Boathouse No. 3

Only the precipice stood between her and eternity. The brokenjagged tracks of the historic railway jutted out over the side of the rocky mound that once stood as the base for the ancient trestle. Glancing back at the no trespassing sign hanging from the barricade blocking the old public walkway, the young girl trembled as she moved closer to the edge. Staring at the tempestuous sea below, she drew her arm back and flung the cheap, pink rubber flip-flops as far as she could, and then stood quietly, watching them bob up and down on the choppy water. Closing her eyes, her face relaxed in a moment of peace. Calmly, she walked back to the beginning of the path. Without hesitation, she faced the ocean and began to run, crying out, as the small, course pebbles cut into her tender skin. When she reached the end of the stony trail, she jumped and disappeared into the angry waves below.

She awoke to the blast of the fog horn, and felt the intense coldness of the water that stung her body and numbed the pain. She vaguely saw the man’s damp, curly red hair as he effortlessly towed her ashore. His hands felt smooth and soft around her waist as he propelled them through the water, she thought, unlike the coarse skin of the working men she knew. Although he was not a man of stature, she mused, he had a remarkable amount of strength as he gently pulled her out of the water and laid her on a patch of soft sand. Exhausted, she watched in silence as he shook his soaked clothes like a dog shaking its fur, the spray of water striking her face.

“Sorry,” he apologized, as he bent over and tenderly wiped her cheek with his fingertips. He sighed when he caught the faint scent of violets that lingered in the young girl’s hair. “Hmmm. You smell nice,” he added in a soft tone. When she struggled to sit up, he sharply reprimanded her, telling her to lie still and catch her breath.

She rose shakily and wrung out the front of her shirt. “How dare you! What gives you the right to tell me what to do! Don’t you see that you’ve ruined everything?” The drenched man grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on the ground.

“Ruined everything? Are you crazy?” replied her rescuer, staring at the young girl. “I just saved your life!” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “What on earth were you doing anyway? What can be so bad about your life that you want to die?”

The girl stood up, paced back and forth, and then stopped in front of him. “It’s none of your business!” she blurted out, glaring at the man.

“None of my business? I could have been killed trying to save you!” he replied, standing up and pointing a finger at her.

“Well, you weren’t!” she replied, putting her hands on her hips.

Both were quiet for awhile. Shrugging his shoulders, the ma stepped forward and held out his hand. “Let’s start over again, okay? My name is Jack. Private Detective Jack Wilder. I’m on a special police assignment from Indiana. What’s your name?”

“Why do you want to know?” she asked, backing away and gazing out at the water.

“Well, I guess I’d like to know who I risked my life for,” replied Jack. The girl crossed her arms and remained silent. “Okay. We’ll play your little game. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you tell me or not. It says right in here that your name is Rachel Winters,” he added, handing her the open, sodden billfold.

“How dare you look at my personal things!” she responded sharply.

Jack laughed. “Can you cool down? I’m only trying to help. You could say, ‘Thank you for saving my life!’”

She grabbed her belongings and started up the hill. Halfway to the top, she turned around. “Well, are you coming or not? I need a ride!”

Jack shook his head with resignation, and followed close behind her. “Do you want to go to the hospital, or should I take you home?”

“Take me to my friend’s apartment,” she said, rattling off the address as she continued to climb the hill. Suddenly, she stopped and let out a huge sigh. She turned toward Jack, her arms hanging limply at her side. “I can’t go home.”

“Why?” asked Jack. “What did you do?”