiver, glad that I’ve wrapped my hair in a messy bun on the top of my head so it wouldn’t get wet.
Wow, Alba says, looking back towards the beach. Is Alistair actually going to come in this year? Sure looks like it.
What, he hasn’t done a polar bear dip before? I ask, trying not to seem too interested.
He comes every year, she says, her teeth chattering. But he’s never actually gotten in the water. He says he only comes in case there’s a medical emergency and he has to drive someone to the hospital.
Even from here, I can tell he seems unsure of himself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this and if my brain wasn’t currently frozen with shock, I would probably have a reaction to the way his eyes are darting around, looking almost self-conscious.
When we first pulled up to the sandbar this morning, I saw him right away, his giant frame noticeable from a mile away.
I instantly felt my hackles rise. He saw me crying my eyes out yesterday, and I don’t think anyone who isn’t family has ever seen me cry like that.
He let me bite his head off, all while staying perfectly calm and asking me to be his friend.
And today, it’s like none of it fazed him—he simply waved in our direction when the three of us got out of the car, as if what happened at the cemetery was nothing.
He’s still standing on the beach, shifting on the balls of his feet, clearly trying to fire himself up to get into the water.
For the first time, I let myself really think about how I’ve been treating Alistair.
I’m not ready to admit that he’s probably right—I made a snap judgment about him and now I’m digging my heels in—but I do feel a twinge of guilt.
We lock eyes and a look of steely determination passes over him.
I wonder what that’s about, since he doesn’t strike me as super competitive.
He takes one last, deep inhale and then runs into the water.
He’s so tall it’s really only a few steps for him to be where Alba and I are currently standing in the lake. His eyes are wide with shock.
Jesus Christ you two, don’t you think it’s time you got the hell out of the water?
It’s freezing. He rubs his hands over his upper arms, and I can’t help but track the movement.
If I put my bullheadedness aside, I can begrudgingly accept the truth of what I’m seeing here, which is that this guy is gorgeous.
His biceps ripple with muscle, and I definitely noticed (against my will, I might add) his toned upper thighs when he was standing on the beach.
I assume it’s all because he has to stay fit for his job.
But a girl wouldn’t be cold wrapped in those arms, that’s for sure.
I thought it was a polar bear dip, he says, pulling me from my treacherous thoughts and looking a little panicked. As in, dip in and get the hell out.
Alba smirks. Too cold for you, Al?
Christ, it’s just a wee bit brisk, his voice is dripping with sarcasm, and he glares desperately at us both. Hypothermia’s already setting in, he grinds out. I did it, I’m in, now I’m leaving. And you’re both turning blue, so don’t you think it’s time for you two to be getting out as well?
No, we say in identically sweet voices, both smiling through our shivering.
He sighs, shaking his head. Please tell me this is not some kind of contest between the two of you.
To be honest, I’m so cold I would happily get back on dry land any time now. But I’ll never admit that to Alba—or to Alistair.
I-I’ll g-get out w-w-when sh-she d-does, Alba can barely get the words out she’s shaking so hard. I feel a maniacal laugh escape me.
I’m not even cold y-yet, I lie, trying my best not to stutter on the last word, but failing miserably.
Alistair looks at us both, and I can see that his skin is covered in goosebumps.
I feel grateful that I’m freezing, so neither my body nor my mind can react to seeing him so exposed.
I try not to notice the permanent tan on his forearms, all the freckles littered there like stars, beads of water dripping down his arms…
You two are off your heads, he says, snapping me again from my thoughts, before walking quickly back to shore. My brain really must be defaulting back to its primal settings.
A minute later Alba finally concedes, Let’s g-g-get out, she says.
Y-you can get out, I tell her, trying to stop my teeth from clacking together. I notice we are, of course, the last two in the water. I can feel everyone on the shore watching us. I’m not backing down now.
Someone calls out from the beach, Come on girls, you’ll catch a cold! Rose’s usually soft voice is amplified with a touch of worry, which makes me feel rotten. And actually, the thought of ending in a tie doesn’t bother me. I think my brain cells are dying off from the cold.
T-t-truce? I ask my cousin.
Thank f-fuck, Alba says and we both run back to shore. My arms are burning with the cold, and I can’t even feel my legs.
Rose wraps Alba in a towel and I use my shaking hands to grab mine from the beach.
Alistair appears, somehow already fully dressed.
I feel a slight twinge of disappointment that he’s got his shirt back on.
He had on these black swim trunks that went about mid-thigh, but had hiked up ever so slightly when he ran into the water.
Here, he says, coming over to hand me a dry blanket that I assume he grabbed from his car. I try to pretend my thoughts hadn’t just been on his thighs. What is happening to my brain right now?
See? I say to him, attempting to keep my voice steady, Wasn’t that fun?
Alistair looks at me for a bit too long. It’s unlike him not to have a comeback locked, loaded, and ready to fire. He seems more guarded today, like he doesn’t want me to see him so unsure of himself.
Oh, I’m having the time of my life, Florence, he grimaces, shaking his head. But I will say, I am definitely alert now.
I can’t help this slow smile that spreads all over my face. Alistair’s eyes sparkle and he chuckles to himself. I realize this is probably the first time I’ve ever smiled at him—really smiled, not some sickly-sweet fake grimace.
Who would have thought Sergeant Play-It-Safe would be game for something like this? I tease.
He rubs the back of his neck. I can tell that this is out of his comfort zone, but it warms something in me to see him at least trying. And I can tell that for once, finally, he’s the one who feels put on the spot instead of me.
Well, I figured you were coming to this of course, little thrill-seeker and all, he says, scanning my face like he’s reading something else there.
I notice he doesn’t call me reckless this time.
But before I can ask him whether this was all about competing with me, he asks a shade quietly, How are you feeling today?
Why does this guy have to be so direct about everything?
I feel the defensiveness rise in an instant.
I try to shake it out of my shoulders, which I attempt to pass off as a shiver.
Jesus, Florence, he says, his eyes flashing down to my shoulders with concern.
He moves closer to rub his hands over my upper arms. You must still be freezing.
My brain must not be fully thawed out yet, because I involuntarily lean into his touch.
He scans my face again with that worried look, and today it doesn’t irritate me.
But I am very aware that he is touching me while there are people around us.
I don’t want to feel judged, and while I definitely don’t want to encourage my cousin, it doesn’t feel right to step away from him either.
Yeah, I’m still a little cold, but I’m okay, thanks. I try to add some finality to the end of my sentence, and I hope he takes this for what it is: all he’s going to get out of me about yesterday.
He’s still rubbing my arms when he motions his head towards the lake and says, You really enjoy this kind of thing, don’t you? He clearly got the message and is changing the subject—and I’m grateful for it.
I think about his question and feel that lightness again, like I’m settling into my body. Yeah, I say laughing. I really do. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I’ve always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie.
I was half-tempted to drag you and Alba straight out of the water, he says. It’s my job to evaluate high-risk situations. I find it difficult to switch off, even if I see people having fun, He laughs a little at this, as if it’s silly that he would worry about something like a polar bear swim.
Why didn’t you?
Well, that’s your choice isn’t it? I wouldn’t personally want to be in that lake a second longer than necessary, but that’s your choice. It’s not my place to take that from you.
I don’t know what to say to this. It occurs to me I’ve spent so long letting someone else decide for me, that it’s a bit of a reality check to hear someone say that I should be allowed to make my own decisions.
He studies me again for a brief moment, and there’s so much written on his face that I can’t decipher. I realize I want to know, though, and that thought is terrifying.
Alistair shrugs in a way that almost feels self-deprecating before saying, I can’t help it, I feel better when everyone feels safe.
I like making people feel safe too, it’s part of why I got into policing.
But my definition of safety isn’t the only one.
If you’re enjoying yourself, well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?
He gives my shoulders a final pat and pulls his hands away. I try not to notice the absence of his touch as much as I do.
Thanks, I say, a little quieter than my usual volume and he takes a step back. His hands were definitely helping to keep me warm, not that I’d ever admit that to him.
You three better head home and bundle up, he says, motioning towards Alba and Rose. And I’ve got to go home and try to sleep a little before my night shift. Hopefully the cold will knock me out. After a second he adds, a shade more quietly, Thanks for the push today, Red Sizzler.
I can’t bring myself to look at Alba until Alistair has walked all the way back to his car. When I do, Alba raises a single eyebrow at me. She says nothing, but her eyes ask me a simple, wordless question: What the hell is going on here?