Page 62 of Outsider

Gina Colorosa is not a reflective person. She’s always lived her life by the seat of her pants, never anticipating consequences, the past—and the future—be damned. Now, it seems that that not-a-care-in-the-world attitude has finally caught up with her.

After a moment, she smiles. “So are you going to marry that nice-looking BCI guy?”

I think about it a moment. “Probably.”

“Sweating him a little?”

“Sweating myself a little.”

She arches a brow. “You’ve always been skittish when it comes to men.”

“Taking my time is all. It’s a big step.”

“So says a woman who left her entire life behind at the age of eighteen and hooked up with me.” Contemplative, she shakes her head. “I hate to state the obvious, but what you’ve got … it seems like a good thing.”

“It is.”

“You’re not getting any younger.”

“Thank you for pointing that out.”

“Maybe you ought to stop overthinking it and just do what makes you happy.”

I’m mulling the advice when the tempo of the children’s voices changes. A yelp draws my attention. I see Lizzie and Annie holding hands, facing each other, skating in a circle. Then I spot Sammy. Head and shoulders sticking out of the ice next to the tree trunk. At first, I think he’s down on his knees, playing. Then I notice his arms outstretched, the distress on his face, hands clawing at the ice.

“Sammy!” I jump to my feet. “Adam!”

Next to me, Gina stands. “Girls, get off the ice! Come here!”

A dozen things register at once. The girls standing too close to their fallen brother. A shout from Adam. Heavy footfalls from the direction of where he was chopping wood. Then I’m on my feet, running to the creek, skidding down the bank, sliding on trampled snow.

“Get a branch!” I hit the ice, slide, nearly go down, but my foot lands on snow, grips, and I manage to stay on my feet.

I reach the girls, grab their arms, pull them back. “Go to the lacing log! I’ll get him.”

I hear Gina behind me. “I got them.”

To my left, I hear Adam say something. I glance that way, see him step onto the ice, start across it, eyes fastened to his son. “Grab the edge of the ice!” he shouts to his son. “Hold on!”

I don’t know how deep the water is. I can tell Sammy isn’t standing. His head is bobbing, his arms are splashing; there’s shock and panic on his face. This is likely a deep hole, over his head. If there’s a current, he could be sucked beneath the ice and the situation will become deadly serious.

“Datt!” the boy shouts.

I stop four feet away from him. The ice is gray where water has washed over the surface. “Stay calm,” I tell him. “Grab the edge of the ice like your datt said. We’ll get you.”

His face is anything but calm. His mouth trembles. Water on his face. Skin pale and blue, cheeks blushed red.

I hear movement behind me, see Gina running across the ice, a big branch in her hand. “Take it!” She tosses the branch to me.

I catch it, drop to my belly, spread my legs. The branch is too small. Not substantial enough to pull seventy pounds of panicked boy from the water. But it’s all I’ve got, so I shove the branch at him. “Grab the stick,” I say. “I’ll pull you out.”

The boy looks at me. Panic in his eyes. Teeth chattering. Face wet, water dripping over cheeks that have lost their color.

I hear movement next to me, glance over to see Adam slide to his belly, wriggle next to me. “Grab the branch.” His voice is calm, laser focus in his eyes. “Grab on, son. I’ll pull you out.”

“It’s … c-cold,” the boy says, teeth chattering.

Adam inches closer. “Both hands now. Grab it. Quickly, son.”