Connor takes one look at me梐nd trips over his feet.
Excellent.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
揧ou okay there??I ask playfully.
揑抦 good.?He nods. Then he clears his throat and gestures to me. 揟hat抯 ah . . . nice top.?
揟hanks.?I smile. 揑 have it in white too.?
I抦 tempted to mention that you can see my nipples through the white one梑ut I think that would be overdoing it.
We head out on the path that starts behind my house and winds through the woods around the lake in a serpentine pattern. We fall in step beside each other, the rhythm of our strides matching, in a comfortable silence. The air is warm but it抯 cooler on the trail beneath the trees.
I love this time of day. How the fading sun glows deep orange through the branches and the shadows slowly descend, turning everything tranquil and secluded.
Two miles in, we stop for a water break. I brace my foot on a boulder and tighten my loose shoelace. A few feet away, Connor tips his head back and takes a drink from his Lakeside Memorial water bottle.
I stand with my arms at my sides, watching his throat ripple as he swallows and a little wet drop slides down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. He抯 got an awesome chin梩he kind you want to scrape your teeth against and bite. Move over, John Travolta, there抯 a new chin king in town.
Connor glances at my empty hands.
揥here抯 your water??
揑 left it on the front table.?I swipe my arm across my forehead and lick at my parched lips.
And I feel his eyes on me梠n my mouth條ike the secrets of the universe are tattooed there.
He holds out his bottle. 揇o you want some of mine??
His voice is deeper than usual, rough . . . like he抯 asking me one thing, but thinking something else.
That happens sometimes, but I never know if it抯 just my imagination, if I抦 projecting and hearing emotions in his words that aren抰 really there.
Connor抯 easy to talk to but he can be guarded梔ifficult to read. At least for me. I抦 kind of a mess when I抦 near him. There are just too many wonderful, thrilling sensations surging through me, making my head light.
But every once in a while, I think he feels it too.
The pull between us. The magical, breath-stealing magnetism that says we could be outstanding together.
We could be everything.
But I can抰 ever be sure. And I can抰 afford to be wrong.
This time I get to spend with him is too sweet, too precious to me. I can抰 risk misinterpreting him, reaching for more and ending up falling on my face in front of him, like I have so many times before.
My tongue pokes out again, tasting salt on my upper lip.
揧es, please.?
Connor walks up to me and passes the bottle, standing so close I have to step back to take a drink. As I bring the bottle to my lips, he doesn抰 move, I抦 not even sure he breathes.
He just watches. And it抯 different from how he抯 looked at me any time before.
His jaw is taut and his eyes seem to grow darker the longer he looks. The muscles in his forearms are strung tight and straining. Like he抯 holding himself back . . . but only just barely.
I like how he抯 looking at me. No桰 love it. It makes me feel beautiful and needed. Craved.
Then he says my name. It comes out on a low breath, hushed but sharp條ike a warning.
揤iolet.?
But it only makes me want him more.
揧es??
My chest rises and falls but I can抰 catch my breath.
And we stand there, just inches apart, gazes locked. And it would be so easy for him to dip his head and kiss me.
I抦 right there梬aiting and wanting and already his.
All he has to do is want me back.
But then a sound tears through the air, streaking through us, making our heads turn in its direction.
揇id you hear that??
揥as that a棓
And it was梚t was a scream.
I know because it comes again, piercing and terrified.
揌elp! Help me!?
揟hat way,?Connor says, and we both take off running without another word.
Sprinting off the path, into the foliage, kicking up leaves and jumping over fallen branches, heading downhill toward the lake. Once we clear the trees, we have an unobstructed view of the water. There are people on the other side, a fishing boat anchored far off in the distance梑ut the shoreline closest to us is rockier, less popular, and empty, except for a single square blanket bunching in the breeze.
In the water, I see a hot-pink tube, the kind little kids wear around their waists. But this one is empty, just bobbing with the waves on the surface of the water.
And there, toward the center, there抯 a flash of orange. A bright orange bathing suit, on the still form of a small girl. She抯 floating, facedown.
揌elp!?
The scream comes from another girl桰 can抰 tell her age梥wimming with furious splashes toward the child.
We run down the hill. Connor kicks off his sneakers and tosses me his phone.
揟ell 911 we抮e at the east dock. Mark the time.?
You only have minutes to start CPR on a drowning victim, to stave off the damage from lack of oxygen and circulation to the brain and heart. Icy water can buy extra time, but this water isn抰 cold enough. The longer a victim is down, even with CPR, the less likely it becomes that anything you do will bring them back.
Connor pulls ahead of me, his long legs propelling into a blur. He crosses the dock and dives off the edge into the water.
One of the first things I learned after moving to Lakeside is that the lake at the center of town is shallow around the edges梑ut just a few feet in, it drops off.
And it drops off deep.
Like a cold black hole, it抯 deep enough that you can抰 touch the bottom and make it back to the surface on one breath. And there抯 debris down there梖allen trees and tangled brush and thick snagging branches that rise up in spots梩rapping your feet and making it feel like some sinister force is grabbing for you and trying to pull you down.
By the time I抦 off the phone with 911, Connor is carrying the prone child, who looks maybe three or four years old, from the water, with the other, older girl a few feet behind him. She抯 twelve or thirteen, and I inanely wonder if she could be a classmate of Connor抯 son, Brayden.
揑 was counting to see how long I could stay under at the dock,?the older girl cries. 揝he was right there! But when I came up she was gone. I went under to find her but it was too dark, I couldn抰 see her. And then she popped up but she wasn抰 moving!?
Her face collapses into a sob as I move her back.
揌ere, honey, stand over here while we help her. What抯 her name??
揝erena.?
Connor lays the little girl on her back on the dock, rubbing her chest and shaking her shoulder.
揝erena! Can you hear me??
She抯 unresponsive.
He presses two fingers to the carotid artery in her neck, checking for a pulse, while turning his head and leaning his cheek close to her mouth and nose梥o he can feel if she抯 breathing and see if her chest is moving.
But she抯 not.
He tilts her head back to open her airway and pinches her nose, covering her mouth with his and delivering two steady rescue breaths. Then he checks for respiration and a pulse again.
He lifts up. 揘o pulse, no respiration梥tarting compressions.?
His voice is robotic, the same tone he uses in the trauma room. It抯 why repetition is an essential part of medical training梬e have to go through the steps automatically. There抯 no time for thinking or feeling when seconds make the difference between life and death.
Connor folds his hands on the little girl抯 chest and pushes down with straight arms梡umping her heart for her. The CPR ratio for a child is fifteen compressions to two breaths when multiple rescuers are present. I move to her other side, down on my knees to take over the rescue breathing. Because in real life, CPR isn抰 like in the movies. It抯 hard work, taxing, and we have to work together if we抮e going to last.