friends, I can’t really touch them. It’s as if there’s something invisible preventing me from fully making contact, no matter how hard I try.
I stare at my father’s full, aging face, and try to focus on it through my tears.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper.
Nicole’s cell phone rings on her nightstand. I don’t have to look to know who it is. Her alarm clock says it’s 8:49. Before nine on a Sunday morning, it doesn’t take a genius to guess that something’s wrong.
“Don’t answer,” I murmur. “Come on. Don’t answer, don’t answer, don’t answer.”
Nicole’s eyelids flutter open. “Marshall,” she murmurs. That’s my dad.
“Hmmm? Who’s calling?” He doesn’t open his eyes. He yawns. “What time is it?”
I am sobbing now, willing to do anything to keep them from having to hear this news. “I’m right here, Dad,” I whisper. I put my hand on his arm, knowing he can’t feel it. But even though there’s that odd space between us, preventing me from making full contact with him, I can almost feel him, and it’s enough to bring me some small comfort. I can sense his warmth beneath my touch. I can sense the blood running through his living veins. Oh, Dad. Once is enough to have your heart broken. He’s already lost my mother. And now this.
Nicole stretches her arms, reaches leisurely for the phone. She squints at the caller ID. “It’s Liz.” She glances at my dad. “Why would she be calling this early?”
He yawns again. “Beats the hell out of me. Answer it. See what she wants.”
It’s Liz? How is this happening? I’m right here—and back there, I’m in the water. Then it dawns on me: whoever’s calling is using my phone.
I feel slapped, terrified. It’s not fair for things to be happening this way, not fair for my parents to lose this last brief moment of peace before everything bursts into chaos.
Nicole answers the phone, her voice tired but cheerful. “Liz, honey, what is it?”
There’s a long moment as she listens. The voice on the other end is male. I recognize it immediately as Richie’s.
“Wait—Richie, slow down. You’re scaring me. Okay. All right, we will. We’ll be right there.”
She closes the phone. She stares at my father. Her face is the color of death. I know from experience.
“That was Richie,” she tells my dad. “He says the police are on their way to the boat. He says there’s been some kind of accident, and we need to go down there right now.”
My father sits up. “What kind of accident?”
She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t say.”
They stare at each other.
“Why did Richie call? He used Liz’s phone? Why not Liz or Josie?” my dad asks.
Nicole doesn’t say anything at first. Then she puts a hand to her mouth. “Get dressed, Marshall.”
I can’t watch anymore. I get out of bed and cross the room to Alex, who is standing there wordlessly, waiting. He doesn’t seem surprised when I put my hand on his shoulder and close my eyes again.
In an instant, we are on the boat, inside, and outside there is wailing, five voices working all at once, heartbreak upon horror.
There is no place to go that doesn’t hurt. There is nothing to do but wait.
Four
The police have called divers. When they arrive, I see that it’s two men and two women, dressed in full wet suits. They climb down the ladder at the back of the boat and work together to free my body from the space between fiberglass and wood. While they work, the police—there’s a slew of them—push the boat away from the dock to create more room. My body rolls onto its side and then onto its back, from the waves created by all the motion. Then, so quietly, so slowly, the divers hold on to me and guide me toward the rocky shore. Once I’m out of the water, they place me—carefully, as if they’re afraid I’ll break—into a shiny black body bag. A body bag . Me. On my freaking birthday.
My parents see it all. My friends look on, silent and numb. None of
I stare at my father’s full, aging face, and try to focus on it through my tears.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper.
Nicole’s cell phone rings on her nightstand. I don’t have to look to know who it is. Her alarm clock says it’s 8:49. Before nine on a Sunday morning, it doesn’t take a genius to guess that something’s wrong.
“Don’t answer,” I murmur. “Come on. Don’t answer, don’t answer, don’t answer.”
Nicole’s eyelids flutter open. “Marshall,” she murmurs. That’s my dad.
“Hmmm? Who’s calling?” He doesn’t open his eyes. He yawns. “What time is it?”
I am sobbing now, willing to do anything to keep them from having to hear this news. “I’m right here, Dad,” I whisper. I put my hand on his arm, knowing he can’t feel it. But even though there’s that odd space between us, preventing me from making full contact with him, I can almost feel him, and it’s enough to bring me some small comfort. I can sense his warmth beneath my touch. I can sense the blood running through his living veins. Oh, Dad. Once is enough to have your heart broken. He’s already lost my mother. And now this.
Nicole stretches her arms, reaches leisurely for the phone. She squints at the caller ID. “It’s Liz.” She glances at my dad. “Why would she be calling this early?”
He yawns again. “Beats the hell out of me. Answer it. See what she wants.”
It’s Liz? How is this happening? I’m right here—and back there, I’m in the water. Then it dawns on me: whoever’s calling is using my phone.
I feel slapped, terrified. It’s not fair for things to be happening this way, not fair for my parents to lose this last brief moment of peace before everything bursts into chaos.
Nicole answers the phone, her voice tired but cheerful. “Liz, honey, what is it?”
There’s a long moment as she listens. The voice on the other end is male. I recognize it immediately as Richie’s.
“Wait—Richie, slow down. You’re scaring me. Okay. All right, we will. We’ll be right there.”
She closes the phone. She stares at my father. Her face is the color of death. I know from experience.
“That was Richie,” she tells my dad. “He says the police are on their way to the boat. He says there’s been some kind of accident, and we need to go down there right now.”
My father sits up. “What kind of accident?”
She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t say.”
They stare at each other.
“Why did Richie call? He used Liz’s phone? Why not Liz or Josie?” my dad asks.
Nicole doesn’t say anything at first. Then she puts a hand to her mouth. “Get dressed, Marshall.”
I can’t watch anymore. I get out of bed and cross the room to Alex, who is standing there wordlessly, waiting. He doesn’t seem surprised when I put my hand on his shoulder and close my eyes again.
In an instant, we are on the boat, inside, and outside there is wailing, five voices working all at once, heartbreak upon horror.
There is no place to go that doesn’t hurt. There is nothing to do but wait.
Four
The police have called divers. When they arrive, I see that it’s two men and two women, dressed in full wet suits. They climb down the ladder at the back of the boat and work together to free my body from the space between fiberglass and wood. While they work, the police—there’s a slew of them—push the boat away from the dock to create more room. My body rolls onto its side and then onto its back, from the waves created by all the motion. Then, so quietly, so slowly, the divers hold on to me and guide me toward the rocky shore. Once I’m out of the water, they place me—carefully, as if they’re afraid I’ll break—into a shiny black body bag. A body bag . Me. On my freaking birthday.
My parents see it all. My friends look on, silent and numb. None of
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