Summer's Child

  “Ocean Rescue’s coming!” she said, then under her breath, “Hurry. Hurry.”

  The pilot’s head rose out of the water, her hair slicked back from her face. Her eyes were still open, but she was not breathing. Floating on her stomach, Daria struggled to breathe into the woman’s mouth as the rescue boat pulled alongside them. Pete got a knife from one of the men in the boat and, slipping beneath the surface of the water, finally freed the pilot.

  “Get her into the boat!” Pete shouted, and he and Daria pulled the woman from the plane and passed her to the men in the rescue boat. The boat sped off, and Andy drew his small craft close to them again.

  “Get Shelly in first,” Daria said. “She’s been in the water the longest.”

  Shelly was weak now, and Andy had to pull her into the boat.

  Daria could barely climb into the boat herself. Her feet were numb and her entire body trembled from exertion and anxiety. Pete pushed her, while Andy pulled. Pete was winded and exhausted when he managed to crawl into the boat himself.

  Andy rowed the boat toward shore, and the breakers caught them and carried them onto the beach. They could hear shouting and, in the distance, the whirring of a helicopter.

  Too late, Daria thought. She shook with the cold, and her legs threatened to give out from under her as she climbed out of the boat. She was dressed only in her wet underwear, and she shivered as she staggered over to the cot where the medic was working on the pilot. The young woman was intubated, bagged and hooked up to an ECG. Daria peered over the medic’s shoulder and saw the flat line on the ECG screen. The defibrillator paddles rested in the sand, obviously no longer needed. The pilot was dead, her brown eyes still open. Fighting tears, Daria turned away, but even with her own eyes shut, she could still see the pilot’s pleading gaze.

  “Sorry, Dar.” Mike, who’d arrived with the ambulances, handed her a blanket. “We’ll take over from here. Do you need a form for your field notes?”

  Paperwork. How could Mike even think of that right now? “I’ve got one in my car,” she said. She tried to wrap the blanket around herself, but her fingers would not do what she wanted them to, and Mike had to help her.

  “You’re freezing,” Mike said. “Go get warm.” He walked back to the ambulance, and she turned away from the scene. She was dazed and dizzy. Where was Pete? Where were Shelly and Andy? Her breath was like fire moving in and out of her chest, and her throat was tight with the need to cry. She hugged the blanket tighter around her body, then spotted someone in the crowd handing Andy a stack of towels. Shelly was near him, and he passed a couple of them to her. She clutched the towels to her chest, and even with the sparse lights from the ambulances, Daria could see her violent shivering.

  “Do you need a towel?” A woman walked up to Daria and pressed a couple of towels into her arms.

  “Thanks,” Daria mumbled. She turned around again, looking for Pete, and finally saw him several yards away, his back to her. By the way he was bending over the water, she knew he was sick. She walked toward him and put one of the towels over his shoulders. He was trembling uncontrollably and didn’t even look at her as he took another towel from her arms and wiped his mouth with it.

  She felt his need to be silent, to be asked no questions or receive no words of empty comfort. She rubbed his back through the towel as he stared at the ground, his breathing ragged.

  Finally, he glanced at her, his gaze darting quickly to her face before turning out to sea. In the darkness, at least, it appeared the plane had disappeared. “Do you know what happened out there?” he asked.

  She was confused by the question. “Do you mean…I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  He looked at her directly now, and his eyes were cold. “Do you know why I yelled at Shelly when we were out there?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “Your sister,” he said slowly, deliberately, “was leaning on the propeller, trying to see inside the plane. That’s what pulled the plane under. That’s why the pilot is dead.”

  Daria was speechless. “But when I turned to look at her, she was just treading water. I think she was trying to buoy the plane up.”

  “After I yelled at her.”

  “Yes,” Daria admitted. Horrified, the weight of his words sank in. “I can’t believe it,” she said. Surely Shelly would have known she was making matters worse by leaning on the propeller.

  “Believe it,” Pete said. “I was this close—” he held his thumb and forefinger apart by half an inch “—to freeing that woman—that girl—when the plane went under. Shelly has no common sense.”

  “Oh, my God, this is horrible.” Daria thought of the report she would have to write on the accident and the debriefing that would occur the following day. What could she say happened? It would destroy Shelly to know her role in the pilot’s death.

  Pete seemed to soften at seeing Daria’s distress. He put his arm around her. “Look,” he said, his gaze toward the sea once again, his jaw tight. “No one else knows what happened out there. Just you and me. Shelly doesn’t have a clue what she did. I doubt Andy realized what was going on, and there’s a good chance the plane would have gone down, anyway,” he conceded with a shrug. “And maybe the pilot would have died no matter what we did. I think we should just keep this to ourselves.”

  “I have to write a report,” Daria protested.

  “Then write it just as you would have without my input,” Pete said. “Pretend I didn’t tell you anything.”

  “It would kill Shelly if she…”

  “I know,” Pete said. “That’s why…you should just forget about what I said.”

  She nodded woodenly. She had little choice, and what difference would it make now? The pilot was gone. Nothing would bring her back.

  She spotted Shelly wandering among the thinning crowd, walked over to her and put an arm around her shivering shoulders. “Come on, hon,” she said. “My car’s at the cottage where I was working. I’ll drive you home after I write my report.”

  They walked in silence to her car. Daria spotted Pete’s truck a few cottages down the street and wondered how long he would stay at the scene. Wrapped in the blanket, she sat in the driver’s seat and pulled the notebook containing her field-note forms from the back seat. She propped the notebook against her knees and started writing. The plane simply began sinking and the rescuers had been helpless to do anything about it, she wrote. She would have to recount the same story in her verbal debriefing the following day. This was the first time she had ever lied in the course of her job as an EMT, and she wondered if anything could ever ease the sick, guilty feeling in her gut.

  When she finished the report and slipped it inside the notebook, she looked down the street to see that Pete’s truck was gone. He would have had to walk right past her car to get to it, and he had not even bothered to say goodbye. She was worried about him, as worried as she was about herself.

  Neither she nor Shelly said a word on the drive home. The only sound inside the car was that of Shelly’s teeth chattering.

  That night, after she and Shelly had eaten a quiet dinner in the kitchen of the Sea Shanty and fallen, exhausted, into bed, Pete called. Daria pulled the phone from her nightstand onto her pillow.

  “How are you doing?” Pete asked.

  “Not so great,” Daria said. Everything seemed wrong. She’d lied on a report, Shelly had unknowingly made a terrible mistake, a young woman had died a horrible death before her eyes. She stared at the darkened ceiling, the phone against her ear.

  “I know,” Pete said. “That was one ugly scene.”

  “Mmm.”

  She heard Pete draw in a breath. “I think we need to talk about Shelly,” he said.

  She stiffened. This would not be their first discussion about Shelly, but this time she knew he had the upper hand. “I don’t want to,” she said.

  “We have to,” Pete said. “Today was a clear indication that she needs more than you can give her, Daria.
I know you don’t want to hear that, but you have to face it. Her judgment is very poor. She needs a supervised living situation. You can see that now, can’t you? Daria?”

  Daria closed her eyes. “She’s staying with me.”

  Pete sighed.

  “I know why you want her to be placed somewhere,” Daria said. “If she were in some…supervised-living situation, as you call it, then I’d be free to move to Raleigh with you.” Pete had been offered an administrative position with a large construction company in Raleigh, a job he really wanted, and he’d been begging Daria to come with him. But when she’d agreed to marry him, she never thought it would mean leaving the Outer Banks. Leaving Shelly. She could not imagine Shelly ever being able to live on her own, but this supervised-living situation Pete kept pushing was out of the question. Those last few weeks, she’d been feeling torn down the middle between her sister and the man she wanted to marry. She could not move to Raleigh without Shelly, and Shelly would never leave the Outer Banks, the only place in the world she felt secure and safe.

  “Well,” Pete said, “that would be a bonus. But I’m really thinking about what’s best for Shelly.”

  “So am I,” Daria said.

  Pete tried again. “So what would happen,” he said, “if I agreed to have Shelly live with us, and—”

  “She would never move to Raleigh.”

  “I know, I know,” Pete said. “But speaking hypothetically, let’s say I did agree to have her live with us and then you and I had children. After this incident today, I would never be comfortable leaving Shelly alone with our kids.”

  That was ridiculous, Daria thought. Shelly was no danger to anyone. Yet after what had happened that afternoon, how could she argue with him?

  “Look, Daria,” Pete said with another sigh. “I hadn’t wanted to make this into an ultimatum, but the more I think about this, and especially after today, the more I feel the need to press the issue. I really want that job in Raleigh. And I really want to marry you. But if you won’t move to Raleigh with me—and without Shelly—well, then, I don’t see how this is going to work out.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Are you saying…you’d end our relationship over this? After nearly six years of us being together?”

  “I don’t see what other option there is,” Pete said. “The only choice you’re offering me is to live in the Sea Shanty, or at least somewhere in the Outer Banks, with you and Shelly. I want to marry you, Daria. Not Shelly. And I need that job in Raleigh. I can’t keep up this pace, physically, forever. I want that admin job.”

  When he put it that way, she felt unreasonable in her demands on him. Yet, unreasonable or not, she could not do what he wanted her to. For the second time that day, her throat felt tight with unshed tears.

  “I love you,” she said. “But I can’t do what you’re asking of me.”

  “Christ, Daria!” Pete suddenly exploded. “You live your life for Shelly,” he said. “Her needs always—always—come first. You never put my needs—you never put your own needs—ahead of hers.”

  “Pete—”

  “It’s about time I faced that fact,” he said. She heard the anger in his voice. “I wish you luck, Daria,” he said. “Good luck with the rest of your life.”

  The line went dead, and it was a moment before Daria placed the receiver back in its cradle. She wondered why she didn’t feel like crying now, why she felt this odd sense of relief. She was so, so tired of arguing with Pete over Shelly.

  “Daria?” Shelly opened Daria’s bedroom door a crack. “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  “Come in,” Daria said, sitting up.

  “I can’t sleep,” Shelly said. She walked into the room, dressed in a nightshirt, her hair loose around her shoulders.

  “Neither can I.” Daria moved over to make room for her sister on the queen-size bed.

  “Because of the pilot?” Shelly asked.

  “Yes.” Among other things.

  “I keep thinking about how she died,” Shelly said. “How horrible her death was.”

  “It was,” Daria agreed.

  “How old was she?” Shelly asked.

  “I think I heard someone say she was eighteen,” Daria said.

  “Eighteen.” Shelly blinked her eyes, and in the moonlight, Daria saw the glossy sheen of tears in them. “Three years younger than me. It’s just not fair.”

  “I know,” Daria said. “A lot of things in life aren’t fair.”

  “I wish I could have traded places with her.”

  Daria felt some alarm. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean that I want to die,” she said quickly. “But I just feel so sorry for her, that she got three whole years less on earth than I’ve had.”

  Daria smiled and pulled her sister close to her. “You are such a sweetheart,” she said, touched by Shelly’s reasoning. She was glad that she’d lied on her EMT report. And she would lie in her debriefing tomorrow. How could Pete ever ask her to desert her sister?

  Rory put his arm around Daria’s shoulders. “What a horrendous experience,” he said. “I assume you never told Shelly what really happened?”

  “You haven’t known Shelly very long,” Daria said, “but I’m sure you know her well enough to realize she couldn’t handle it.” She leaned her head back against the screen door and looked up at the stars. Rory’s arm was warm and comforting against her shoulders. “I still can’t believe I filled out that fraudulent report,” she said. “I lied.” She pounded her fist onto her knee. “I’ve never lied about anything so important, but I couldn’t drag Shelly into that mess. Pete said the pilot might have died, anyway, but I don’t know if that’s the case.”

  “What a nightmare,” Rory said.

  “That’s why I quit my EMT position,” she said. “I just couldn’t face another call. I couldn’t stand to lose another victim, and I was…I still am…disgusted with myself for letting Shelly go out there and for covering up what she did. People here look up to me, and I feel like a fraud.”

  “I can’t help but think you did the right thing in covering up Shelly’s role in the accident,” Rory said. “What good would it have done to point out her mistake to the world? It only would have hurt her, and it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  “I shouldn’t have let her go out to the plane,” Daria said.

  “But you thought she could help,” Rory said. “Had she ever given you a reason to think she was capable of making that sort of error?”

  “No,” she admitted. “That’s why it was so shocking. It was so cold in the water. I keep using that as an excuse, that maybe her ability to reason was screwed up by the cold and confusion. We were all crazed. I doubt any of us were thinking straight.”

  “Was that the end of things between you and Pete?” Rory asked.

  “Pete was so upset that he moved to Raleigh practically the next day,” she said. “He quit being an EMT, probably for the same reason I did. I miss it so much, though.” Her voice broke again.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. The crackling rush of the waves was the only sound.

  “Why did you go tonight?” Rory asked finally. “Why did you go to the accident?”

  “I was hoping I would find some strength inside myself that would allow me to help. They are short-staffed. I know that. When I got there, though, and saw how serious the accident was, I just froze. I can’t handle someone else dying in my care. But I feel so selfish.” She pounded her fist on her knee again. “Selfish. Guilty. Ashamed. Cowardly…”

  “Shh.” Rory hugged her tighter, closer, and she leaned her head against him.

  “Sorry,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her wet cheek.

  “What for?”

  “Dumping on you. You’re the only person I’ve told.”

  “Hey, I’m glad you could,” he said softly. “Even though I know you told me about the accident to convince me that Shelly’s judgment is poor. But there’s a huge different between screwing
up in the middle of a crisis and longing to know who your parents are. Don’t you agree?”

  Daria closed her eyes. Of course he was right. “I suppose so,” she said weakly.

  She felt him turn his head to look toward the beach road, and she followed his gaze with her own. Zack and Kara were walking into the cul-de-sac. They looked almost like one person, they were so close together, their arms wrapped around one another.

  “They don’t see us,” Rory whispered.

  Zack and Kara stopped in front of the Wheelers’ cottage, turning to face each other, locking themselves in a long, intense embrace.

  “Guess I’d better go make my presence known,” Rory said. He squeezed her shoulders. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, standing up.

  “I’m fine.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “That’s what friends are for.”

  19

  DARIA HAD NO NIGHTMARES THAT NIGHT. INSTEAD, SHE dreamed that she and Rory were in Africa, riding together on the back of an elephant, crossing a golden plain so wide and flat that it looked as though it went on forever. Other people were there, riding elephants behind them. Shelly was there. Jill, from the cul-de-sac. Daria’s mother. And people she didn’t know, the line of elephants and riders streaming far behind her and Rory, curling toward the horizon. But she hadn’t been interested in the other people. She was sitting behind Rory, her arms snug around his waist. The elephant’s rhythmic walk, the bulk of his spine between her legs and the feeling of Rory’s body beneath her hands excited her, and all she could think about was arriving at their destination. There, they would find a cabana, where she and Rory would have privacy.

  She awakened before the chain of elephants reached the cabanas, and groaned with disappointment at finding herself in her blue and white, sea-air-filled bedroom. Her body was still charged from her erotic, surreal ride across the plain, and she allowed herself to relive it as she lay in bed awhile longer.