He hums, hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to get another workout in.”
One more nod and he walks out.
Chapter Eighteen
After teaching back-to-back morning classes, I make a beeline for the shower as soon as we get home. Twenty minutes later I’m dressed and go in search of Sam. We’re meeting Walter for a late lunch.
I don’t find him glued to the Xbox where I expect to. Nor do I locate him anywhere else in the house. Roxy is also nowhere to be found. Which kickstarts a little bit of concern. Grant is seeing his agent today and isn’t expected back until early evening so that rules him out.
I step out onto the patio and don’t find him there either. Scanning the horizon, I get the same crappy result. The concern spikes, twists, and turns until it becomes a full-on ache in my chest.
I’m going to ground him for scaring me. No video games for a week. Then I hear Sam yelling for Roxy to fetch the tennis ball. From my elevated vantage point on the edge of the patio, I can see that the ball has landed in the water.
Two things happen at once. I know in my heart of hearts that Roxy will not, under any circumstance, get her paws wet and that my son will go into the frigid Atlantic to get it, a body of water known for its powerful undertow.
Everything slows down and my scope of vision narrows. I try to yell for him stop but the chunk of stone-cold fear lodged in my throat prevents any sound from coming out. This stretch of beach butts up against high-priced homes. It’s secluded and mostly deserted. No lifeguards on duty. No people crowding the beach. Nobody is coming to our rescue.
Sam starts running after it and I move without thought, launching myself down a flight of stairs and powering through the sand to get to my kid. I’m only halfway there by the time Sam is in the water knee deep.
“Saaaam!!!” I finally get out.
Even though my long legs cover ground quickly, I’m still not fast enough. He’s already in the water up to his waist when he hears me. Sam turns and in that small increment of time, a wave hits him from behind and knocks him off his feet. He disappears from sight, dragged under.
Roxy starts to bark aggressively, running back and forth along the shoreline.
Time stands still as I dive into the water, all my senses focused on one and only one objective––to save my son. The shocking cold makes me gasp, causing me to swallow a mouthful of saltwater. My throat and lungs sting. My muscles burn and yet I don’t stop kicking.
The water is murky, the floating sediment making it impossible to see anything. A strange thought hits me. It reminds me of a lava lamp with blobs of floating color. A flash of red appears among the cloud of brown and I lunge for it, hitting the solid weight of Sam’s back. Grabbing the t-shirt, I pull him in and hold him tightly.
I once heard a story about a mother lifting a car to save her child. There isn’t a shadow of a doubt that it could happen. Because despite the searing pain in my body and the burn in my throat, I kick and kick until we break the surface sputtering and coughing.
“I got you,” I gasp. “Got you.”
Harnessing all the strength I have left, I swim the few treacherous feet back to shore, dragging his limp body.
Dev and I took CPR classes as part of our business training. We teach physical exercise and even under the best of circumstances anything can happen. A heart attack, epileptic attack––you name it. It was imperative we seek medical advice on how to handle many of these situations. I could never have anticipated how critical that training would be to me personally.
Sam is unconscious, his lips blue. I react instinctively. Two pushes on his bony chest and Sam spits up water, coughing and gagging and ultimately crying.
I gather my baby up in my arms and rock him back and forth while he cries. The relief that he’s safe and in my arms doesn’t last long. It’s swiftly overshadowed by the feeling that this is all my fault. That I’m a horrible mother and I don’t deserve him. And no matter how much I argue with myself that it’s only my old demons rearing up, I can’t quite find the strength to quiet them.
“All clear. The X-rays of his lungs looked good. I’ll have Jenny get his discharge papers ready,” the doctor says with a smile.
I sag against the examination room bed and squeeze Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks, Dr. Emery.”
“No problem.” She turns a soft smile on my son, who looks crankier than I’ve ever seen him. “No more swimming without Mom around, Sam.”