Free Come Closer by Sara Gran

away, to Alex and Sophia’s beach house for the weekend, and Ed wanted to leave early to beat the traffic.

 
    A LTHOUGH IT WASN’T discussed, it was clear that Ed and I would both be on our best behavior this weekend, and get our relationship back on track. Saturday morning it seemed like it would be easy. It was a brilliant day, the sun was still summery yellow and warm, and we listened to a rock and roll marathon on the radio as we drove out. Ed sang along with the radio in a silly voice; I took off my shoes and rested my newly pedicured feet on the dashboard. We rolled down the windows and the sun shone into the car. When Ed’s hand wasn’t needed on the steering wheel, he put it in my lap.
    Alex and Sophia’s house was as bland as they were: lots of pale blue throw pillows and store-bought seashells scattered around. But it was neat and comfortable, and most important, it was steps from the beach. At the house I changed into a black one-piece swimsuit and Ed put on his loose khaki trunks that went almost to his knees. After a quick look around the house to check for necessities—soap, shampoo, towels, coffee—we walked down to the beach and settled in on a worn pink bedsheet we had brought from home. Ed took out a paperback novel, and after a few pages fell asleep, snoring on the sheet next to me. I lay down and tried to nap.
    But I couldn’t fall asleep. The sun was too hot, the small patch of sheet was confining, and Edward was annoying, snoring as he was. I was burning hot. I decided to go for a swim.
    I stood up and walked towards the water. Officially, the season had ended. No lifeguards were out and swimming wasn’t allowed but no one was there to stop the handful of us who bobbed in and out of the shallow water.
    I swam up and down a few yards of the ocean, and then out a little further. The water was still shallow enough so that I could stand. I closed my eyes and felt the cold of the water and the heat of the sun. When I opened my eyes I saw a little girl, maybe five or six, a few feet away, between me and the shore. She shouldn’t have been in the water alone at all, let alone out so far. Ordinarily I would have led her back to the shore. Today, though, I just watched her. She splashed happily around in the small waves, dunking her head in and out and letting her small body get tossed around by the gentle undertow. Her nutmeg skin was sunburned red on the shoulders. She saw me watching her and smiled. I smiled back.
    “You shouldn’t be out so deep,” I said. She shrugged and dunked under again. A little wave came in and tossed her around. I saw the top of her head poke up from the water, then her tiny feet. When she finally righted herself and got her head above water she was coughing, maybe crying a little. Not hurt, but scared.
    “I’ll help you,” I said. I swam towards her. While I was on my way another little wave came along, knocking her down again. I dove towards her and then reached out and grabbed her hair, as if to pull her head above water.
    But I didn’t. I grabbed her hair in my right hand and pulled down. Sickeningly, I could feel the life drain from her as I held her under the water, feel the heat from her body trickle away. I saw her life before my eyes, most of it lived in a cramped railroad apartment. Just before she drowned I pulled her up and let her take some air, then pulled her back down again. It was a game. Up down, up down. The girl had a head on her shoulders though, and the next time up she started to scream. A fat middle-aged woman swimming near the shore perked her head up and looked around. I plunged the girl under one more time and dunked my own head too, as if we’d both been caught in an undercurrent, and then jumped back up with my arm around the girl’s head.
    “I think she’s drowning,” I called out to the woman, who was quickly walking through the water towards us. “Give me a hand.” The strong woman grabbed the limp child out of my arms and ran