Diving In (12 page)

It was the
fear
she hated. The senseless, irrational anxiety.

She released one hand at a time to wipe her hands on her pants so she didn’t lose control of the car. The wheel was as slippery as a well-lubed erection.

No, no, no. She was not thinking about penises.

“What’s so funny?” Ansel asked.

“Nothing.”

“You have to tell me. You were freaked out a second ago, but now you’re smiling.”

She glanced at him—no, not his crotch, oh damn, how could she not look down there just for a second?—and imagined his penis as the primary control device of their energy-efficient automobile.

Punchy laughter bubbled out of her. Unfortunately, anxiety and hysterical laughter were old friends.

“What?” he said.

That night in the dorm, it was when she’d reached down his pants that he’d jumped up and ran away. How inconvenient that would be if it was your only way to steer a car.

“What?” he repeated, more loudly.

She swallowed her laughter, sucked in a breath. “Nothing. Really, it’s nothing. Just—nothing.”

Making a sour face, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not fair of you to keep it to yourself.”

“Really,” she said.

“Long, boring drive, my birthday—you have an obligation to share any and all entertainment.”

If she didn’t think of something, he wouldn’t drop it. “I’m just glad to be over that bridge.”

He looked skeptical. After a second he said, “Seriously?”

“Very, very glad,” she said. “Got an adrenaline rush.”

After a minute he said, “Why not let me drive? I really don’t mind. There are tons of other bridges ahead.”

“I have to do this. If I give up now, I might never do it.”

“But you don’t have to do it,” he said. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

The urge to laugh drained out of her. She checked all her mirrors, wiped her hands again, braked to give the car ahead of them extra room. “It’s no fun being afraid,” she said quietly.

He seemed to accept that. She thought he’d dropped it until, after five minutes of driving through the trees and across another narrow bridge, which was blessedly short, he asked, “Are you afraid of all bridges?”

“I’m not afraid of bridges.”

“Weren’t you just having a panic attack?” he asked.

“I’m not afraid of bridges.”

He jerked his thumb. “Then what was that back there? An allergy?”

“I’m afraid of the
water
under the bridge,” she said. “There’s a big difference.”

“It’s all just water under the bridge,” he said, then, “Sorry,” when she glared at him.

“I’m going to keep driving now,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And you’re going to be quiet.”

He slumped in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Thank you,” she said, accelerating a little.

The road snaked through the rainforest, a beautiful, calming wonder of the world. As her anxiety ebbed, her guilt surfaced. She hated herself for snapping at him, losing her manners, being a freak—but this place was so beautiful, even those feelings waned, and she lowered the window all the way and breathed the pseudo-prehistoric loveliness deep into her lungs. Even when she had to cross bridges over rushing rapids, she kept her head. It was just too gorgeous to live trapped inside her own neurosis for long.

“We might want to stop at this place ahead.” Ansel pointed at the cluster of parked cars at a sharp bend in the road. “We can hike up and see the waterfall. It’s a big one, if I’m remembering it right.”

But the other cars had taken all the spaces on the side of the road, and because so many other cars had stopped, the road ahead was clear. She found herself driving on. Rain spattered the windshield, but it was light, barely enough to merit using the wipers. “We can stop at the next one.”

“Are you afraid if you stop you won’t be able to start up again?”

She didn’t look at him. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re doing great.”

It should’ve felt patronizing, but somehow, coming from him, it didn’t. “Thanks.” She let out her breath. “Sorry to snap at you earlier.”

“I’m used to it. Twin sister, you know.”

“Well, I’ll try harder to behave.”

 
Another hour passed in slow, winding silence through the trees. Her anxiety fluctuated with the challenge of the turns, the bridges, the traffic, but she had conquered the worst of her phobia, at least for the day. She had the lifting, cheerful sensation of personal accomplishment.

“You ever going to eat this banana bread?” He unwrapped it in his lap, not pushing it at her, just admiring the golden slices. “I’m not sure I can wait any longer.”

“You were waiting for me?”

“Like I’m going to snarf down the treats while you’re slaying your dragons,” he said. “How’s that going, by the way? You look good.”

She smiled. “I think the dragon’s sleeping.”

“Hungry?”

Nodding, she braked and pulled the car onto the shoulder behind several other parked cars. “Is this a good place?”

He frowned out the window. “I think so. Might not be a waterfall, just a tree or flowers or something. I’m not sure I’ve stopped here before.”

“I like trees and flowers.”

“I’ve pretty much only got eyes for lunch,” he said.

But when she glanced over, it was her he was looking at. His gray eyes, heavy-lidded and intelligent, were watching her with an intensity that startled her. Heart lurching, she engaged the parking brake and busied herself with getting out of the car without getting run over. A row of sedans with only several feet between each bumper rolled past at about six miles an hour. By the time she climbed out and walked over to the shoulder, he had their picnic lunch under one arm and his attention on the sky.

With eye contact broken, the butterflies in her stomach folded their wings.

He wasn’t starved for anything but lunch. She was imagining things.

“Would you rather eat in the car?” he asked. “It’s about to rain.”

“It’s been drizzling for a while.” She pulled her hood up. “I read in the guidebook it’s often like that here.”

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t mind eating my sandwich under an umbrella,” she said. “Do you?”

“Nope. Only takes me a second anyway. Rachel says I have the table manners of a shop vac.”

Smiling, she got the umbrellas out of the trunk and tiptoed down the muddy path to where she could leap over a ditch to reach the trail into the forest, letting him follow. The rain was only a light mist, barely enough to merit pulling up her hood, but it protected her from sharing lingering glances with the birthday boy.

She stepped off the side of the path to let a family of six pass, the youngest one in a baby sling on Dad’s chest, the rest of them in flip-flops. They were heading back to the road.

“The hike is harder than it looks,” the mother said to Nicki as she passed. Wearing a transparent plastic poncho over shorts and a tank top, she carried a small dark-haired boy on one hip.

“Did you see a waterfall?” Nicki asked.

“We had to turn back when it started raining,” the woman said. “But there’s supposed to be one.”

Nicki stopped under a large canopy of branches, watching the drizzle turn to rain. When the family had passed, she caught Ansel’s gaze and pointed up.

“I thought you said you didn’t mind the rain,” he said.

“It’s really coming down now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Afraid of water even when it’s just in the sky?”

“Hey.”

“Just asking, just asking.” His face broke into a grin.

When the rain stopped soon after, they hiked for five minutes up a rocky, fern-lined trail along a small creek as the trees dripped on them from above. To her credit, she wondered only every few minutes if he was staring at her butt. The rest of the time, she knew he was.

Two other groups passed them on their way down, one couple in high-end weather gear sufficient for a climb up Everest, the other family more like the previous one, in shorts and sandals and plastic-bag ponchos.
 

And then they were alone at the base of a glassy pool, fed from above by a ribbon of water snaking down a mossy wall of stone.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

“Some things only get better with time.” He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Lucky them.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Better old than dead.”

Another sigh. “I’m not so sure. Some men don’t age well.”

“I think you’re doing okay.”

He tilted his head, eyes dancing. “You do?”

His nearness, the flirting, the gorgeous surroundings—it was too much. “You’re just a big baby,” she said, rolling her eyes.

The humor drained out of his face. He looked away. “Yeah.” He forced a laugh. “Too true. Should we take a picture?” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he held it up to the waterfall and fiddled with the controls.

“Hey,” she said. “I was just kidding.”

“No, it’s true. But I’m working on it. Just this morning I decided it was time to throw away the Pull-Ups.” He pointed at a cluster of rocks at the base of the cliff. “Stand over there and I’ll take a picture for your… whatever. You have a boyfriend?”

She’d really hurt his feelings. He wasn’t afraid of getting older; he was afraid he wasn’t. “No.” She met his gaze and held it a second too long.

“Give the camera some skin, post it online, and you will.” With a big phony grin, he grabbed her shoulder and gave her a gentle push toward the waterfall. “Guys love a wet woman.”

Well, she
would
need photos of the trip for the blog—her face cropped off, of course. She made her way around the pool’s edge to the cliff face and turned, clasping her hands in front of her in a traditional pose.

“Are you kidding me? You might as well be in Iowa. Get closer,” he said.

She looked down at her feet, then at the pool. “I’m not getting in there.”

“Of course not, but you can stand on the rocks. Those,” he said, pointing, “right there.”

“They’re in the middle of the lake.”

“It’s not a lake, it’s a puddle, and they’re like four inches away.”

“More like four feet.”

“You’ve got awesome long legs,” he said. “That won’t be a problem for you.”

Damn it, she was blushing. Awesome? “What if I slip?”

“You’ve got tread on those sandals. You’ll be fine.”

She frowned at the rocks, the waterfall, him. It would be a much better picture if she were closer. Who knew if she’d be able to come back and find somebody else, a stranger, to take one?

Rocks in rainforest pools at the base of waterfalls were going to be slippery. Signaling for him to wait, she walked off into the forest to find a fallen branch to use as support, just in case, but she couldn’t find anything longer than a few feet long and returned to the pool empty-handed.

Giving up on her courage, he had the phone up to his face. “Say cheese.”

What the hell.
“Hold on!” Front teeth grinding into her bottom lip, she leaped over the water. Her right foot landed at an angle and she lurched sideways, arms windmilling, but her left found a flat stone and she braced her weight, turned, and waved triumphantly at him.

“Damn! I thought you were going in,” he said from behind his phone. “That would’ve been an awesome shot. Oh well, guess this will do. Hold still, will you? You’re blurry.”

She put her hands on her hips, grinning. Water surrounded her. Birds chirped in the trees. The mist from the falls shimmered in faint rainbows. Her heart swelled with tropical, exotic happiness.

And then, while she was still absorbing the world in a blissful daze, Ansel jogged over and leaped across the water to join her.

“No!” she gasped, jerking sideways. Her right foot slipped.

From midair, he saw her panic and shortened his stride to abort the leap. With comical resignation on his face, he went directly into the water, two feet shy of anything solid, and disappeared under the surface.

“Ansel!” she screamed. Squatting down, she reached her hand out, but he was too far; she could barely reach the water from up on the rocks. Without thinking, she stepped closer, submerging her feet in cold water, wondering how the hell deep it was for him to disappear like that. “Ansel!”

A hand shot out and clutched her ankle. She screamed—until she saw his laughing face come out of the water. That made her so angry she jerked her leg free and kicked him in the shoulder.

Well, she meant to kick him in the shoulder. She may have clipped him in the side of the head.

He went under again and didn’t come up.

“Ansel! Shit! God damn it! Get up!” She squatted down and pawed at the surface like a St. Bernard after an avalanche. “Fuck!”

He sat up, rubbing his ear. “First you kick me, then you swear at me like a frat boy on meth. You use that language in class, Miss Fitch?”

He was sitting up. Sitting. The water only reached his neck. Because of the waves from the waterfall and the returning sun’s reflection, she hadn’t seen the sandy bottom under his skinny, annoying ass until now. “I hope you drown.” She jumped over him and landed on shore, her feet wet, her heart pounding, furious.

He rose to his feet and wiped his face. The water hit him mid-thigh. “Unlikely. But I might need a new phone.”

She was already striding away down the path, knowing her anger was out of proportion to the offense, but not caring. It was hard enough to be afraid of every goddamn ordinary thing in the world, but to have people mock you for it—

She tripped over a gnarled root and flung her arms out for balance so she could walk faster. Her feet slid off the front of her wet sandals, poking into the mud and bringing it back inside the sole of her shoe where it blended with the soggy leather. She reached out and swatted a leafy branch out of her way.

Was he even following her? Was he even sorry?

Twenty feet down the path, the red fury coloring her world faded and she stopped, licked her lips, forced a deep breath into her lungs, and closed her eyes to count to ten backward in Japanese, a calming technique that worked because she imagined her elementary school judo sensei. He was one of the first people to teach her a few tricks for managing the craziness.