When Claire began to remove her sundress and expose her bathing suit, Tony reached for her hand, stopping her movement. “No, I’ll swim for the boat, and bring it back closer.”
If she weren’t pregnant, Claire would argue; however, she obviously was. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she lifted herself on her toes and kissed his lips. “Be careful.”
Tony promised, as he shed his shirt, kissed her one last time, and waded into the sea. Claire watched nervously as he dove under the crystal water. It was then Madeline’s words came back to her, reassuring her—darkness verses light. The sun was still bright. Scanning the panoramic scene, Claire was able to see under surface of the clear calm water. “It’s safe,” she said aloud, to no one in particular, as the familiar pounding in her temples and new tightening in her midsection screamed out their warning.
Lowering herself to the sand, Claire took deep breaths and searched the horizon for her husband. With each passing minute, his figure became smaller and smaller. It was then she realized, not only was the tide coming in, but the boat was drifting out. Could the rising tide have lifted the anchor?
The radios and their phones were on the boat. She got back to her feet. The boat was now on the edge of the turquoise circle. Beyond that ring, the waters deepened. Pacing a track in the sand, Claire spoke reassuringly to their child, “It’ll be all right. Your father’s a good swimmer. He can do this. He can save us.”
Were her words meant to comfort the little life within her or to comfort her? Claire didn’t know. She wanted to scream his name, call him back, have him beside her, but she knew he’d never hear her. She could yell until she was hoarse, but no one could hear her.
The sun sank lower, and Claire refused to move. Sometimes she’d imagine she saw the boat coming toward her, and then she’d blink and it would be gone. Her mind went all directions: Would—could she survive? Would anyone find her? Was Tony still swimming? How long had it been?
We have always held to the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon.
—Franklin D. Roosevelt
Sophia waited inside the downtown Iowa City Restaurant, shivering inside her thick wool coat. Growing up on the East Coast, she wasn’t unaccustomed to cold; however, there was something excessively bitter about the Iowa December wind. As she watched the snowflakes swirl through the air beyond the windows, she buried her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. The gray skies weren’t producing enough snow to cover the drab ground, just enough to exacerbate her spirits. Experience told her that December was only the beginning of the miserable cold. Iowa would get worse before it got better. I wish we were back in California. Even Sophia was surprised by the thought. She never would’ve imagined considering the West Coast home.
Straightening her neck, Sophia encouraged herself, if I can have those thoughts about Santa Clara, maybe one day I’ll be able to consider this home. It was more wishful thinking, but she was trying. After all, things were going very well for Derek.
He loved his new job, even with the challenges Rawlings Industries faced. Each evening, when he’d return home to their new house, Sophia saw pride in her husband’s eyes. She knew he was a hard worker, yet to be singled out by Anthony Rawlings—even under such strange circumstances—Derek considered it his noble duty to help this company stay afloat.