Carson struggled to her feet. Her whole body felt hot, as though she were back in the fire. She picked at her sweaty clothes. They were soaked and sticky. She needed to cool down. The lights appeared a little more blurry, and the dock seemed to rock a bit more strongly. She slipped off her T-shirt and unzipped her shorts and kicked them off beside her flip-flops. Teetering at the edge of the dock, she stared into the water. The blackness called to her. With a push, she dove in.
The water was blessedly cold. She kicked her legs and pulled her sopping hair back. She felt oddly weak, so she did the breaststroke, flexing her legs like a frog. She trusted her swimming, always strong and sure, and started off toward the next closest dock. There weren’t boats cruising by this late at night, and it felt safe to stretch her arms and swim farther out.
After several strokes, she noticed that the next dock was farther away, not closer. She’d gone too far out. The current was carrying her in the wrong direction. Turning her head from left to right, she focused on her own dock and stroked toward home. But the current was a steady and powerful force. She told herself not to panic. She knew this patch of water like the back of her hand. But she also knew she’d been stupid to come out here alone. At night. Especially after drinking.
Focus, she ordered herself, and pushed to stroke harder. But her arms felt so weak and, gasping, she swallowed a mouthful of water. She had to stop, dog-paddling as she choked and spat out water, trying to catch a breath. Oh, God, now she was in trouble. She could feel her heart begin to race and she started stroking again, this time without precision. She wasn’t trying to get back to the dock anymore. She just wanted to make it to the muddy hammock so she could climb out. She stroked as hard as she could but she couldn’t make any headway. She was like a piece of driftwood in the mighty current, being dragged to the open harbor.
Dora stood on the back porch and sipped her coffee as she looked out at the cove. It was an inky night. Moving clouds were obscuring the moon and stars. What a night, she thought, yawning. It had taken hours to get Nate to sleep. He’d been withdrawn all day, the poor little guy. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t leave his room. Dora didn’t know what could have compelled Carson to grab him like that. Hadn’t she told her that Nate didn’t like to be touched? With all that had happened to that darn dolphin, he was beside himself. She wished that dolphin had never come to the dock. They had enough family issues to deal with without adding a wild dolphin to the mix.
Though, she thought with a pang of guilt, she shouldn’t have said what she did to Carson. That was mean and thoughtless. Mamaw was upset, Lucille had given her the evil eye, and Harper wouldn’t talk to her. Dora hadn’t meant to be cruel. She’d blurted it out without thinking. She’d been so mad, she’d seen red. Like Carson had been. She’d wanted to hurt Carson the way Carson had hurt her son.
A shadowy figure out on the dock caught her attention. It was a woman. Peering out, Dora recognized Carson. So that’s where she was. She’d gone off to work around noon and no one had seen her since.
Dora took a few steps to the edge of the porch, watching the figure on the dock. It was odd. Carson seemed to be staggering and . . . What was she doing? Good Lord, she was taking off her clothes. She couldn’t be thinking of going swimming now? Alone in the dark?
Then another thought struck. She was drunk.
“Carson!” she called out. She watched Carson standing at the edge of the dock, weaving and staring into the water. What in all that’s holy? “Carson!”
Dora set the coffee mug on the table, and when she looked out again, Carson was gone. Dora’s heart jumped and she took off running for the dock, her heeled sandals slowing her down. She kicked them off and ran. When she reached the end of the long dock, she couldn’t spot Carson in the water. A cloud passed, allowing a window of moonlight to shine on the water. Dora squinted her eyes as she peered out and spied a shimmer of skin in the moonlight farther down the cove. Dora cursed. The idiot was caught in the current.
Adrenaline raced through her veins as Dora sprang into action. She punched the motor to lower the boat from the raised dock, pacing while keeping her eye on the figure in the water. The motor churned as the boat lowered at an agonizingly slow pace into the water. She moved quickly now, untying the lines and jumping into the boat. She’d always been the boater in the family, the one who’d rather tow the skis or the rubber raft. Dora powered the engine and took off toward Carson. She searched the dark water, stopping the engine abruptly when she spotted her bobbing in the water. The boat floated in the drift as Dora hurried to grab the life preserver.
“Carson!” she called out over the side.
“Here!” Carson called back.
“Grab hold.” Dora tossed the preserver into the water. It landed close to Carson. She kicked and stroked and grabbed on, coughing. Pulling hard against the current, Dora cursed and sweated as she drew Carson to the side of the boat.
“Give me your hand,” Dora called out.
Carson released the preserver and lifted her hand to her sister. Holding tight, Dora leaned far back and pulled Carson into the boat. Carson landed gracelessly on the seat like a beached seal.
Carson bent over on her knees, coughing up water; then she leaned over the side of the boat and vomited. Dora held her long hair back from her face as Carson heaved the alcohol and salt water from her stomach. When finished, she slipped weakly down on the padded bench and rested her forehead on her hands, shivering. Dora went to fetch the boat’s emergency blanket and wrapped it around Carson’s shoulders. Carson had always been the strong one, the athletic one, and yet now she was as weak and frightened as a drowning kitten.
And Dora knew it was her fault.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Carson awoke, seeing the world through a cottony veil. Her eyes were dry and gritty and she blinked heavily. The shadowed stripes of the closed blinds revealed bright daylight.
“How long did I sleep?” she croaked.
“Thirteen hours,” Mamaw answered. “But who’s counting?”
Carson shivered under her thin cotton sheet and blanket. Every bone in her body ached. “I’m so cold.”
Mamaw rested her palm against Carson’s forehead, testing for fever as she had when Carson was a little girl. Carson thought her palm felt cool and comforting and her lids drooped.