“What . . .” she whispered.
“Stay warm. I’ll just be a minute. You’re safe here.” For now, he thought. But with the tide coming in, maybe not for long. This whole area would be under water soon.
He left her, racing back into the water, calculating how much time he had. If worse came to worst, he would swim with her in the water around the rock, but it would be harrowing. For now he just needed the chopper or a rescue boat.
He worked his way around the cliff face, pushed against it by a sudden, powerful wave, and banged the side of his head. His vision spun for a moment, then he was around and letting the waves shove him up the beach on the other side. He got to his feet with an effort and staggered to where he’d left his phone. He dialed 911 and spoke to the dispatcher calmly, telling them exactly where they were.
Then he left the phone again and took his wallet. It would be soaked, but he wanted the identification, just in case.
Just in case.
His trip back around the rock seemed to take forever. Every movement felt sluggish, every stroke felt as if he were losing ground. He was hurt, he realized. A concussion, possibly. Well, hell. He’d had a few in his time. Football . . . Maybe he shoulda stayed away from that game . . .
She was lying on her side, still out of reach of the waves. He ran toward her, at least he thought he did. More like lurching, he dimly realized.
“Wake up, Jules,” he ordered sternly, seeing her eyes were again closed.
He leaned down to her, alarmed. She was breathing raggedly. A sneaker wave suddenly jumped up the beach and grabbed at her. He held onto her with his waning strength until it reluctantly receded. The water felt arctic cold.
She’ll die of hypothermia . . .
He lay down atop her, warming her, making sure his weight didn’t interfere with her breathing. He had to find Joe . . . had to . . . But Julia beneath him . . . ? All he could think about was her dove gray eyes, the ironic smile, the feel of silky skin . . .
Just like old times, he thought.
In a strange twilight consciousness, he remembered making love to her. Being in love with her. Thinking of making a life with her, before everything happened. He’d been an asshole, he knew. But she’d proved her faithlessness in the end, just like he’d feared. She’d married Joe, for God’s sake, and then—
Joe.
Where was Joe?
He awoke as if startled, coming to full consciousness. God, where was the ambulance? The EMTs? He was shaking violently. Another wave raced up the beach climbing up his pant legs.
The woman beneath him stirred. Opened her eyes. He looked down into dull gray depths which stared back at him blankly. Then her eyes widened and she screamed with fear, though she could barely muster more than a whimper.
“Julia . . . Julia . . .” Sam said helplessly.
“What . . . what happened . . . ?” she choked out.
“I’ve called 911. They’re coming.”
“Oh . . . oh . . .”
Sam struggled to keep his wits about him. “Julia, where’s Joe?”
“Joe . . . ?”
“Yes, Joe. My brother. Your husband,” he struggled. He was filled with nebulous alarm. “Where is he?”
“You’re dead,” she said, her eyes rolling back in her head.
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Lisa Jackson, Expecting to Die
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