Page 10 of Running Home to You
“Oh my God, you’re dramatic. You won’t do it.” Courtney turned to the team. “She won’t.”
“Watch me.” Abby snatched the liquor bottle from Jill and chugged.
Kate’s pulse charged in her throat. People had jumped into the river this time of year before, but never after sunset, never after drinking, and never for a full swim to the island. “No, this has gone too far. The game is done.”
“Nah, the game is just getting started.” Abby hissed and smacked the empty bottle into Jill’s stomach.
“That water is way too fucking cold, dude,” Mick said. “Seaborn, call a truce.”
“I’m not calling a fucking truce,” Courtney said. “Let her drown.”
“Court, stop it!” Kate shouted.
“Shut up, Hutch! I know you warned her about the swim.” Lauren glared.
The team erupted in drunk hysteria, pointing fingers, inching into each other’s faces, the seniors screaming at the juniors, the juniors screaming at the seniors. The inebriated sophomores chanted for Abby to swim. In the chaos, before anyone could stop her, Abby ripped off her soaked T-shirt, chucked it at Courtney’s face, and dove into the river.
The water met her skin like a thousand knife tips. She kicked and reached through the initial shock, met the air, and gasped, beforebobbing back under. The river’s claws dragged her down like a monster of the deep. She flailed, grunted bubbles, and choked when she came up again. On the dock, her teammates screamed for her to return, but she floated on her back instead. Water sloshed in her ears. Her eyes met the lavender sky.
“Mom.”
Abby didn’t know if it came off the wind or from her frigid lips. Perhaps flirting with mortality conjured the lost word. Pictures flashed along with it. Her mother in the kitchen with the teal tile backsplash, hips swaying as she cooked, singing along to Springsteen in the summer. Laughter and encouragement, clapping from the bleachers and the beach.
“Swim, Abby,” she’d say during those long summers. “Swim.”
Abby swore the message arrived on the gusts plowing through the canyon, courtesy of an unmistakable ghost. There was no other explanation. So, she swam. Not back to the team, but forward.
The current fought her on the choppy swim. Her legs cramped and her toes stiffened. A contradictory pain that permeated the icy numbness it created. But if Abby was anything, it was stubborn. Durable. And while each stroke through the water hurt, at least now she controlled her own pain. For months she’d tried to with booze and poor decisions, but unlike those vices, the swim inspired her to fight for a life she didn’t know she still cared about.
When she finally hauled herself up the shore, she struggled to breathe. Of course, she still mustered enough energy to flip two middle fingers at her teammates on the dock. Then she flopped down, huffed, and stared at the vacant island’s treetops. She considered what it meant to evade drowning for one more day. If it would mean anything at all tomorrow.
“Did you swim out here?”
Abby popped up to catch the wind’s message, certain it was another whisper from her mother. Instead, she discovered two men in a small fishing boat.
“It’s dangerous! Can we give you a ride back in?”
She didn’t really want to return but couldn’t withstand the cold much longer either. They pulled her into the boat and gave her a towel. The ride back took two minutes, but she pathetically slumped into herself when they arrived.
“Holy shit,” Mick said.
The fishermen lifted her up to the landing. In the team’s frenzied, nonsensical bickering, Kate reached her first. She draped her coat around Abby and held her close as she swayed.
“You’re insane,” Courtney said.
Abby cracked open her frozen lips. “But-but-but I’m off-off gear duty, right? First one, first one there and back-back, b-bitch.”
Jill chuckled. “That’s technically right, Seaborn. You stated the rules loud and clear.”
“Okay, everyone needs to get the fuck out of here before we’re all busted. You take the freshmen back to the dorms. We’ll take care of Cruz,” Mick said. “Go!”
The team scattered in the dark, sprinting for the parking lot, and while out of the clutches of the Columbia River, Abby trembled harder by the second.
“Are you okay?” Kate asked.
Abby leaned into her as water dripped off her nose and hair. “Just fuck-fucking cold.”
“Mick, she’s turning blue.” Kate pressed a hand to Abby’s cheek. “She might have hypothermia.”
