Page 51 of That Last Summer

“Swimming out is simple, the complicated thing is getting back; you can’t run out of strength. If you feel tired, get out of the water.”

I focus on my movements, my strokes, my breaths, and I forget about the waves trying to engulf me, the rain giving me no respite, my heart beating at full speed.

I never stopped swimming. Not in all these years. I do it every week in Boston. I go to a swimming pool near our apartment. And I do it for too many reasons.

When I get to their position, I see they’re all girls. Alex has two of them, and his friend has another two. One is still alone and I need to get to her, she’s drifting further and further away. I can see she’s panicking.

“I can’t go back!” she yells.

Really? Now she’s thinking about getting back? How can people be so irresponsible?

“Hold onto me,” I say when I reach her.

“Thank you,” she replies, her voice loaded with relief. She thinks she’s saved. She has no idea what kind of situation we’re in.

“Don’t thank me, focus on swimming toward the shore.”

“I can’t, the sea pushes me out.”

“Try harder!”

“I can’t!”

“Don’t be nervous, I’m here to help you. Hold on tight to the board, you won’t sink. We’ll do it bit by bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

I hand her the board so she can lean on it and rest. Fighting the current is hard, but I don’t lose my nerve, not this time. My only goal is to make it back to the beach; I know the other girls are safe with Alex and the other lifeguard, so I swim sideways out of the rip.

I have the feeling we’re not moving forward, so it’s almost certain we’re not, but we’re not going further out either. I tie the rope to my shoulder and, isolating myself from everything, I force myself to swim without losing my concentration or my breathing.

“Pris! Priscila!”

I don’t realize someone’s calling my name until the boat is right beside me. Help has finally arrived in the form of two rescue launches, and Alex is on one of them. When his workmate makes a move to help me up, Alex cuts in and lifts me effortlessly into the boat.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hands moving all over my body. He touches every single inch of me for the first time in four years, but I’m so agitated and stressed by what just happened that my brain doesn’t take in it. Or maybe it does.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m fine, really.”

Alex sighs and releases the breath he was holding.

“Let’s get back to the beach!” he yells to his colleagues.

They start the engines and both boats slice forcefully through the waves on their way to the shore. It’s raining hard and I’m beginning to feel cold; I get goose bumps and I hug myself, trying to ease them. I look up and meet Alex’s eyes, watching me intently, alternating between scrolling up and down my body and staring into my eyes. I look away and focus on the shore.

When we arrive at the beach, Alex barely lets the girls get off the boat. He lashes out at them as soon as they put a foot on the sand.

“You are thoughtless! We’ve been whistling at you over and over; if you hear the whistle of a lifeguard, you get out. There’s no discussion. We had to get into the water, you risked not only your lives, but also ours and hers,” he says, pointing at me.

“Pris!” Jaime yells, running to me with my T-shirt in one hand. He hugs me tightly.

“Damn, you’re freezing,” he says, rubbing my back and arms and putting my T-shirt on me. I feel the warmth of the fabric immediately, even though it’s soon soaked through by the rain.

“Sorry,” the girls start to apologize to Alex. They look pretty scared. “We didn’t think...”