Boom. I’m back there again.
Eddie’s hand squeezes mine as he steadies himself on the rocks. He nearly takes me down with him. We stand ankle deep in the water, and today we celebrate our eleventh birthdays.
“Just stand still, Eddie,” I snap. “The fins won’t come if you’re splashing about.”
He whimpers. I look over to where Dillon is, far out in the water beyond the Point, and wave my arm, beckoning him back. I shout, too, but he doesn’t even look over.
“I want the fins,” Eddie says again, and stomps his feet. This time he yanks his hand out of mine, and I’m not quick enough to catch him as he splashes into the water. The cold spray hits me in the face. The wind is picking up and the waves are getting bigger. It’s too cold to be swimming—at least Dillon has his wetsuit on.
“Get up!” I shout to Eddie. “Come on—we’re going back.”
I hold my hand out, but he refuses to take it. It’s so typical that this day is only about what he wants. I look to see where Dad is so he can come and take Eddie in. I can’t see him anywhere. He’s not sitting down where we left him. Eddie’s trainers are on the beach, but Dad is not. I’m so cold that my hands have gone blue. I breathe on them, but it’s not enough.
“Hurry up, Dillon,” I say under my breath.
“Where are the fins? Where’s Mischief? Where’s Sundance?” Eddie asks, still sitting in the water as the waves break around him.
“Come on. We need to get you dry.”
“No. I want Dillon.”
“Well, Dillon’s over there. He’s probably with all the dolphins because he’s not splashing about making a racket. Get up.”
Eddie doesn’t move. I reach down and take his hand. It’s even colder than mine.
“I want fins!” he shouts at me.
Then everything goes blurry.
I toss the rock and bolt.
Tay is right behind me as I surface.
“Hey, you’re supposed to give me the signal,” he says, oblivious to my panic. “But nice one! How did it feel? You did pretty well.” He checks his watch. “Fifty seconds—nearly a whole minute.”
I’m not even listening to him. I’ve got to know what I just saw on the bottom. As soon as I’ve got my breath back, I’m swimming toward the boat attached to that anchor, toward the shoe.
“Elsie, wait! What’s wrong?”
He catches up with me, and even though I’ve only swum a few feet, I’m exhausted.
“There’s something down there,” I gasp.
“Like what?” He looks alarmed.
“I don’t know. It’s probably just some rubbish.”
Tay doesn’t laugh or say I’m crazy. He tells me to swim to the wall and wait by the ladder.
“Off to do my environmental bit,” he says, and dives down.
He takes forever to come back up. The rain has lessened a bit, but the sky is still thick and low. I keep telling myself that it wasn’t a shoe, and even if it was, it wouldn’t be Eddie’s. Why would Eddie’s shoe be in the harbor?
Tay bursts through the water.
“One moldy trainer.” He holds it up by the laces for me to see.
My eyes adjust. A white trainer.
But it isn’t Eddie’s. It’s far too big—I see that now. The leather tongue is green from the scum at the bottom. Some kind of shelled creature falls out, and I feel bad that we’ve destroyed its home.
I want to ask if he saw anything else down there, but my teeth are chattering and I just want to be warm. My arms feel weak as I climb the ladder, but Tay is behind me pushing me up, and I don’t even care that he’s touching my backside.
“Come on—in the boathouse. Let’s warm up.”
“I want to go home.”
My voice shakes with cold.
“You know, fifty seconds isn’t bad for your first attempt. Well, it’s kind of your second attempt.”
He slips an arm loosely around my shoulder and does a sort of ministroke of my arm before pulling away.
Only fifty seconds? Time is playing tricks on my mind again. Those memories of Eddie struggling against me seemed to last forever.
“Are you okay?” he asks, finally noticing that I might not be.
For one crazy moment I want to tell him everything. But if I do, he might not take me back in the water, and I can’t stop now. Even though the things I’m remembering about that day aren’t good, at least I’m remembering. Now I know that Eddie and I were arguing before he disappeared.
“I have to get to school,” I say.
“Skip school. Spend the day with me.” I love the way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing to suggest.