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Chloe trails her fingers in the water, creating tiny ripples that spread out in our wake. “I wish we could stay out here forever,” she sighs.

“Me too,” I admit, surprising myself with the truth of it. Out here, with the sun on my face and the breeze in my hair, the stresses and pressures of my life in Chicago feel a million miles away.

Lost in thought, I don’t notice Chloe’s hand sneaking toward the surface of the river until it’s too late. She scoops up a handful of water, flinging it toward me with a gleeful laugh.

“Oh, it’s on!” I sputter, retaliating with a splash of my own.

Our laughter mingles with the sound of the swell lapping against the prow as we engage in an all-out water fight, the boat rocking gently beneath us. For a precious few minutes, we’re just two friends, playing and joking, without a care in the world.

But the moment is shattered by a sudden, sickening crunch. I freeze, my heart lodging in my throat, as I see water beginning to seep through a jagged crack in the hull.

“Rachel?” Chloe’s voice is small and scared. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know!”

I let go of the oars and cup my hands, trying to scoop up handfuls of water to throw back into the river.

I swallow hard, trying to quell the rising panic. The boat is sinking, the crack widening before my eyes, water pouring in faster than I can bail it out.

“We’re going to be okay,” I manage, my voice sounding far calmer than I feel. “Just hold on to me, alright?”

Chloe nods, her face pale, her eyes wide and trusting. I pull her close, my mind racing, searching for a solution, a way out. But the shore is too far, the water too cold, and the boat is sinking fast.

As the water laps at our ankles, as the boat begins to tilt beneath us, all I can do is hold Chloe tighter and pray that help will come, before it’s too late.

“Chloe, check your life vest! Hurry!” I shout. My hands tremble as I check the straps and clasps of my own vest, the urgency making my movements clumsy.

Chloe scrambles to the back of the boat, nearly losing her footing on the slippery floor.

“I’m scared, Rachel,” she whimpers, her voice quivering.

“I know, sweetie. But we’re going to be alright.” I try to infuse my words with a confidence I don’t feel. The icy water is now up to our shins, the boat groaning and listing heavily to one side. “We’re going to have to jump into the water, okay? On the count of three.”

Chloe nods, her face a mask of fear and determination. She grips my hand tightly, her small fingers icy cold. I try to calm the frantic pounding of my heart.

“One… two… three!”

We leap from the sinking boat, plunging into the frigid water. The shock steals my breath, the cold seizing my muscles. For a terrifying moment, I’m disoriented, unsure which way is up. But then my life vest buoys me to the surface, and I break through, gasping and sputtering.

“Chloe!” I call out, my voice raw with fear. “Chloe, where are you?”

A small hand grabs mine, and I nearly sob with relief. Chloe clings to me, her teeth chattering, her face ghostly pale. Behind us, the boat slips under the surface, leaving only ripples in its wake.

We bob in the water, adrenaline and fear coursing through our veins. The shore in either direction seems impossibly far away, the water stretching out in an endless expanse. But we’re alive. We’re together. And somehow, someway, we’ve got to move. Got to make it to land.

I wrap my arm around Chloe, holding her close. “Just hold on to me,” I say, my voice shaking. “We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

And as we float there, two small figures in the vast, unforgiving river, I can only hope that it’s a promise I can keep.

I kick my legs, adjusting to accommodate Chloe, and head for the shore. But as hard as I kick, we don’t seem to be going forward.

If anything, we’re going sideways.

It seems the current has other ideas and continues its relentless pursuit towards the ocean. I roll onto my back, and, using the buoyancy of the life preserver, drag Chloe over so that she can hold me around the chest. Switching to froggy style, I feel like I have more power behind each kick.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. I remember the words from my swimming lessons all those years ago. The teacher’s simple instructions were shouted down to all the students in the water. But that was a swimming pool, temperature controlled, without tides, without any movement whatsoever except the occasional splash from another student whose kick was too high. This is a real, angry, unstoppable river.

The water laps against our faces, cold and relentless. Each swell sends a fresh shiver through my body, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. Chloe’s grip around my neck is like a vise, her fingernails digging into my skin. But I welcome the pain, the physical anchor to reality.