Page 42 of Holiday Love
I nod to Sam the Seagull, who’s now my regular breakfast companion. He sits in his usual spot by the corner. The other day, when Helen was out here gardening, she’d complained about the bird droppings on that side of the balcony and asked if I’d noticed a seagull roosting there. I’d feigned ignorance, not wanting to lose my favorite confidante, then apologized to Sam profusely after she left.
“You understand, buddy,” I’d told my feathered friend. “Most women aren’t impressed when your bestie is a bird.”
Sam’s cool. He probably doesn’t brag to his lady friends about me either.
Anthony leans on the railing a little too close to Sam, who flies off squawking angrily.
“What’d you drag us out here for?” asks Jamie.
“Look,” Anthony says, pointing to the ocean. “Coast Guard. There’s a boat dead in the water.”
The sky is dimming but not yet dark so I can easily follow the line of his finger. Sure enough, a small motorboat is being pushed in by the waves. It’s sideways, clearly rudderless, and heading straight for a cluster of surfers out past the breakwater. Lifeguards rush from the beach into the surf, waving their handsand probably shouting, but we can’t hear much this far away. A Coast Guard vessel, gray with bright orange sides, circles from the far end, trying to intercept.
“Looks kinda like your boat,” I say to Jamie, thinking about the eighteen-footer he keeps over at a slip in Marina del Rey. We take it out a lot on the weekends. He jokes it’s reallymyboat, since I’m the one who always ends up driving it. I love that boat, just as much as my surfboard. I know it inside and out, but the truth is that I could never be its real owner. Can’t afford something like that. Hell, I can’t even afford my own place. I sigh, my spirits dropping low.
A particularly big wave hits the side of the struggling boat, and it lists dangerously. I’m picturing it’s us in there—my housemates, Jamie, Anthony, and Gina—which makes it even more terrifying when a person, tiny from our vantage point, topples out and into the water.
My heart kicks into overdrive. I find myself clutching Jamie’s shirt with no memory of reaching out. “Did you see that?!”
“The guy in the water? Yeah,” he says, his usual composure slipping as he keeps his eyes trained on the drama playing out before us. His voice sharpens. “Shit. He’s going to get run over.”
Jamie’s right. The man or woman—I can’t tell from this far away—fell into the water on the beach-facing side. The same direction the boat is drifting. My gut twists.
“Hurry,” I say in a strained whisper as I mentally urge the Coast Guard to move faster. I have no desire to see a drowning today, not with the knowledge that I almost died in that same ocean a few weeks ago.
The boat drifts closer to its owner and to the surfers, who are turning now, noticing the threat behind them. They lay down on their boards and try to paddle away, but they’re moving too slow. The boat is going to overtakethem and the man overboard. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut so I don’t have to witness the massacre.
I know that feeling.
Powerless. Drifting. Drowning.
“Wait,” says Jamie, an edge to his voice. “They’re catching up.”
I force my eyes open. The Coast Guard boat surges forward and makes contact with the drifting vessel. Ropes fly to the people who remain onboard. They loop them over the cleats.
The Coast Guard boat, which looks small but I know contains a powerful engine, tugs the boat back out into the ocean, just before it crushes the swimming man and surfers. There’s a few tense minutes of suspended animation when the Coast Guard boat fights the waves and the weight of the boat it’s towing. Then they must put on another burst of power because it breaks free and with steady momentum drags the broken boat farther into the ocean, away from danger.
“Wow.” Awe deepens my voice. “That Coast Guard crew saved them.”
You used to talk about saving people,Gwen’s voice whispers in my ear.
“I know. Serious hero material,” replies Jamie.
Jamie, Anthony, and I haven’t been the only ones watching the tense situation. Now that it’s clear the good guys are the victors, a ragged cheer erupts from the beach and from balconies lining the street. We linger to watch a surfer pull the swimmer onto their board and a lifeguard to reach them before we finally head back inside the condo.
“Man, that was intense,” I tell my friends, trying to calm my racing heart as I sag back onto my favorite spot on the couch. It’s getting a Teddy-shaped divot in the cushions. That’s how much time I spend in this position.
“It really was. After that I could use a drink.” Anthony surveys the kitchen. “You got any beer?”
The thought of alcohol sours my stomach. “Nah, I’m off the stuff for now.”
Anthony lifts a doubtful eyebrow. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Nothing like almost dying to convince me that sobriety might be the way to go.”
“Jeez. Buzzkill,” Jamie says, but he smiles, and there’s no bite in his words.
“I know. I’mthatguy now.” I roll my eyes, and Jamie chuckles softly. I tell Anthony, “There’s sparkling water in the fridge if you want some.”
