I kick my flippers and glide through the door. The light flicks around, but it’s still hard to get my bearings. It’s a small galley – big enough for three or four people – and the sink, the stove, even the countertops are all on their side. In the corner, a ladder that usually runs up to the second floor now runs horizontally. Same with the stairs that go down to the cargo hold. The ceiling’s on my right; the floor’s on my left. When I look up, two empty wood cabinets sway open like the Coke machine. In between them is an open porthole window. Weightlessness hits hard and the room starts to spin.
I do my best to follow the bubbles, but the confined space is getting the best of me. The walls ripple like they’re made of mercury. It’s like looking through melted glass. My stomach cartwheels and the taste of vomit bites me in the back of the throat. Oh, God – if I puke in the airhose… Frantically, I spin to my left, searching for the door. Instead, I’m face-to-face with the linoleum floor. It doesn’t make sense. I wheel around, but nothing’s familiar. The whole world kaleidoscopes as light-headedness sets in. I grab my chest, panting like a rabid dog. I swear, the room’s getting smaller. And darker. Everything – in every direction – it all goes gray.
A sharp jab hits me in the back and two arms lock around my chest. We flip sideways and I’m not sure which way’s up. The impact knocks the flashlight from my hands and it tumbles in slow motion toward the bottom. As it falls, the whole room flickers like a disco. Fighting free, I spin back and face Gillian. I can barely see her through all the bubbles. Her arms thrash wildly, gripping and grabbing at the front lower part of my vest. It’s the only thing holding my air in place. Why’s she trying to unhook it? Panicking, I hold her by the wrists. She digs in her nails. Refusing to give up, she comes at me again, clawing in a mad rage. But this time, I get a look at her eyes.
“Please… trust me,” she begs with a glance.
Desperately, her hand charges out. A plastic hook flips open, and my weight belt falls away. In a blur, Gillian grabs me by the lapels and shoves me backwards. Following her gaze, I look straight up – and just as I see the open porthole window – she finally lets me go. Without the weight belt, I rise like a human cork. She gives me a final tug to make sure I don’t bang the tank on the way out, but after that, I’ve got a clear shot to the surface.
Swimming madly to catch up, Gillian points to her mouth, reminding me to breathe. I let out a huge puff of air and stare up through the water. Black becomes dark blue becomes sea green. She grabs my hand to make sure I don’t rise too fast. Don’t blow it now, Oliver. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
We crack the surface and the cool night air whips against my face. Next to me, Gillian’s already inflating her vest.
“You okay? Can you breathe?” she asks frantically as she swims to my side. Holding me up, she hits the button on my inflation tube and the vest starts to hiss. It hugs my ribs and squeezes my stomach. Right there, I dry-heave, but the vomit never comes.
“Is that better? Are you okay?” she asks again.
Bobbing in the water, I barely hear the question. Slowly, the color in my vision locks into focus. “Wh-Why’d you leave me?” I ask her.
“Leave you?”
“On the ship – I turned around and you were gone.”
“I thought you saw me – I waved as I left…”
“Then why didn’t you take me with you?”
“For the exact reason I had to pull you out – going down is one thing – navigating inside a wreck… the disorientation… that’s not something you try on your first dive.”
“And that’s the real reason?”
“What other reason would th-?” Her eyes go wide like I jammed a scalpel in her ribs. “Y-you think I… I’d never abandon you… I wouldn’t leave anyone like that.” Her voice cracks as she says the words. It’s like she can’t comprehend it. Letting go of me, she slowly floats away.
“Gillian…”
“I’d never hurt you…”
“I’m not saying you would, it’s just… when you said my real name-”
“In the house – your brother said it.”
“I figured… but when I turned around – when you were gone – I just got scared.”
“But to think I’d… God! This is… this is where I come before I paint… growing up – even now – this is home. If I thought you didn’t trust me, I… I never would’ve invited you.”
Stretching across the water, I grab the shoulder of her vest. “If I didn’t trust you, Gillian, I never would’ve come.”
She shoots me a lasting glance, digesting each word.
“I’m serious,” I quickly add. “I wouldn’t be here if I-”
Her hand flies out like a dart, grabs me by the back of my neck, and reels me in for a soft, smooth kiss. The salty taste on her tongue stings in the best way possible. Underneath, her fingers flick the zipper on my chest.
As we bob in the ocean, the wind’s cold, it’s completely dark, and it’s going to be a bitch of a swim to get back to the boat. But right now, with the neon lights behind us, I’m just enjoying my kiss.
49
“Please tell me you’re joking,” Joey pleaded through her cell phone as her car tore around the corner in the USAir parking lot.
“How many different ways you need me to say it?” Debbie asked. As a USAir ticket counter agent, Debbie was used to dealing with short-tempered customers. But as Joey’s oldest high school friend, she knew this was one who couldn’t be ignored and sent to the back of the line. “The computers froze – the whole system’s down. Stop giving me heartache. They’ll have it back up in ten minutes.”
“I don’t have ten minutes,” Joey said as she screeched into an open spot. “I need it now.”
“Yeah, well, I need a push-up bra that works minor miracles and a husband who remembers how to make my toes curl in bed, but sometimes you’re stuck with what you’ve got.”
“What about frequent-flier miles? Can’t you track them by that?”
“Joey, the computers are down – it’s all on the same system. Besides, how do you even know they’re on USAir?”
“Why else would you leave your car in the USAir parking lot?” Joey asked as she cut the engine. Taking one last look at the blue triangle on the electronic screen, she hopped outside, squinted in the slowly rising sun, and feverishly scanned the packed-to-capacity lot. According to this, the car should be right-
There.
In the corner… close in toward the terminal – Gallo’s government-issued navy Ford – parked illegally in a handicapped spot.
“Crap,” Joey whispered as she turned back and yanked her bags from the trunk. Tacklebox under one arm; duffel bag under the other. With the earpiece still dangling from her ear, she ran off-balance toward the terminal. Dashing across the crosswalk, she cut off two honking taxicabs. “What about searching by government-issued tickets? Or on the manifest list?” she called to Debbie. “Isn’t that how you found out who Marsha’s lowlife husband was sitting next to?”
“How many different ways can I say it? It’s all on the same-”
“What about the LEO list?” Joey asked, referring to the airline’s list of law enforcement officers. “Don’t they have to file special paperwork if they want to travel with their guns?”
There was a pause on the other line. “Y’know what…” Debbie began. “Hold on a sec. Lemme call the gate…”