Take It To The Grave Bundle 2: Take It to the Grave parts 4-6

“She’ll be happy you’re alive,” I corrected. He nodded.

“Then she’ll kill me. Nah, I’m good. I don’t live far from here.” He turned to Caleb. “Thanks again, mister.”

Caleb waved a hand, then shrugged. “All good.”

The kid dragged at the surfboard that was still dancing in the shallows, then used it to help him to his feet. He smiled, a mixture of uncertainty, embarrassment and gratitude, before he gave Caleb the thumbs-up. “Thanks.” We watched as the kid walked along the beach with knees apart, as though trying to make sure they didn’t give way on him. He angled gradually toward another path between the dunes. He kept looking over his shoulder, at the surf, at Caleb—at the lifeguard who had stood by and done nothing, too petrified to move.

How long had I blacked out for this time?

My lips pressed together, curling in as I realized Caleb was fine, the kid was fine and the kid most definitely wasn’t Frankie. I took a deep, shuddering breath, and I could hear the catch, feel the wobble in my chin. I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to steady myself.

I can’t believe I’d frozen. I’d never done that before. I used to be a lifeguard, for fuck’s sake. What the hell was wrong with me? How could I do that? Or rather, how could I do nothing? My cheeks cooled, as though all the blood rushed down to where my feet were rooted in the sand. I had never not saved a life. Not after Frankie. Frankie. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, didn’t know how I could stand by while someone drowned. My stomach clenched.

I was all about saving lives. It’s what I’d lived and breathed for the last few years. How could I balk? What was wrong with me? I looked back at the house. What was this christening, this time with my damaged family, doing to me? It was ruining me.

“Maisey, are you okay?” Caleb asked, eyeing me as he reached down to pick up his shirt. He used it as an improvised towel, dabbing at his chest.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, nodding. I stared at him for a moment, then looked away. I wasn’t focused on the half-naked man in front of me. He was no longer the trim teenager who used to throw me into the pool. No, the Caleb I’d known had grown into a man I found it difficult to recognize, outside of the civilized veneer of clothing. He was so different, and yet all I’d been able to think about, all I’d seen, was Frankie.

Caleb held out his arm toward the house, and I slowly fell into step alongside him, the serenity of our walk long gone. I stared down at my bare feet.

That boy had looked like he’d been in the water for a little while—long enough to try and swim back and exhaust himself in the process. I kept picturing the day Frankie had died, so many times now. I was haunted by it. Plagued by visions of Frankie, of that whole afternoon, of that vulnerable little body, so still.

Doesn’t add up, does it? Lucy’s voice was quiet in my head, which was strange for her.

What do you mean?

God, think about it, Maisey. For once, instead of hiding from it, think about it!

It had been so fast. I replayed that drink at the sink. I was so stunned at the time, so shocked that all it took to snuff out a life was just a few moments of looking the other way. My brow furrowed. Maybe because Frankie was so colicky, so fractious, so frail and sickly, the water had taken him quickly.

Seriously? You’re a nurse, for fuck’s sake. It was rare for Lucy to swear.

He’d been too weak to struggle, to fight, too young to save himself, I argued. Time must have flown, the seconds whizzing by as I’d filled my glass and raised it to my lips, forcing the liquid down my throat. It had obviously been long enough.

But that boy... Lucy commented. He’d been weak, exhausted. He’d disappeared under the waves for maybe a little longer than Frankie had been alone in the pool.