Sixty-One

SIXTY-ONE

A GEYSER OF POOL water splashes upward. Claire rises up on her elbows, streaming a spray that narrowly misses my face.

Now she's the one greedily drinking in air, slowly at first, then faster, as if chasing the feeling that she's still alive.

Her eyelids flutter closed and then open again.

"Jane," she says weakly.

"I was in the neighborhood."

There are things I need to know about how we both ended up here.

With great difficulty, she lifts her right arm. She looks disoriented, her eyes unfocused.

I take her hand and help her into a sitting position. "What happened?" I ask.

She frowns as if she's not thinking clearly. Or hearing.

"I don't know…"

"Who put you in the water?"

She takes in more air, almost panting now. "We've always… there's a lot… a lot of money in the house."

"Somebody tried to rob you?"

She closes her eyes again. I still haven't let go of her hand.

"Did you hear me?"

"What?"

"Claire," I say. "The last thing I heard you say on the phone was ‘What are you doing here?' Were you talking to a stranger? Or someone you know?"

She starts to answer, then stops, and frowns. "I don't recall saying that."

I stare at her incredulously.

"Claire," I say. "Are you actually lying to the person who just saved your life?"

Suddenly she seems completely, intensely, present. And aware.

"Thank you," she says. "Now please get out of my house."