All of the carrots, celery, apples, and grapes in the world wouldn’t have eased the pains shooting around in Sheila’s stomach. This called for a Cold Stone chocolate sundae with strawberries and peanuts mixed in and whipped cream on top. She ate it sitting at an outside table overlooking the beach. Bird had left without giving her any details about their trip. Her cell phone was on the table within quick reach. If he knew where she lived, she assumed that he knew her number. There was nothing she could do now except wait for a call.
While she drove back to Orange County, Nicholas had tried to call her twice, but she hadn’t answered. Although she didn’t like texting, she thought it was as cumbersome as Morse code, after she finished her sundae; she tapped out a brief message. “Brother Tom deathly ill. Flying 2 Mateo ASAP. Call U L8er. Lve.” The last was an impulse, equivalent to a bouquet of roses an errant man might give to his lady. She felt badly about the off hand way she’d been treating Nicholas. She wondered if it was just a by product of the stresses in her life or a sign of her true feelings for him. As soon as she returned, she’d take time to figure that out.
At home, she surfed through hundreds of channels on the TV and checked her list of recorded programs. None of them had the power to distract her. She took a long, hot bath with plenty of Kiehl’s lavender, foaming bath liquid in the water. But her secret, failsafe weapon against jangled nerves failed. She emerged half an hour later and dried herself with a beach towel. Her travel gear lay on the bed, looking almost like a person. Flop hat with the safari shirt, pants, socks, and boots arranged in a row. Her nerves screamed to get going.
There was one last measure she could try to calm down. Between her garage conversion cottage and the big house that fronted on the street, there was a yard of sorts. Her landlord, when he’d occupied the house, had put in an endless pool. A swim, with the jets set at a fast rate would take the edge off, it always did. She put on her swimming suit and went outside.
The night was cool and quiet. The scent from night blooming star jasmine, which covered the two side fences, filled the air. Sheila turned on the pool lights and started the jets. Of all things about the cottage and its location, the pool that worked like a water treadmill for swimming, might be the thing she’d miss most. Since it held much less water than a standard length lap pool, her landlord could afford to heat the water to a comfortable temperature year round. She sat on the edge and put her cell phone next to her. Then she let herself down into the water. Nice. She pushed into the current, which was set too fast. The remote control, at the end of its tether, floated next to her. She clicked it, decreasing the force of water being pumped toward her, until she could stay in place swimming at a relaxed pace.
It took a few moments for her to get into a rhythm. When she did, she swam and everything that was making her nervous was left in her wake. After about half an hour, she was comfortably tired and thought she might be able to sleep. She turned off the jets, but was reluctant to get out of the pool. Water aerobics, which she learned at the Corona del Mar Senior Center, also relaxed her so she positioned herself at one of the grab bars and did ankle flexes. The jitters came back. One dive under water, she thought, and then I’ll get out and put on a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and wait to hear from Bird.
As soon as she went under, a thunderous noise and tremendous vibrations shook the water. Earthquake her brain screamed. Images of half of southern California falling into the Pacific flashed through her head as she swam to the surface of the water. As she looked up, brilliant, white light nearly blinded her. Her mind offered explanations. A huge meteor streaking across the sky. You’re dead. Don’t go into the light.
She broke through the surface of the water. A helicopter, with a basket suspended below it, hovered over the tread pool. She put her hand over her forehead to shade her eyes so she could see. Bird sat on the skid.
He yelled, “Get in the basket.”
Sensible questions and courses of action fought to be heard, but the painfully loud whomp-whomp of the helicopter’s blades addled Sheila’s thoughts. She pulled herself out of the pool, wrapped herself in the beach towel, and climbed into the basket. The moment she was on board, so to speak, the helicopter rose and tilted away. In an instant, the lighted pool and the cottage took on the toy like qualities of a doll house. She held on to the basket and should have sat back for safety. Instead she leaned forward a bit and looked down. Below her dangling feet, the lights of Corona del Mar and Pacific Coast highway slid by. In places where the beach was illuminated, she saw the white foam of waves breaking against the shore. Then a sudden thrust nearly threw her out of the basket. She sat back. The basket whirled in a great arc, as if it were an amusement park ride, and then shot upward and forward at a frightening speed. She held on for dear life. The amusement had gone out of the ride.
Very good reading!!!
I hope someone will publish this.
Posted by: She | August 14, 2006 at 05:27 PM
Have to confess I'm not usually a fan of this genre, but this is an exception! Have to know what happens to Sheila.
Posted by: Cynthia | August 15, 2006 at 01:19 AM