Page 40 of A Game So Reckless

Plus, Papà would lose his ever-loving shit if I were sneaking away from Mamma’s somewhat spotty supervision to hang out with a random guy not in our family.

So when I hear the deep, masculine call of, “Hey, Sunglasses Girl!” coming from that property as I pass by, I pretend that I don’t hear it and keep on walking.

Mamma and I walk further down the beach than we usually do today. By the time we get back to our cottage, the sun is high in the sky and we’re both sweaty messes. Mamma opts for a shower, while I decide to swim instead. I take down my hair, remove my sunglasses, peel off my shorts, kick off my shoes and socks, then dive off the end of the dock.

The water, even in the height of summer’s heat, is intoxicatingly cold. Georgian Bay is so big it never really gets warm. If you’re lucky, you’ll see it just edge above 75 degrees Fahrenheit.

But I love it. I love how crystal clear the water is. There’s no mud, no clinging seaweed, no murkiness that makes me feel like something’s about to grab one of my kicking ankles from the deep. When I open my eyes beneath the water’s surface, I see transparent, sun-spangled blue all around me. The rocks from the beach continue along the bay’s floor, glittering stepping stones beneath the waves. There are random boulders out in the water, large enough that I can pull myself up onto them mermaid-style, even when the water is higher than my head.

I do that now, hauling my wet body up onto a big rock for a brief breather in the sun before diving back below again.

Exhaustion gets to me before the cold does. Limbs feeling wrung out and shaky, I climb up the ladder on the side of our dock and stand in the sun for a bit, wringing out my hair before tossing it over my shoulder. My bikini top is a bit wonky, so I adjust it. It’s a white bikini, and the cups covering my breasts are held together by a shiny red ribbon. The ribbon is dangerously close to coming undone and letting the bikini top fall open. It’s super cute, but I have to admit it’s a wildly impractical design. It’s far more suited to lounging around or taking sexy photos than it is for actually swimming.

I’m just tightening up the ribbon when my skin suddenly prickles. I tell myself it’s only the cold water evaporating off of me since I didn’t bring a towel to the dock, but I can’t shake a tingling dread that tells me someone’s watching me.

I assume it’s Mister Fifth Wheel from next door, but I don’t see anyone outside right now, and I didn’t notice him while I was swimming, either. For once, their music is off, and I don’t hear laughter, so they’ve probably gone into town for the afternoon.

The rest of the cottages down the line, with their massive lots, are dispersed so far apart along the curving beach that no one would be able to see me clearly.

Unless they were at the grey cottage.

With the trees between our properties, I can’t see much of Mr. Robinson’s place from our house. But out here on the dock, I can get a better view. Vaulting, angular windows in stony walls overlook the bay. But I don’t see anyone looking out of them.

Shivering, I tell myself I’m being stupid. I’m acting like there’s a ghost in there. I mean, I know our old neighbour just died, but I saw that snazzy new ride in the driveway. Pretty sure that ghosts don’t drive big, beautiful vehicles with paint jobs that gleam like crushed emeralds. A very real person with lots of very real money in the bank does.

Shaking off the feeling, I go get a towel inside and have a lunch comprised entirely of fermented things – a plate of cheese and a cold, crisp glass of pino grigio. I call out, asking Mamma if she wants any, but don’t get a response. She’s probably having an afternoon nap, which I have to admit sounds pretty good right now. But even if I could sleep, spending the rest of the afternoon inside the house feels too dreary. So, instead, I pour some more white wine into an insulated metal travel mug, then head back outside.

In a big shed beside our house, there’s an extra fridge and a bunch of cottagey stuff. One-handed, I grab a red and black tube by the hand and drag it out. It’s one of those inflated tubes you can tow behind a boat, but I don’t use it for that. I just like to float around on it in the water. It’s more solid and stable than the flimsier plastic floaties we have in here, the ones in cutesy shapes that make them look like unicorns or doughnuts with sprinkles. Plus, this one has a pretty solid cup holder that my travel mug of wine fits into perfectly.

I carefully drag the tube down the steep incline of rocks beside the dock and wade into the shallow water. Once I’m up to my knees, I plop myself into the tube and lean back, sighing as the sun hits my skin. I probably should have grabbed my sunglasses, but decide that I’m too lazy to get them off the dock, so instead I just sip my wine and float. The water isn’t too rough today. There are no big waves, just a gentle lapping, rhythmic in my ears. The rocking motion lulls me, and after a few minutes of basking in the sun, I put my cup into the cup holder and close my eyes.

When I open them again, all I see is blue.

Blue, blue sky, not a cloud in it.

And blue water.

Everywhere.

“Oh, shit.” Sitting up, I twist around, fighting disorientation as I take in my surroundings. The surroundings being water. Only water. In the distance the shoreline is a skinny string of grey and green, so far away I can’t even tell if one of those tiny dots is our cottage or not.

Fuck me. I could be a kilometre from shore by now, if not more. I’m a decent swimmer, but not good enough to swim all the way back to the shore, especially if I try to bring the tube along with me. And considering I have no life jacket, keeping my only available floatation device within reach seems like a very good idea.

At least I’ve got my wine, I think wryly to myself, shaking my head at my own stupidity. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep that fast. I certainly didn’t think I’d end up all the way out in the middle of the goddamn bay that quickly.Note to self, next time use something as a freaking anchor. Or at least have your phone with you!Not that it would be much use with how crappy the service is out here, but still.

Holding tight to the tube’s handles, I crane my neck to get a sense if there’s anyone I can flag down for help. Nearly as far from me as the shore is bobs a sailboat, but I doubt they’ve noticed me. The rumbling of an engine tells me someone’s starting up a jet ski or a boat somewhere, and I can only hope that they might see me if they come close enough.

I suppose I could always pull off my white bikini top and wave it as a sort of SOS signal. Hopefully, between the visible white flag of the material flapping in the wind and my naked boobs hanging out, I’ll get somebody’s attention.

It's mostly a joke that I tell myself, but I don’t discount the idea completely. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to be stuck bobbing around out here by the time night falls. I don’t burn easily, but I can already feel a creeping heat along my cheekbones, shoulders, and chest. Not to mention how cold it will get once the sun goes down.

The engine of whatever craft started up is getting louder. Between the far-off shore and me, I see a slicing arrow of teal and white. It’s a boat, tiny at this distance, but getting bigger every time it crests a wave. It looks like it’s aimed itself straight out into the water.

It’s aimed itself right at me.

“Oh, thank fuck,” I say on a shaky exhale. I lift my arms and start waving at the approaching boat, just on the off chance that maybe they haven’t actually seen me.

But they have to have seen me. There’s no doubt about their path now. The boat hasn’t wavered at all. It just keeps cutting through the waves towards me.

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