Page 17 of Until We Break

I huffed, spun on my heels, and marched back to the cottage.

EIGHT

Margot

Aweek later, I was awake. I shouldn’t have heard the chop of a boat crossing the sound at 3 a.m. The hull bounced, thwacking against each wave it met. It was hard to describe the way it echoed across the water, yet I felt like I knew it intimately, as if it was trapped in my ears.

I wrestled with the sheets and the idea that I shouldn’t be awake. The boat shouldn’t be on the water either. I turned on my side, ignoring how the hum of the engine began to unfurl the pages of something I shut firmly weeks ago.

I thought it was like one of those diaries I had as a child with a tiny metal lock affixed to the front. I hid the key in a shoebox under my bed. As the boat slowed to approach the marina, I realized it was somehow the flimsy key and it didn’t take much to crack the lock open.

I sat forward and reached for the glass of water next to the bed. I wouldn’t sleep.

I walked downstairs, turning on a lamp before pressing the TV remote. It didn’t matter what was on the screen. I recognizedtheFull Housereruns. I only needed enough noise, so I didn’t hear another boat, or to help me forget I heard the first one. Something had come unmoored. I realized it was desperate to rely on late-night TV. That’s who I was now. Desperate.

It was the fourth night in a row I’ve wandered downstairs too agitated and too exhausted to sleep in my bed. There was a pack of dissolvable tablets in the bathroom cabinet. But I wanted to feel this. Numbing myself seemed like the easy way out. As if I could erase what happened.

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest. Uncle Jesse has made everyone laugh, even Danny Tanner, but I missed the punchline. I stared at the television, waiting for morning.

The next morning, I peeked over the back of the couch, wondering how late I had slept. I could see the clock. Noon.

I wiggled into a more upright position. I shoved off the couch and walked to the kitchen. The Mr. Coffee pot was stained, and I didn’t clean out the grounds or empty the stale coffee last night. I began to wash the carafe in the sink. It wasn’t different than anything else I had inherited in this place. Everything was falling apart if it hadn’t already.

I turned the water off and shoved the coffee pot into place, before trudging up the narrow staircase. The house was old, and the upstairs ceilings were low.

When I turned to enter the room, I claimed for the few weeks I was here, I nearly tripped over the boxes of books Colleen hadsent. I kicked at them. Why did she even bother? Her email to gather my new address had felt like a slap in the face.

“Damn it.”

What was I going to do with them? The tour was canceled. A tour that included San Franciso, Seattle, and Chicago. Cities I wouldn’t see now. There was no reason to sign any of the copies. I bent over, ripping over the top of one of the boxes. The cardboard resisted and I tugged harder. It ripped in a jagged line. I pulled one of the books out and ran my fingers over the ridges of my name on the cover.

I huffed, opening the book to the first page. I resisted as much as the cardboard did and immediately slammed it shut. I threw it on the bed. I ran into another box, shin-first. The groan in my throat escalated to a scream.

I rushed to the window, opened it, and turned back toward my first victim. I grabbed the closest box, hauled it up to the ledge, and threw it over the windowsill, pushing it through the screen. The mesh was flimsy and tore with one shove. I watched in awe as the box bounced off the lower roof, taking a few shingles with it before it smacked the ground. The books landed in mangled piles. I felt something. A new kind of rush. I grabbed another box. One. Two. Three. I shoved with both palms. I wanted to watch another one smash into broken pieces.

I exhaled when I had discarded almost all the boxes from my room. There was one left.

I moved to the window. I didn’t care about how I had trashed the lawn. No one saw it from the waterside of the cottage anyway. I didn’t care about the screen. I didn’t give a shit about the shingles that ended up as casualties. I gripped the ledge to closethe window, but I flinched. There was a streak of rainbow stripes on the water not more than fifty yards from the marina’s pier. I spotted the sail just long enough to see the Sunfish tipped over, the sail smacking the water with a splash.

I peered closer, waiting for the boater to right the sail. I’ve seen it a hundred times. The sail didn’t move. It only bobbed up and down with the waves. I paused. There was no movement. Holy shit.

I jogged downstairs and hurried out the backdoor, through the screened porch, and across the deck. I ran at a full sprint to the end of the pier. “Hey!” I screamed. “Are you okay?” I was out of breath, struggling to push my voice out over the waves.

It was only as I got closer that I saw a small head bobbing with the help of a life jacket. “Oh, no, no, no.” It was a child. I couldn’t tell how old or if it was a boy or a girl. What I knew was that it was not swimming, and it was not responding as I screamed from the pier.

I didn’t wait. I couldn’t.

I immediately made a shallow dive from the pier and swam. My body felt heavy and useless, yet there was a charge of adrenaline pushing me forward through the water. I was getting closer. Its eyes were closed, and brown hair was stuck to its forehead.

It was a boy.

I scooped him in my arms while I kicked below the surface. I didn’t bother with the Sunfish. It wasn’t going anywhere. I swam with him tucked under one arm, trying to use my breath to keep going. I realized it had been weeks since I’d done much more than climb my stairs. The burst of cardio was caught in my lungs. I slowed just enough to pace myself. The water was overmy head, but the kid was wearing a life jacket. At least one of us would float.

“We’re almost there,” I informed him, even though he hadn’t moved or opened his eyes since I reached him. “Hold on. I’m going to get you up on the pier.” My breathing was ragged. “I’ll get you up there. Don’t worry.”

When I approached the ladder, I needed to figure out how to pull him up with me. The life jacket was bulky and made maneuvering him more difficult. The ladder was a steep climb upward with no incline. My arms were tired and beginning to ache. The first step I climbed, we both splashed back into the sound. I wasn’t prepared for how heavy he was. He looked so small.

The next time I was ready. I took a deep breath, dug my fingers into a tight grip around his waist, and pushed upward using the strength of my legs.

---