The blonde man is literally everywhere I go. Out of the corner of my eye, in a coffee shop, down the road. He's always doing something, always with someone, always talking. Every once in a while, I think I recognize him, but it's not until Mary grabs my arm suddenly in the middle of a Flatbread that I work it out.
"Anne, do you see the guy getting into the car outside?"
I turn to look. Sure enough, it's the mystery blonde man. Hen, Lou, Harry, Ben, Nikki, and Charles all turn to look, while the kids draw on their place mats.
"Ohh, isn't he the one who was hitting on you?" Hen asks me. Lou stays oddly quiet, still uncomfortable from yesterday.
"Hitting on her? Why would he hit on her?" Mary asks. "Do you know who he is, Anne?"
"No, not really…"
"That's Elliot Williams," I stare at her blankly. "Elliot Williams. You know, Mom's lawyer's son. You used to play with him when you were younger." The fact that she knows this stuff about me is unbelievable.
"You mean the kid who used to throw rocks at me? That Elliot Williams?"
"He did not throw rocks at you!"
"Yes, he did."
"Well, anyway that's him. Too bad you didn't know who he was, or you could have introduced yourself."
"After the fight his dad and our dad had when Mom died? Wouldn't that be weird?"
"But he liked you, Anne. He said you were pretty," Hen teases, leaning across the table. I blush, then curse myself for blushing. Just like me to turn into a stupid little girl at the worst possible time.
"Who did?" Mary demands, indignant.
"Elliot Williams," I drawl, getting a slightly sick enjoyment out of seeing Mary so uncomfortable. "And as a matter of fact, he called me beautiful."
The talk rises and falls around me, and I look across the table, catching Ahmir's eye. His expression is unreadable, and I look away from it, embarrassed.
Elliot Williams?
Harry likes showing us the sights and sounds of Lyme. He's as proud of his new home town, in which he would never have been able to live when he was growing up, as he is of his wife and children. Over the next week or so, he takes us on excursions and out to restaurants, and the more time I spend with him and his family, the more I like them. I see why Ahmir looks up to him.
All the exercise, of course, is not good for his knee. The day we had planned to go walking around the low cliffs to the northeast, he is laid up in bed, his leg in a bionic ligament stretcher, slowly strengthening his muscles. Nikki decides not to leave him alone, and offers to babysit Charlie as well so we can have a child-free day. Mary readily agrees, bringing the number of full days she has spent with Charlie this trip down to three. Charles comes in a close second with a four. Before he goes to Harry and Nikki's, Charlie presses the new picture he's drawn—apparently a bumblebee with lightning shooting out of its body—into my hand, then hugs my legs. He accepts a kiss from Mary and a growling hug from Charles. Mary looks at my gift and purses her lips. I pretend I don't care, and I find out that it works.
The cliffs are not really as cliff-like as the ones in Ireland, or you know, places with real cliffs. These are more like steep rock faces that lead to the ocean. The area we decide to rest at isn't too deep—there's a small beach in the next alcove caused by cliff faces forming a semi-circle—but is right at the very top of a decent-sized plummet into the ocean.
I find myself a spot on the rocks that jut out into the water, a little further down the cliff face than the rest of the group. From where I sit, the sound of waves drowns out the general excited chatter from above. I open my book, put my sunglasses on, and focus my mind on drifting away.
The torchlight flares, and the lovers lean
Toward Yasmini, with yearning eyes,
Who dances, wondering what they mean,
And gives cold kisses, and scant replies.
They talk of Love, she withholds the name,-
(Love came to her as a Flame of Fire!)
From things that are only a wary shame;
Trivial Vanity;-light Desire.
Ahi, Yasmini, the light Desire!
Yasmini bends to the praise of men,
And looks in the mirror, upon her hand,
To curse the beauty that failed her then-
Ah, none of her lovers can understand!
How her whole life hung on that beauty's power,
The spell that waned at the final test,
The charm that paled in the vital hour,-
Which won so many,-yet lost the best!
Ahi, Yasmini, who lost the best!
She leaves the dancing to reach the roof,
With the lover who claims the passing hour,
Her lips are his, but her eyes aloof
While the starlight falls in a silver shower.
Let him take what pleasure, what love, he may,
He, too, will suffer e'er life be spent,-
But Yasmini's soul has wandered away
To join the Lover, who came,-and went!
Ahi, Yasmini, He came,-and went!*
Suddenly, I hear a shout that is clear enough to break through my reverie.
"I'm gonna do it!" Lou calls, climbing over the rocks to stand at the very edge of the cliff, on top of what looks like a clear drop into the water. The distance down is formidable, and from where I sit, I can see that better than anyone. It's a distance that makes me catch my breath—I know what's going to happen, and I know there's no stopping it. I stand up, and hurriedly take off my shorts and my t-shirt, kicking my sandals from my feet.
"Lou!" Hen calls out, "it's too high!"
"Lou, come down," Ahmir stands up, reaching out a shand to her. "Don't be stupid. Come down. We can swim somewhere safer, okay?"
"Nope, I've made up my mind!" She throws back her head and laughs, a bright, clear, happy sound, and then she's off the top of the cliff, arms and legs swaying gracefully, her hair flying in a golden waterfall above her head. The sun shines off her bare arms and legs, giving a glow to her already tanned skin, and in that glorious moment she is an incomparable thing of beauty. I don't know if the silence I hear is real or just my ears stopping the way my own heart stops, the way my own breath stops. No time to think, no time to act, or plan. But I know what I have to do. I've been trained.
Her fall is magnificent, but she's misjudged the distance, and too late she understands. Too late, her eyes widen as her momentum pulls her forward, and forward, until her body is no longer pin-straight. If she'd known the old trick I'd been taught—to keep running in the air to stay upright, maybe it would have been different. But the angle at which she jumped, and the strength of her movement causes her to hit the water wrong. I hear the smack of her head against the surface of the water in my sternum, and the second I see where she landed, I jump in after her.
Sea rescue is different from pool or lake rescue. Sea rescue is dangerous and unpredictable, and it's all too easy to save someone else's life only to sacrifice your own, or to get both of you sucked down or pulled out to sea. When Lousia Musgrove hits the water, the blow to the head is intense. The resulting wave brings her up against a cluster of rocks, breaking both her legs, and knocking her head again.
This is the wave I jump into. There is a shout from the cliff. I can see Lou, and I need to get to her fast before she gets pulled away for good. I strike out with all my strength, and soon enough, and catch hold of her bringing her under my right arm so her head is resting on my shoulder, above the waterline. She's not conscious.
Getting to her was easy, but getting back is more difficult. The tide is going out, and it's strong. This part of the Cape is not recommended for swimming, because the riptide is deadly, and now I understand just how dangerous it can be. And if I don't get Lou back to shore soon, we could be caught in that riptide, which is essentially a death sentence. So I swim as hard as I can, cursing my own negligence of my body, the weakness of my muscles. If I'd stayed in shape, maybe I could save us.
A wave crashes against us, and go under. The pull out to sea wrenched Lou's body behind me, twisting my shoulder and arm to an extreme. She slips slightly, and I hear a pop and feel searing pain as my shoulder comes out of its socket. I can't lose her, I cannot lose her. I kick to the surface, hiking Lou up as best I can, and I strike out for the rock again. This time, the wave that comes pushes me against the outcrop of rocks so hard my face scrapes against the surface, and my left wrist bumps it painfully. I grab hold fiercely. I hear another shout from above, and I call something out in return. Now that we're half out of the water, the waves whip Lou's body around, wrenching my shoulder again and again.
Voices are getting nearer to me, and I hear Ahmir shout "Charles! Call 911!" Then strong hands are pulling Lou out of the water. I can't let go of her, but I let out a sob of pain as moving her jars my shoulder. My left wrist's screaming with pain, but I keep my hold on the rocks. Then Lou is disentangled from me, and I am pulled up by my other shoulder, until I am free of the water, and I'm lying on my back, coughing up brine, face-to-face with the flawless blue sky.
"Anne! Anne, are you okay? Anne!" Ahmir's voice is shaking, and I feel his hands on my face, on my arms, on my ribs. "Anne!"
"I'm okay," I croak, struggling to sit up.
"Stay down. Did you hit your head? No, damn it, Anne, stay down."
"Where's Lou?" I sit up all the way.
"She's over there. I don't… She just—" he's lost, distraught. Breathless, drawn, and shaking. "I…" His hands reach out to stop me as I stand up, gasping in pain as I move my shoulder. They fall away as I move to Lou, kneeling down next to her. Mary and Hen are screaming and holding each other, and Charles is silent. Ben kneels down next to me, as does Ahmir.
"What should we do?" Ahmir asks. I take a breath to collect my thoughts.
"You've called 911?"
Ben nods. "They should be here soon."
"Okay. Check her pulse." I pick up her wrist and feel for her heart beat, and Ahmir does the same at her throat. It's there, the heart beat, and it's strong enough not to send me into a panic.
"She's breathing," Ben announces, holding his hand over her nose and mouth.
"Good." I turn to Ahmir. "Can I have your cell phone?" He pulls it out and hands it to me without question. I try to move my right arm, and bite back a scream. Ahmir reaches out and puts a hand on my uninjured shoulder. After I catch my breath, I ask him to pull her eyelid back. I find the flashlight app on his phone, and shine it directly into her eye. The pupil doesn't change. It stays dilated. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Oh, God.
"She has a concussion." I say. The two men look at me. We all know that prolonged unconsciousness after a concussion is a bad, bad, thing.
I want to follow the ambulance in the car, but Ahmir insists I ride with the EMTs. There isn't much for them to do besides clean the scrape on my face and give me a piece of gauze to hold. The younger one tries to give me an oxygen tank, but I wave it away. I don't blame him. I probably would have done the same thing if I were still an EMT.
When we get to the hospital, Lou is wheeled down the end of the hall and around the corner, while I'm brought to a bed in a more open space. There, forty minutes later, my right arm is in a sling after being put back in its socket (painfully, might I add), and the finishing touches are being put to the cast on my wrist. My face has been cleaned again, and a clear, shiny, sticky gel has been put over the worst of the scrape to keep it closed. Liquid stitches, the doctor calls it.
"You're lucky, you know," she says, turning my wrist over and over, double checking her work. "We get a lot of drowning stories here. You need to be careful."
"I wasn't really swimming," I say, slightly annoyed and certainly overstimulated. "I jumped in to save—"
"Oh yes, your friend." She sounds sad, and I lean forward, desperate.
"Do you know what's going on with her? Is she going to be okay?"
"Are you family?"
"She's my sister-in-law."
"I'll see what I can find out."
The list, when it comes, is long and shocking. Lou has two broken legs, a fractured knee-cap, three cracked ribs, two sprained ankles, a collapsed lung, possible brain damage from her too-long time unconscious, and bruises over every inch of her body. When she is finally lucid, and after her scans prove that there is no internal brain bleeding, she is moved to the ICU, where the entire Musgrove and friends party moves to stand awkwardly by the bed. There are too many people in the room, and nowhere to sit down, and the doctor informs us, with a beady, terrifying stare, that we should choose someone to stay with Lou and go home and get some sleep, because all we'll do it excite her. Charles immediately offers to stay, but Mary and Hen don't want to go home without him.
"It should be Anne," Ahmir says, in the middle of the quiet bickering that arises from Charles' insisting on staying. "She knows what she's doing, she's smart, she's gentle. She won't excite Louisa when she wakes up. If someone's going to stay with Lou, it should be Anne."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Mary hisses, glancing at the door to the room, outside of which we are standing in an attempt to not overexcite Lou. "She has a broken wrist and her arm in a sling! She should be home asleep. Besides, what good would Anne be to Lou when she wakes up? Anne is nothing to Louisa, while I'm family, and I get sent home to sleep? I don't think I'll ever sleep again. No, Anne should go home."
I glance over at Ahmir and catch his eyes. He's frustrated, angry, and I give him a wry smile and a shrug, which says "You tried." His lips tighten even further. He knows as well as I do that I wouldn't have been able to sleep. He knows even better than I do how I need to be given a purpose in order to feel useful.
The in-fighting continues until Ben, who had up until this point been quiet and off at a respectful distance, offers to sit in this one night. That way Charles can bring my sister and Hen home, and I can get some rest. I look at Ahmir, expecting him to offer to stay in Ben's place, but he only nods and offers to bring Ben coffee and breakfast in the morning.
The car ride is silent on the way home. Mary gives Hen one of her Seroquel, and Charles carries her upstairs to her bed when we get back to the house. Once Hen is out of earshot, Mary rounds on me.
"What the hell were you thinking? Jumping in the water like that, have you lost your mind?"
I sigh, rubbing my eyes with my fingers as best I can. I am so tired, but I know I'll never fall asleep. "I was thinking she was going to die, and that I could help." The tires of Ahmir's car made a crunching noise on the gravel driveway. The front door was open, only the screen kept us insulated from the outside world.
"Now's a pretty terrible time to start playing the hero, Anne. You could have been killed."
"Yeah, I know that," I snap, my temper getting the better of me. "I was very aware of the possibility of death, okay? But Lou was drowning, what did you want me to do?"
"Sit your ass down on the rocks where it belongs and let one of the guys take care of it! Look at you, you're an absolute mess! You think you can just jump in the ocean and fight the riptide and not get hurt! That's really stupid, Anne."
"Oh it's stupid. It's stupid to want to help Lou, who's been my friend for years? I was not going to just sit there and watch her drown when I could have done something. None of the guys are trained lifeguards. I am. Just try to understand that. Think you can?"
"You know, if this is how you are now, if this is the 'new Anne Elliot' thing, I can do without it."
"Poor you."
"I'm serious, Anne. If this behavior continues, I'm seriously going to have to reconsider how much time you spend with my son."
"What?"
"Your attitude? Your recklessness? Not the examples I want to set for him."
"Oh, okay, so let me get this straight: as long as I act selfishly and sit back during crises, as long as I keep my mouth shut, I have your permission to see my nephew, but when I do the first good deed I have ever done for another person, you seriously have to reconsider my time with him?"
"Don't be petulant—"
"And just what kind of example are you setting for him, Mary? You barely talk to him, you never play with him..."
"You seriously need to back off right now—"
"You just sit around here, moaning about how bad you feel, and how you never have energy to do anything, when you have responsibilities, and now you're telling me that I'm not responsible enough? That's really how you're gonna go with this one?"
"You're criticizing me? You don't even have a life, you're just this, like, drudge—"
"You want to know why you're so freaked right now? You're just worried that if I start being really fun, Charlie, Charles, and everybody else will start liking me better than they like you! You're worried that I'll be a better mother to him than you could ever be, and at this moment, that is exactly what I am! Don't even start to pretend like you're worried for my safety; the real reason you're angry is because I make you redundant in your own life, and that is exactly how you'll stay until you get up off your lazy ass and do something!"
I have crossed a line. Big time. In the silence after I run out of breath, Mary glares at me with an indescribable hatred. But her voice, when she speaks, is deadly calm.
"Get your bags and leave. Now. Don't come back."
I can't even summon up enough feeling to be hurt. I am so full of rage, so suddenly, that I feel like it's shooting out of my hands and feet, lighting up the early evening sky in a beacon of anger. Mary goes into her room quietly, and closes the door. There is only silence from the other side. I hear a sound to my left, and see Ahmir gently opening the screen door and stepping in. He must have heard everything. He watches me warily, as if I'll fall to pieces right there on the kitchen floor. I turn impatiently away from him, only to come face to face with Charles, at the foot of the stairs, mouth agape with shock. I turn away from him, too, and go to my bag, which is on the floor by the couch. There isn't a lot for me to pack—just my toothbrush, book, and shampoo. I have never been more grateful for that than I am right now.
"Anne—" Charles starts. He stops, clears his throat. "You don't have to go anywhere. She'll blow over in a little…" he trails off. We both know he's lying.
"It's fine. I'm leaving." I stuff my book into my backpack as best I can with one arm, then lift the bag up to the back of the couch so I can wrangle it closed.
"You should at least stay the night. It's too late to start out now."
"Charles. I'm leaving. If you could drive me to the bus station—"
Two hands take my bag from my hands, and zip it closed swiftly. "No, I'll take you." I look up into Ahmir's face, surprised, and he looks back for a second, expressionless, before turning to reassure Charles that it's alright. When Charles finally stopped protesting, I let him hug me goodbye, though I am still shaking with anger.
"Say goodbye to Charlie for me, okay? And give my best to Hen and the others. And call me if…" I stop, not knowing what else to say. Charles just nods and hugs me again, and apologizes again, then stands at the door, watching Ahmir throw my bag in the trunk, watching me climb into the passenger seat, and watching us peal out of the driveway.
The drive is three and a half hours to Logan airport. Ahmir lets almost one of those hours go before he even tries talking to me.
"I'm sorry that happened." He sounds awkward, almost shy. I shrug. "Are you going to be okay?" he asks me.
"Yeah."
"Anne… look, I just wanted to say that if—if you…" he pauses, then, "how's your shoulder? Your wrist?"
"My shoulder's sore. I don't really feel the wrist anymore."
"Your face?"
"Oh, God, is it bad? I didn't even think—"
"No! No, it's not bad. I mean, it's there, you know, it's definitely there, but it's not disfiguring, you know." He taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "So, you're good. Is what I'm trying to say."
We sit in silence for a little while longer. Then, "What you did was really brave. Diving in after Lou like that, that was…well, it was great."
I feel my anger start to dissipate, and for a second I let myself feel warm and fuzzy at the praise he's giving me. But just for a moment. The silence drags out, and soon, I find myself sinking down in the seat, my eyes closing as the motion from the car and the sound of the engine puts me to sleep.
I feel a hand on my cheek; a thumb, lightly striking my cheekbone.
"Anne? Anne, wake up."
I fight against the warm waves of sleep, the air from the car vents on my face, and I sit up, blinking awake and sitting up. It takes me a while to realize where we are, the fluorescent lights, the complete darkness outside, and the hustle of people to my right. When I do realize, when I fully comprehend, I turn to Ahmir, embarrassed, mortified, and stammer an apology, "Oh, oh my God, oh…Ahmir, I'm so sorry, I didn't know I slept for so long, I'm sorry…" but there's not much I can say about it now. All told, I was asleep for two hours, letting him do the driving all alone. "You should have woken me up."
"You needed your sleep," is all he says, a small smile at the corner of him mouth. His hand is resting on my headrest.
"I'm so sorry…" I look around me, rubbing my eyes and yawning. "Are you going to be okay driving back?"
"Nah, I'll get a room for the night," he hitches his thumb back toward the Hilton, "drive back in the morning," he pauses, then peers over my shoulder toward the sliding door. "Where are you going to go?"
I shrug, folding my hands over in my lap. "To Bath, I think. That's where my family is. I'll decide from there."
"Don't you hate Bath?"
I blink, surprised at how much he remembers. "Yeah, I do. But it's the only place I have to go right now, so there it is."
"Are you going to be okay going on your own?" His eyes are all concern, and I melt just a little more. If it's going to be final, I suppose it should be complete. I smile at him, reaching for the car door handle with my left hand. "I'll be okay. I'll get one of those cart thingies. No need to worry."
But he gets out of the car with me (illegally—there's no stopping at the curb), and pulls my bag from the trunk, hitching it over his own shoulder as we step into the muted lights of the A terminal. He follows me to the ticket counter, where I buy the next available flight to Bath, and loads it onto the scale and conveyer belt for me. The check personnel look from my injuries to Ahmir and back, but they don't say anything.
How do you say goodbye to an old love? How do you say goodbye at all? Most of the time, when I say goodbye, I pretend that I'll see that person the next day, to make it easier. Because I hate goodbyes. But this is goodbye, I think. Even if I see Ahmir again, it won't be the same. This is the kind of goodbye that goodbyes were invented for, the type that put people, places, and experiences truly in the past. Good luck. God be with you.
I have no idea how to do this. I can't hug him. I can't make a joke. I have nothing to hug with, really. Just a gimpy arm and a huge cast. But it's that cast he reaches for, and he draws a pen from his pocket, and turns my hand over until the palm is up. After a few seconds of concentrating, he releases my arm, and there, at the base of my thumb, is a tiny symbol I once taught him how to draw: a tiny mouse's face made out of a heart. Heat floods my cheeks, and I find suddenly that I'm on the verge of crying.
He caps the pen. "Take care of yourself, Anne." His eyes are very dark and very serious, and they never waver from my face.
"And the same to you, Ahmir." I have to be the one to turn away, and so I do. I turn and start to walk away, but then, suddenly, I realize that I will never get another opportunity to say what I should say, and so I turn around. He hasn't moved.
"Ahmir?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. For everything. I'm so sorry." That's all I can say. It's not much, but it's something. It's definitely something better than nothing. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't say anything, and so I turn around and keep walking until I'm through the security, and even then I don't turn back to look. Goodbye is goodbye. It's only fair to make it a real one at the start.
End Part One.
*From "Lament of Yasmini, the Dancing Girl" by Laurence Hope. 1921.