Page 86 of Seven Summers Ago
“Rosie? Are you all right?” Beck asks, his lips close to my ear. “Rosie?”
Kicking my feet and flailing my arms is harder while dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I sputter after my head shoots above the water. “What the hell was that?” I scream.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Once I know I’m out of danger, I wrestle out of his hold and splash water at him. “You’re sorry? Ugh,” I groan. “You’re such a child.”
“Hey, I jumped in and saved you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t been acting like a complete ass.”
He swims to the edge of the dock and hoists himself up easily. Like the weight of his wet clothes makes no difference. Flipping around on his stomach, he holds his arm out to me. “C’mon, give me your hand.”
I glare at him but quickly assess my options and ultimately give in, accepting his help. He slips his hand over mine and guides me to the dock. I brace myself on the edge as he pulls me out of the ocean. He wraps his arms around me, and I shut my eyes, squeezing out the world.
With his chin resting on the top of my head, he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”
And even though I know he is, I can’t help but wonder how we got here.
Here as in the two of us. Not necessarily here in this moment. Though this is not how I saw things going either. This day—hell, this life—is not turning out how I expected.
26
BECK
It takes Rosie several minutes to get over the shock of what just happened. I don’t know what I was thinking. I probably wasn’t thinking at all. Which isn’t like me. I usually overthink things. I’m not reckless. I’ve never been able to afford to be reckless.
“Hey, where’s your phone? We need to try to dry them out.”
“Shoot. I forgot.” She frees hers from the back pocket of her jeans.
I yank mine from my front pocket. It’s soaked. And I’ve got nothing dry on me.
“I’m sure I’ve got a sweatshirt in my rig. That’s about it.”
She’s frantically running her palms over her phone, but they’re still wet too.
“C’mon, let’s go to my truck. We can put the heater on and try to dry them out. And you can put my sweatshirt on.”
She sets her phone down onto the dock. “I can’t leave. Not yet.”
“But Rosie?—”
“I’m not leaving until I spread Dottie’s ashes. That’s what I came here to do.” She gives me a determined look, her jaw clenched.
“Okay.” The urn is resting on its side on the dock. I pick it up and give it to her. No more games.
She doesn’t look at me when she accepts it. I don’t blame her. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.
Unscrewing the lid, she unzips the bag that holds the ashes. “It’s funny,” she begins. “I didn’t want to be alone while doing this, but I didn’t have anything planned to say out loud.”
“That’s okay.” I lower myself down, dangling my feet over the calm water. “You don’t have to say anything.”
After a few moments, Rosie sits next to me. “Isn’t that weird?”
“I think…by you coming here and doing this, that’s enough. You’re doing what she asked.”
“Not everything she asked.”
