Page 33 of Saltwater

We can’t go ashore here. It’s not like the shallows below the house. Here everything is deep—eight, ten feet. I can see the bottom, so it seems welcoming, but there’s nowhere to rest, and my arms and legs are tired.

“I’m going back,” I say. “For some water. Some sun.”

A look passes between the three Italians, and they take off together, a sea of thrashing arms and legs. They’re grinning as they do it, and I’m not worried, not at first. But then they reach the boat before we do, and Giuseppe is already in the bow, pulling up the anchor chain.

Helen swims alongside me, a smooth, unperturbed stroke, low in the water. She flips onto her back.

It’s all bravado.

The motor starts up. And it looks like they’re going to leave us. Here. Alone in this inlet. To drown.

“Helen—” It’s all I can manage, but when I look at her, she’s smiling.

She’s fucking smiling.

When we reach the boat, the swim ladder has been pulled up. Helen treads water next to the boat like it’s nothing, no big deal. We wait. We wait until they come to the back of the boat, the three of them, standing there.

“I thought you were going to give us a ride,” she says. “Or should we make other arrangements?”

Ciro smiles. “Oh, did you want a ride?” He gestures toward the Marina Piccola. “We’re running late, you know. We need to hurry back. It’s lighter with just the three of us.”

“Very funny,” Helen says.

But Ciro stands there, flanked by his two friends. I’m growing tired. And treading water is making my legs and arms feel leaden.

“No, really,” he says, his voice light. He’s laughing. “We have togo.”

“It’s a bad joke, Ciro,” Helen says, surprisingly firm, like she’s in a position to challenge him, not stuck in the water. “Lorna’s tired. Put the ladder back.”

He turns toward the steering wheel as if it’s time to leave.

“Wait!” I say.

I grab onto Helen. I don’t mean to, but I pull her underwater. My legs exhausted, my body weak. I tire so easily these days. It’s hard to override the fear I feel, thinking about him abandoning us here when I’m so close to getting out.

Helen comes up for air, and I tell myself to let go of her upper arm. I don’t want to drown her. But that part of my brain seems to have shut off. The only thing remaining is survival.

“She can pay you.” The words are out of my mouth before I know what I’m doing.

But Helen can’t answer because I’ve dragged her back under. I don’t even notice myself do it. I doubt she heard my offering.

Ciro turns in time to see Helen surface once more.

“Lorna,” she manages, “you have to let go—”

I do. I think I do. Only she goes back under again. My hand, I realize, is towing her down. This time, she kicks me: her foot connects with my side and I flinch.

“Lorna—” Ciro calls from the boat. It’s a warning.

Both Giuseppe and Lorenzo are behind him now, watching the scene.

Helen’s free arm flaps weakly to the surface.

“Please!” I say.

I don’t know if Helen can breathe. I tell myself, again, to let go. But my body isn’t listening, even as she fights me.

Ciro’s in the water then, swimming toward us. His stroke is cutting and fast, and he doesn’t even bring his head up when he grabs me and pulls me off her. The jerk so strong I cry. For a moment, I think he’s dislocated my shoulder.

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