Summer's Child

  “Yup,” Chloe agreed. “You won’t go hungry.”

  Chloe’s voice was flat, and Daria could almost feel her sister’s discomfort. It was more than Rory that was upsetting her. Daria put her hand on Chloe’s arm.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, but Chloe simply squeezed her hand in reassurance.

  Rory didn’t seem to notice Chloe’s distress. “I know you’re not thrilled with me pursuing this,” he said to her, “but you’re an important part of Shelly’s life, and I’d really like to get your opinion of how she ended up on the beach way back when.”

  Daria cringed at Rory’s timing. He didn’t realize how much Chloe resented his intrusion on their lives.

  Chloe leaned across Daria to rest her hand on Rory’s knee. She looked at him intently, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. “Rory, it just doesn’t matter how Shelly turned up on the beach,” she said. “I know you don’t understand. I know it doesn’t fit in with your plans for your show. I know you want the answer to be something dramatic, something you can uncover and expose. But it just isn’t important. Shelly was our gift from the sea. There’s nothing more we need to know.”

  Chloe stood up. She squeezed Daria’s shoulder. “Good night, you two,” she said. She stepped onto the screened porch and disappeared inside the cottage.

  “Ouch,” Rory said once she had gone. “I don’t think Chloe is very fond of me.”

  “It’s not just you,” Daria said. “It’s true she’s upset that you’re probing into Shelly’s life, but she seems withdrawn lately. I’m not certain what’s going on with her.”

  “I’m sure I’m not helping,” Rory said.

  “Well, she thinks you’re exploiting Shelly.”

  “Is that what you think, too?” Rory asked.

  “I think your intentions are honorable,” Daria said, “but I’m afraid your prying might do more harm than good.”

  Rory was quiet a moment, and when he finally spoke there was exasperation in his voice. “But Shelly, herself, wants me to—”

  “Shelly has lousy judgment, Rory,” Daria said. How many times did he have to hear that? She hesitated a moment, then the words slipped out of her mouth as though they had a will of their own. “Do you want to know why I’m not doing EMT work these days?” she asked. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  He said nothing, just looked at her, puzzled and waiting, and Daria shivered. The thought of telling him was both frightening and seductive.

  Drawing in a breath, she pressed her clammy palms together and began to speak.

  “A few months ago, I was working on a construction job at an old cottage near the beach, about half a mile from here,” she said. “Pete was working with me, along with Andy Kramer, and this other guy, George. Andy and I were in the house, and Pete and George were outside. Pete suddenly came running into the house, yelling that there was a plane down in the water.”

  She remembered running to the front door of the house to look out toward the beach. From where she’d stood, she had not been able to see the downed plane, only a few people running across the sand. She’d taken off her tool belt and dropped it on the floor as she headed out the door, Andy and George close on her heels.

  Daria wasn’t able to see the plane until she reached the squat hill of sand marking the start of the beach. Even then, it had been hard to make out the plane’s shape or size. The sun was low in the sky behind her, reflecting off the water in sharp beams of blinding light.

  Pete, already halfway to the water, turned to wave at them. “It’s an air pig!” he shouted.

  Good, Daria thought as she ran after him. If the pontoons weren’t damaged, they would keep the plane afloat. Otherwise, there was very little chance of recovering anyone alive.

  People were gathering on the beach, most of them in street clothes, shivering as the evening air grew cooler. They pointed toward the plane, speaking to one another in excited voices. She and Andy pushed through the growing crowd. “Did anyone call 911?” Daria called out.

  Several people shouted that they had.

  “I called from my cell phone,” a man standing near Daria said.

  “How long ago?” she asked.

  “Just a few minutes,” the man said. “Right after the plane hit the water. It just dropped out of the sky. I thought—”

  Daria didn’t wait to hear more. She ran up to Pete, who was standing at the water’s edge, squinting against the reflected sunlight as he stared at the plane.

  “Ocean Rescue should be here in a few minutes,” she said. Ocean Rescue would have a boat. Without a boat, there was little they could do.

  “We can’t wait a few minutes,” Pete said as he stripped off his shirt. “It looks like one of the pontoons is damaged.”

  Daria looked again at the plane, and this time she could see it was listing to one side. Someone—she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—was pounding against one of the side windows, trying to get out.

  “You can’t go out there,” Daria said, although she was thinking of going herself. The plane was not out that far, and she and Pete were both good swimmers. “What if there’s fuel in the water?”

  “I’m not going to stand here and watch—”

  “Hey! We’ve got a boat!”

  Daria turned to see two boys dragging a boat across the sand by a rope. The boat was little more than a dinghy, but it would have to do until something more substantial came along.

  “Great!” Pete said. He ran up to the boys, grabbed the rope from their hands and began tugging the boat toward the water. The tattooed muscles in his arms did not even appear to strain with the effort.

  Andy and Daria helped him drag the boat into the water, and Daria was about to climb in when she saw the look of longing in Andy’s eyes. He wanted to help; he wanted to save lives.

  “Come with us,” she said. “We can use an extra pair of hands out there.”

  Andy climbed into the boat and picked up the oars. “I’ll row,” he said, and he began pulling against the water. Although he was slender, he was strong, and the craft cut easily through the breakers, heading toward the plane.

  Daria looked back toward the beach to see if any of the rescue vehicles had arrived, but she could see only the thickening crowd of people—and Shelly. Shelly stood out from everyone else because of her height, her distinctive blond hair and the assertive way she pushed through the throng toward the water. She was wearing her wraparound skirt, and Daria watched as she untied it and let it fall onto the sand, then walked into the water. She was going to swim out to them!

  “Shelly!” Daria called to her. “Don’t come out! It’s too cold. There could be a fuel spill!”

  She knew Shelly couldn’t hear her; the crackling of the waves drowned out every word. Pete heard her, though, and he looked behind them to see why she was yelling.

  “Shelly’s in the water,” Daria called to him.

  “What’s she doing out there?” Andy asked.

  Pete glanced behind him toward the darkening water, then turned back to the front of the boat, but not before Daria had caught the look of disgust in his face. She knew what he was thinking.

  It was a moment before she realized that another small boat was in the water, ten yards or so from them. Two men were in the boat, neither of whom she could recognize in the fading light, but she was relieved they were there. She glanced back to see Shelly only a short distance behind them, her smooth strokes propelling her through the water, and Daria felt a thrill of admiration at her sister’s grace and energy—despite her questionable judgment at coming into the water at all. If any fuel had spilled from the plane, it could burn her, or worse yet, ignite. But if the water was clear, they might be able to use Shelly’s help.

  The two boats came together as they neared the plane.

  “Ocean Rescue’s tied up in the inlet,” a man in the second boat said. “Capsized fishing vessel. Don’t know when they’ll get here.”

  The boats glided close
to the plane, and the situation became instantly, painfully clear. There were two women in the back seat of the plane. One was unconscious, a cut on her temple, blood spilling over her ear. The other woman was screaming, pounding on the window, begging them to release her from the plane. The door next to the pilot had been ripped off by the force of the crash, and the pilot appeared to be unconscious. At first, Daria thought the pilot was a man. All of them did. A man who was twisted somehow in the front seat, his body contorted at an angle, his head bent forward, long dark hair covering his face. Daria was not sure he was alive.

  Pete struggled with the pilot’s seat belt. “He’s got a pulse,” he called over his shoulder to Daria and Andy. “But I can’t get him out. Let’s go for the passengers first.”

  If they’d had a tool, even a crowbar, extricating the passengers would have been easy, since the skin of the plane was thin and pliable. But they only had their bare hands and the oars to use, and although the sea was calm, the bobbing of the plane and boats made the work difficult.

  Shelly suddenly appeared at the side of the boat, and Andy was first to spot her. “Shelly!” he said. “What are you doing out here, crazy woman?”

  “Get in the boat, hon,” Daria said to her sister. “You’ll freeze.”

  “I’m all right,” Shelly said. She was treading water, her hair flowing out from her head like pale sea grass. The water was dark, but Daria could see no skim of fuel on its surface. Shelly would be all right.

  Pete barely seemed to register Shelly’s arrival, and Daria thought it was probably just as well. He picked up an oar.

  “Move your head back!” he shouted to one of the women in the back seat. “I’m going to break the window!”

  The woman cowered beneath her arms, and Pete rammed the oar into the Plexiglas. It popped out in one piece, and the woman let out a scream, then started sobbing. With the window out, Daria could see that the interior of the plane was filling with water.

  “We’ll go around the other side,” yelled a man in the second boat. They rowed to the far side of the plane and broke the window there. Pete was able to pull the woman nearest him through the window and into the boat, while the men on the other side of the plane did the same.

  “This one’s hurt bad,” one of the men called out. “And the pontoon over here is shot. The one on that side is the only thing keeping this tin can up.”

  “Bring her over here,” Daria shouted. She turned at the sound of sirens. An ambulance had pulled onto the beach, lights flashing. It looked very far away.

  The woman in their boat seemed more shaken up than injured. “The pilot passed out, or something,” she said. “We just started going down and she didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  “She?” Daria asked. That’s when she took another look at the pilot, contorted beneath the seat belt. Long hair, slim body. The pilot was indeed a woman.

  The second boat had pulled next to them again, barely visible now because of the darkness.

  “I should get in the other boat with the injured woman,” Daria said to Pete.

  “No, stay here,” Pete said. “Help me with the pilot. The ambulance crew is on the beach now.” He called to the men in the second boat. “You guys take these ladies in, okay?” he said. “And bring us back a knife or something to cut this seat belt with.”

  Daria was usually crew chief, usually the one giving the orders, but this was not an official call, and she didn’t balk at following Pete’s instructions. She helped Pete and Andy transfer their terrified passenger into the second boat, and as the two men and the injured women sailed away, Daria and Pete turned their attention back to the pilot.

  Daria reached into the plane and pressed her fingertips against the woman’s throat, feeling for a pulse.

  “Is she alive?” Shelly asked from the water.

  “Yes.” The pulse was very rapid, but strong. The woman suddenly rolled her head back against the seat and her brown eyes fluttered open. It was an instant before they registered alarm.

  “Stay calm,” Daria said. She was shocked to realize that the pilot was very young, no more than eighteen or nineteen, with long dark hair and a pronounced widow’s peak that only added beauty to her heart-shaped face. Like the passenger, she also had a gash across her forehead, this one bleeding profusely. “We’ve just about got you out,” Daria said as she took off her own T-shirt and pressed it against the woman’s head. It was a lie, but a necessary one. The water was up to the woman’s waist, and Pete’s arms were submerged as he leaned over the side of the boat, struggling with her seat belt.

  “The door frame’s twisted somehow,” he said under his breath to Daria. “The belt’s caught in it. I can’t see what I’m doing.”

  “I’m in the water, Pete,” Shelly said. “Maybe I can do it from down here.”

  “You’re just in the way, Shelly,” Pete snapped, and for a brief moment, Daria felt hatred toward him. This was the man she planned to marry in a few months, and at that moment, she didn’t even like him.

  “She hardly looks old enough to have a pilot’s license,” Andy said.

  “I don’t think we can work on her from the boat,” Daria said. She was losing her balance. Her hand holding the T-shirt kept slipping away from the woman’s forehead.

  “Yeah, and we can’t extricate her this way, either,” Pete added. “We’ll have to get in the water.”

  The plane, Daria realized, was slowly sinking, seawater creeping up the pilot’s body.

  “Andy,” Pete said, “you stay in the boat. Keep it close to the plane. Keep your eyes open for any fuel leaks, too.” He unzipped his shorts, pulled them off and jumped into the water.

  Daria took off her own shorts and followed him in. The water took her breath away, it was so cold. “I thought you said it wasn’t cold?” she said to Shelly as she pulled herself closer to the plane.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Shelly said, but her teeth were chattering.

  “It’s going down fast,” Andy said from the boat.

  “We need a knife out here, damn it,” Pete said, and he dropped under the water to try to work the pilot’s seat belt free. Daria felt the fruitlessness of his effort. He would be able to see nothing underwater in the darkness. She tried to keep pressure on the pilot’s forehead as she let her body float out from the plane to make room for Pete to work. She wondered how long the pilot could survive being immersed in the cold water. How long could any of them survive?

  “Shelly, Andy,” Pete sputtered as he surfaced from the water. “This thing’s sinking like an anchor. Y’all do what you can to keep it upright while Daria and I try to get her out.”

  “Okay.” In the boat, Andy skirted the plane to reach the other side, and Shelly swam to the plane’s submerged nose to do what she could to keep it afloat. Daria glanced over her shoulder at the beach, praying someone would bring tools out to help them.

  The pilot’s eyes were open now. Open wide. The young woman stared into Daria’s eyes as Daria tried to stem the bleeding from her head wound. She dared to lift the T-shirt once, only to have blood gush down the frightened pilot’s cheek. She didn’t know how cognizant the pilot was of what was going on or of how much danger she was in. She was not uttering a word, yet her eyes were filled with fear.

  “Don’t worry,” Daria said. “We’re going to get you out. You’ll be all right.”

  Pete surfaced from underwater again, tossing his wet black hair out of his face with a shake of his head. “Maybe I can get at her better from the other side,” he said.

  “I already tried the door over here,” Andy called from his side of the plane. “It won’t open.” He sounded winded. Daria glanced at her sister to see how she was faring. Shelly was treading water directly in front of the plane’s propeller, her hands submerged beneath the plane’s nose. She appeared to be going strong.

  A small yelp escaped from the pilot’s lips. The water had reached her breasts, and Daria felt a flash of panic course through her own body. What if the
y couldn’t get her out? It was beginning to look doubtful, and there was no way that Andy and Shelly would be able to keep the plane above water once it made up its mind to sink. Daria’s legs ached from treading water. She struggled with her free hand to loosen the shoulder harness, trying at the same time to stay out of Pete’s way. Her foot kept catching on the damaged pontoon, and it was tempting to rest it there to give herself a break from the relentless treading, but she knew that her weight would only pull the plane farther underwater.

  Pete surfaced once again, gasping for breath this time. Daria saw fear mixed with the determination in his eyes. She wanted to talk to him, try to puzzle out the best course of action, but before she could say a word, he was underwater again.

  “Please help.” The pilot’s voice was barely audible, and she reached out to grab Daria’s wrist.

  Daria gently extricated her arm from the woman’s hand. “I need my hand to get you out,” she said.

  The water was rising more quickly now. It had reached the pilot’s chin, and the young woman tilted her head back as though she could somehow prevent the water from climbing up her face. If only she could.

  Pete came out of the water on Daria’s right this time. He looked toward the beach, where a second ambulance had arrived. “Hey!” he shouted vainly against the sound of the sea. “Come on! We need help out here!”

  The woman grasped Daria’s wrist again, and this time Daria did not pull away. She watched in horror as the plane sank lower, pulling the pilot completely underwater, her terrified eyes still wide, staring hard at Daria.

  “Oh, God,” Daria said. “Pete! What can we do?”

  Pete turned to Daria. He looked past her, though, and his face suddenly registered shock.

  “Oh my God, Shelly,” he shouted. “Move!”

  Daria remembered that Shelly was near the plane’s propellers, and she spun around in terror. But Shelly was safe and sound, treading water, still trying to hold up the plane and wearing a look of confusion at Pete’s reprimand. Daria had no idea why Pete had yelled at her, but there was no time to find out. The plane was suddenly rising again. And another boat was coming toward them, this one motorized.