Page 51 of Until Next Summer
I have to swim for it.
My heart is beating too fast. I take a calming breath. I can do this. I can see the shore—it’s not exactlyclose, but it’s close enough. Steeling myself, I lift out of the kayak and drop into the water.
The chill takes my breath away. Out here in the middle of the lake, the temperature never really rises, even in the summer.
It hits me then: I left the dry bag with my phone and my expensive noise-canceling earbuds behind.Damn it.I consider going back, but the kayak is already drifting away, so I tell myself to leave it.
I’ve never been a great swimmer, but I try to rememberwhat I learned in my swim tests all those years ago, counting off a hundred strokes before lifting my head. My heart sinks—the shore is so far. And I feel strangely naked, floating out here without a life jacket. Hillary never loved being in the lake—she said it was like swimming in soup.Fish and poop soup, she’d say.
A hysterical giggle rises in my throat, and I stuff it down. I need to stay focused. My wet canvas shorts are heavy, so I undo the button and wriggle out of them. After that, I feel lighter, which gives me the motivation to set off again. A hundred more strokes, and I take another break.
Still so far from the shore.
I press down the nasty little whisper that says I’m not going to make it and tread water awkwardly, catching my breath. But I suck at treading water, so I roll onto my back. Unfortunately, I also suck at floating on my back. Better to keep moving forward.
Another hundred strokes. The shore is closer, but I’mexhausted. My lungs are burning; every muscle in my body aches; I’m so cold my teeth are chattering.
I can’t do this.
Panic shoots through me, and I desperately start swimming again, my movements clumsy and jerky. My head goes under; I swallow a gulp of water and cough violently when I resurface.
Then I hear a voice drifting across the lake: “Hey! You okay?”
Straining to keep my head above water, I spot a tiny, blurry figure standing on the dock.
“Luke!” I shout, waving one arm.
“Jessie? Swimming alone is against the rules!”
I’m too tired to respond to that.
“My kayak sank!” I manage to shout, and then my head goes under again. I fight to the surface, coughing and flailing. When I open my eyes, Luke is in the water, swimming straight toward me. I kick myself in his direction, even though my muscles are screaming and I keep inhaling water.
When he’s almost reached me, he extends his hand. I lunge toward him, desperate to wrap myself around him and never let go, but he takes my hand firmly and turns me so I’m facing away from him. I momentarily flash with fear, but he’s right behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his arm wrapped around my torso.
“I got ya,” he murmurs in my ear.
I cough up more water, babbling, “Thank you, thank you, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid—”
“Shhh. You’re all right. You’re safe. Let’s get you back to shore.”
Luke clearly knows what he’s doing, holding me against his chest as he kicks his legs to propel us toward land. So I relax and let him take over. I’m shivering with cold and fear, but he’s warm and calm, his heart beating a steady rhythm. And even though he’s only a couple inches taller than me, I realize now that he’s bigger. Broader. Stronger. His arm, the one wrapped around me, is corded with muscle. His wrist has got to be twice as thick as mine.
It’s strange, feeling small. Being taken care of.
Finally, I feel ground beneath my feet. Luke helps me stagger out of the water, then lowers me to the wooden dock, where I collapse in a wet, shivering heap. He disappears for a moment before returning with his towel, which he drapes over my shoulders.
Relief rushes through my body, and my eyes fill with tears. “Thank you so much.”
He wraps his arms around me, rubbing with the towel to warm me up. “What happened?”
“I don’t know! My kayak started taking on water. I lost my phone and earbuds, which—ugh. And yeah, I forgot to bring a life jacket, and I know it was stupid, but—”
He’s staring at me. His eyes have taken on that fiery blue that could burn someone alive.
“What?” I say.
In a flash, he’s on his feet, stalking down the path toward the cabins. I stumble after him, wrapping the towel around my body, trying to cover my wet T-shirt and underwear.
