Page 97 of Absorbed

A car screeched to a stop by the police cars. Bob jumped out and ran to the pool gate, abandoning his car in the street.

Stacey turned back to the paramedics. The body.

The medic with the defibrillator paddles stepped back. “That’s ten shocks. I’m calling it.” He looked at his watch. “Time of death 12:47 p.m.”

Mark dropped to sit on the ground beside the gurney, defeated. He anchored his elbows to his knees and held his head in his hands.

Stacey looked away.

Bob put his hand on Melissa’s shoulder. She turned into his chest, crying. The officer took notes on a small pad of paper he pulled from his pocket.

On the bottom bench of the bleachers, wrapped in her housecoat, the old woman was crying, her yellow swim cap bobbing up and down. The paramedic pulled a sheet over the drowned swimmer’s body.

The remaining ambulance turned off its lights.

The old man with the curved back stood beside the lifeguard tower, giving a statement to a firefighter with a clipboard.

An officer wearing gloves dropped the bloodied yellow striped towel into a plastic bag. He picked up the flip-flops and a set of keys and dropped them in a second bag.

The fireman with the clipboard crouched beside Mark.

The doors of the second ambulance closed, but there were no lights or sirens. It didn’t race off.

The police officer with the bags of belongings from beside the pool approached Stacey. “Miss, do you know who these keys belong to?”

Stacey shook her head slowly.

“They were his,” a high, shaky voice called out.

Stacey and the officer turned toward the bleachers.

The old woman was standing, holding the railing. “The man who drowned. He always folded his shoes and keys into his towel at the end of his lane.”

“Thank you,” the officer called over to her. “May I ask you a few questions?”

The elderly woman nodded and sat on the bench.

The officer waved over a firefighter with a first aid kit. “Let him help you get cleaned up,” he said to Stacey, “then I’d like to get your statement as well.”

Confused, Stacey looked at her hands. They were shaking, but she didn’t see blood.

Then she looked down. Blood trickled down her thigh.

Stacey waved off the approaching firefighter and turned toward the bathroom. The door screeched open and closed with a heavy thud behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She walked into the stall, staring at the four pregnancy tests resting atop the toilet paper dispenser. They were all positive.

She felt dizzy and caught herself against the stall wall.

Tests scattered to the floor.

She heaved the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Her abdomen cramped.

With each retch, rivers of blood poured down her inner thighs.

She took a wad of toilet paper and wiped the blood from her legs. She dropped it in the toilet, flushed, then slid down thepartition onto the wet concrete floor, and hugged her knees. She started shaking uncontrollably. She gripped her elbows tighter and erupted with tears.

Suddenly, Melissa was kneeling by her side, her arms around Stacey.

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