The river ran so high that it had swallowed the bank. Jenny clutched a tree branch and leaned out as far as she could to get a view. A foot below, vicious cold emanated from the water. The moon had risen, and it played tricks on her eyes. She thought she saw something bobbing in the water, and her heart leapt, but when she looked again, nothing was there. The water had closed over Tim and Lucas as if they’d never existed.
Not far downriver, close in to the bank, a metal swim float bobbed in the water, catching rays of moonlight. If Jenny could make it to that float, she could stand on it and get a long view downstream, and see enough to know better how to help. Jenny was a competent swimmer, but the Belle at high water scared her to death. Before she could change her mind, Jenny took a deep breath and jumped. The bite of the water as she plunged into the blackness knocked the wind out of her. She came up gasping for air, her fingers and toes tingling. She tried to stroke, but the suck of the current pulled at her arms, and she had to fight to keep her head up. Pointing her body in the direction of the metal float, Jenny let the current take her. The float came rushing at her, the force of the water slamming her into it headfirst. Jenny saw stars. The river was in her eyes, in her mouth, choking her, as the current did its best to suck her under the raft.
Jenny jackknifed sideways and cleared the float, fighting for air. She felt a sharp pain as something caught her across the midriff. The force of the water had thrown her against the steel cable that anchored the float to the riverbed. She folded her body over it to avoid getting swept away. Holding on to the steel cord with stiff fingers, she pulled hand-over-hand, dragging her body closer to the raft. Jenny swung her legs up and braced them against the side of the float, then with all her strength, grasped the cable and hauled herself upward. She cleared the side and collapsed onto the hard metal surface, gasping and sobbing in between breaths. Her teeth chattered violently, and water streamed from her hair into her eyes. She dragged herself to a sitting position, then staggered to her feet on the swaying raft. The river raced by on both sides. Fifty yards downstream, around where the gravel parking lot should be, lights flashed red and blue against the black of the trees. The police were here. Jenny jumped up and down, screaming and waving her arms to attract their attention. After a few minutes, she saw a rubber rescue raft put in at the boat launch and head in her direction.
As the rescue boat approached, something caught Jenny’s eye, and she looked down into the water. Right below the surface, on his back, looking up at her with his eyes wide open and his hair streaming around his beautiful head, was Lucas. Jenny started screaming and didn’t stop until the fireman pulled her into the boat.
*
She woke up in a hospital bed under layers of cotton blankets. Her mind was foggy from sedatives, and she felt more tired than she had in her life. She turned her head to see her mother sitting beside her, tears standing out in her dark eyes.
“I’m gonna be okay, Ma,” Jenny croaked, and her tongue felt large and cottony in her mouth.
“Shh, quiet, m’ija, you got a concussion and bruised ribs. Ay,” her mother said.
“What about Tim?”
Jenny needed to focus on Tim, to drive the image of Lucas’s face—of his staring eyes—from her mind.
“Don’t think about him now,” her mother said, and from that, Jenny concluded that the news about Tim was bad.
She must have slept, because when she opened her eyes again, her mother was gone, and Gloria Meyers, the Carlisle provost, sat by her bedside.
“You’re awake,” Gloria Meyers said, and put aside the file she’d been reading.
“Provost Meyers? Where’s my mother?”
“She looked tired. I told her to get some dinner and a change of clothes, and come back in an hour.”
“But why are you here?”
“I was concerned about you.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Jenny said.
But something about the situation felt wrong. Gloria Meyers—with her iron-gray hair and brusque manner—didn’t come across as nice. She was Jenny’s boss, and a distant one at that, not her friend. In fact, they’d rarely spoken. So why was she here, really? Jenny thought about what happened at the bridge. It wasn’t just that Lucas had drowned, but that Kate had pushed him to his death. Gloria Meyers was good friends with the Eastmans. Gloria Meyers showed up at Jenny’s bedside. Could those two events be related?
“Are you here because of Kate?” Jenny asked.
“I’m here because a boy jumped off the old railroad bridge and died. A Carlisle student. I understand you and a local boy tried to save him, and you were injured in the process. I came to check on you.”
“Thank you, but—”
Jenny tried to sit up, but a searing pain behind her eyes drove her head back to the pillow.
“Don’t get up,” the provost said, leaning over Jenny like she might push her down if she tried again.
“But I need to tell you, you’re wrong about what happened at the bridge,” Jenny said weakly.
“Well, that’s what the police told me. The boy jumped. They said it might be a suicide, or a dare. That bridge is a hazard. It ought to be torn down.”
“He didn’t jump,” Jenny insisted.
Gloria Meyers held up her hands as if to ward off Jenny’s words. “Don’t say anything right now. You suffered a head injury. You’re confused, and tired. I should be going. You rest. I’ll tell the nurse that you shouldn’t be disturbed.”
The provost stood to leave. Jenny shut her eyes again, and felt them fill with tears. Someone had told the police that Lucas jumped, but that was a lie. Jenny ought to set the record straight, tell Gloria Meyers what had really happened, and what’s more, tell the police. But she didn’t have the strength right now. Her head hurt too much. She couldn’t think straight. She let the provost leave without saying any more.
The next morning, Jenny’s headache was still there, but it was bearable, and she was released from the hospital. Her parents wanted her to come right home, but Jenny insisted on going to Tim Healy’s room, where his family kept vigil by his bedside. Tim had struck his head on a rock and been knocked out in the river. He would’ve drowned if the police hadn’t been on the scene already. Tim hadn’t regained consciousness, and they were doing everything possible to relieve the swelling on his brain. They hoped he would come out of it, and not suffer any brain damage, but it was impossible to predict.
Jenny couldn’t stand the thought that a second person might die because of Kate. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Tim’s parents what really happened at the bridge. But standing by his bedside, seeing how distraught his parents were, she couldn’t bring herself to tell them that their nephew had been—what? Murdered? That was such an ugly word, but wasn’t it the truth? She wouldn’t burden them with this now, but she would go to the police.