Page 3 of Level With Me
There were several fishing outfits down here south of town, and I’d often see groups of tourists awkwardly throwing lines—city guys getting away from it all. But this man wasn’t one of those. He was experienced, I could tell that right away. He cast a line out into the middle of the water with the quiet ease of someone who’d been doing this all their life.
Dad used to take me and Eli fishing when we were young. He took all the kids fishing, but Eli and I went first as the oldest and I had fond memories of standing right in this spot or further down, doing just what this guy was doing. This guy had an arm like Dad’s, only he was a lot younger than Dad, I could tell. He was wearing a cap and though I couldn't see much of his face, I could see a hint of scruff, along with broad shoulders in a dark shirt the color of the forest.
I don’t know what it was that captivated me about this fisherman—maybe the fact that he looked like something right out of a glossy tourist brochure the way the early morning sun glistened on the water around him, sparking on the line as he reeled it in and tossed it once more. Or maybe it was seeing someone in their happy place. But I was focused on him and not the patch of mud in front of me. When my heel hit the mud, it skidded. I cried out in surprise as I flipped forward and fell onto my hands and knees. Only I didn’t stop there. I kept going down the slope.
Normally there was a bank I would have landed on, but with the recent rains, the rocky shore had disappeared, and instead, I tumbled right into the Quince River.
The water was freezing; the shock of it nearly stopping my heart. For a moment, I couldn’t move at all.
Then my lungs began to burn. I hadn’t taken a proper breath when I’d fallen in, and now it was too late. I realized, as I started moving my limbs, that I also didn’t know which way was up.
For a moment, all I saw as the river tumbled me forward was my own thrashing limbs, and streams of bubbles caused by my movements. Panic had a grip on me, and I felt my chest seize.
No.Stay calm, stay still.
It was Dad now, talking to me. The thing to do if you fall in, Dad used to say, was first and foremost stay calm. If you see or feel land below you, push up. Otherwise, let yourself rise to the surface.
I was a strong swimmer. I’d be okay. I just needed air.
Spots began to form in my vision.
Stay calm.
It worked—a moment later, my head emerged from the water. I sucked in a jagged breath, spreading my hands out to balance myself. I was fine. I’d just scared myself. Eying the landscape while I caught my breath, I forced myself to focus. Though it looked lazy, the river was moving fast. I needed to be mindful of currents, too. If I aimed diagonally, I could—
My thoughts were interrupted by something hooking around my waist. The abrupt stopping of my momentum caused the river to rush over me in a torrent, tugging at my legs, threatening to bring me down again. I took in another breath but choked on the water running over my head. My head came free of the water once more and I shoved at the thing around my waist. It was hard and thick. A branch? But no, I was being pulled backward.
“I’ve got you!” said a voice.
Then, I was being lifted out of the water.
“Hey!” I sputtered as a pair of broad hands wrapped around my waist. Before I could protest further, I was flipped upside down, gasping and then coughing on the water still in my lungs. I felt like I’d inhaled half the river. I was being carried, ass-up out of the river. “What—?” I gasped.
It was only when I pressed my hands against the glossy rubber in my face, trying to push myself off, that I understood it was the fisherman who had reached out to snag me. It was the fisherman who now had me thrown over his shoulder like a caveman’s bride as he waded onto the shore.
“Put me down!” I hollered, and he froze. Then the man flipped me upright like I weighed nothing at all, and unceremoniously dropped me on my ass in the sand.
2
BLAKE
She looked like an angry cat.
A soaking wet, long-legged cat ready to swipe at me.
My chest, still heaving from exertion, prickled with heat, and no small amount of disbelief. She wasmadthat I’d saved her.
“You’re welcome,” I said, pulling my hat off and flicking my sopping hair off my forehead, before pulling my cap back on. I leaned on my thighs, trying to steady my breath.
“You’re welcome?” she sputtered.
The woman stood up. Though she was a good eight feet from where I stood now, she looked to be only a few inches shorter than me, which was surprising enough to interrupt my irritation, given I was a good three inches over six feet.
I began pulling off my waterlogged hip waders. “Yeah, you know, for saving your ass.”
When I’d heard the shriek, I’d jerked my face in her direction, only to see the jogger in pink I’d noticed a moment ago disappear under the water, the sound of the splash swallowed by the rush of the river.
My stomach had lurched at the sight, and I’d had to make a quick calculation. She was too far out for me to reach from shore. But knowing the way the river bent, she’d pass by the island across from me in a few seconds. I’d chucked my rod as hard as I could in that direction—which was stupid, given I could have left it right there on the shore. What was I going to do, go fishing over there later? But my brainpower was apparently all used up at that moment. I’d jumped in, swimming hard for the island. My waders limited my speed significantly and for a panicked moment, I thought I was going to miss her, especially because when her head popped up, her face was turned toward the shore, away from me. But my feet touched the riverbed just as she approached, and I reached out and grabbed her, pulling us both to safety.
