Free On Tenterhooks by Greever Williams

imagined herself as Scrooge when the Ghost of Christmas Present whisked him away to the Christmas merriment in the Cratchit household . She was the outsider looking in. This was an image and a role that she did not care for.
     
    Veronica was 45 and single . She had no regrets, only curiosity about how different decisions in her past might have altered her life . W eekend trips were her favorite luxury. She used them to explore her active hobbies: kayaking, scuba diving, and spelunking . She even reserved the last w eekend of the month to drive upstate , where she was a competitive (and successful) pistol target shooter. Lately though, since her mother’s passing, her active pastimes had be come simply that — things to pass the time . E ach week, she decided that the idea of staying in town for an entire weekend without a plan to focus on was too much “ unknown ” to take.
     
    One of her greates t pleasures had been scuba diving . She had earned her certification as an open water diver four years ago , and now it was an obsession for her . Once a month , she would board a three-hour commuter flight from JFK down to Miami or Ft. Lauderdale. From there she’d hop on a one- or two- day excursion to Freeport, Lucaya or another nearby Bahamian stop to explore the aquatic underworld .
     
    Among all of her activities, Veronica relied on the scuba diving . To her it was like a recharge for the soul . She liked to imagine how the warm tropical waters on her skin were pulling the toxins, the stresses and bad karma right out of her pores , when she submerged for each dive . The water surface was a barrier that no board member’s voice, no blaring horns, or ringing smartphone could penetra te . She was immersed , mind and body , in a world that was all her own . The steady rhythm of her respira tor kept her at peace. T he occasional chirping of a nearby bottle - nosed dolphin , or the gentle hum of a boat’s propeller treading through the water above , provided the only other sounds in this world . There were always other divers with her, but she liked to pretend that she was all alone and that the beautiful colors of the reef, the gentle rhythm of the current against her body and the menagerie of intricate sea life were there for her and her alone .
     
    No matter where she chose to dive , Veronica did her best to avoid disturbing her sacred world. In some locations , divers were permitted to remove shells as souvenirs . She had seen beautiful shells, often easy to spot on the sandy ocean floor . Pointy conchs and the fan- shaped coquilles were popular souvenirs for the casual tourist, but she never had the urge to take them with her when she left . Bringing something from this majestic world to the surface and back home to her was sacrilegious . Anything that looked beautiful in the water would look tawdry, cheap and out of place in the world above . A year ago, she had invested in an expensive underwater camera with a waterproof housing and all the attachments . Now s he could take pictures to remind her of the places and the things she had seen . The clownfish staring back at her from her computer monitor was one such trophy she had bagged on a long-weekend getaway to Cozumel, Mexico , during the past winter.
     
    And it was from Cozumel that she had gotten the call about her mom six weeks ago . The call came at 3 :35 on a Wednesday afternoon . S he had been in her office when the phone rang.
     
    “Hello, this is Veronica Ryder.”
     
    “ Hola , Ms. Ryder,” said a man’s voice on the other end, in a distinctly S panish accent. “Is this Veronica Ryder, daughter of Helen Ryder?”
     
    “Yes, it is,” said Veronica . “Why, is something wrong?”
     
    “The d aughter of the H elen Ryder, of Elysburg, Pennsylvania ?” asked the man.
     
    “ Yes, yes,” said Veronica . “ S he’s my m om . Why?  Who is this?”
     
    “ Señorita ,” said the voice, hesitating, “t his is Commander Guillermo De Hoyos with