Chapter 4

Copyright 2002 by Elizabeth Delayne



Amy and Chloe lived in an older apartment community. The residents consisted mainly of senior citizens and homegrown college students. It was away from the bustle of the beach scene.

Mitch parked Buster outside and jogged up the iron stairs to the second floor apartments.

Chloe answered the door. Her hair was twisted loosely and clipped to the back of her head. She wore light blue and white polka dotted boxers over tanned legs and a yellow tank top.

She followed his gaze and shrugged. “We’re studying.”

“Are you?”

"I study," she snapped. When he only lifted a brow, she shrugged, and stepped back so he could come in. “Senior level courses. Both of us are floundering.”

“How are your classes?”

She shrugged again, but the look in her eyes was distant and hard to read. “Fine. As you say, Amy’s the one who should be buried in her books.”

“That's not what I said."

Chloe only looked at him. "Maybe. You want anything else?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow her for a minute."

She raised her chin and shrugged again. “If she can find her way out of that pit she’s buried herself in. Amy—” she called and turned to go into the kitchen. “Mitch is here.”

Mitch looked around the small apartment. They had a worn love seat by the wall and an old television propped up by cinder blocks. The tiny dining area was a storage place for surf boards, bogie boards, lawn chairs, and all their other assorted beach equipment. The art on the walls consisted of aged beach advertisements scavenged from re-sale stores. They shared a bedroom with two twin beds and kept their clothes divided between storage crates and the small closet.

Chloe opened the door to the refrigerator, and stood silently studying the contents. She had been a Christian for such a short time. She came to church services, blooming with energy and delight.

She’d stepped away from the old Chloe that had been looking for love in the wrong places.

She’d had a crush on him, he knew, and he was careful to stay several steps back. Right now what was important was her faith. Her new life.

He wasn’t about to complicate it. No matter how much her energy and new light attracted her to him.

But then, he wasn't sure he'd ever understood her.

She’d been standing at the refrigerator for too long, he thought. He stepped forward to say something, anything.

“Hey—” Amy came out of the bedroom dressed in cutoffs and a red sleeveless shirt.

“Hey. Heard you and Andrea were over at Ham’s this morning, helping him get settled back into his house.”

“Did you go over there?”

“I stopped by. Had dinner with him. He looks good. It feels good for him to be back at home.”

“I know,” she folded her arms across her chest and thought about it for a moment. “It’s a little hard to see him like that. Unsteady on his feet. He’s still so thin.”

Mitch nodded. “He’s getting better, though. We can praise God for that. You want to step outside with me for a minute?”

“Sure—Chloe—”

Chloe picked up a jug of chocolate milk and closed the refrigerator door. “You’ll be right outside. I know.”

She held up the bottle and saluted them with it, the look in her eyes oddly hard.

They settled on the concrete and iron stairs outside the apartment. It was a warm evening even for late September.

“Something’s wrong,” Amy said, studying him in the dying summer light. A breeze lifted the edges of her hair.

“Not wrong—just, not what you would like.”

Amy looked out over the parking lot. “What is it?”

“You know how you were upset when they offered Derek the Captaincy instead of me?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to have it so you would have a better chance at moving to Upper Springs.”

“You wanted me to have it so you could have it when—if—I moved to Upper Springs.”

She shrugged. “Well, either way.”

“They offered the job here to me. I turned it down.”

“What?”

Her voice was as sharp as the look in her eyes, and cautiously quiet. He looked down at his hands and rubbed an old scar that ran along his thumb—rock climbing, senior year of high school. It reminded him, as did many things, that he had grown up just as much in the mountains as on the beach.

“Joe Fisher gave me a call right after Ham had his stroke. He said he was thinking of retiring. That if Ham made it, he was moving down here so they could buy a boat and sail around for their retirement years—they had it all planned out. If Ham didn’t make it—he would do it alone. He wasn’t going to wait and waste the rest of his life.”

“We’ve always known they had those plans. For you to take Joe’s job, for me to get through school, get some experience under my uniform—and then take Ham’s.”

"We've also known there was only a small chance things would work out that way."

"A chance was still a chance."

Mitch nodded. Ham had given Amy’s those dreams ... and maybe those allusions. He’d given her something to plan on when the Olympics were out. It had been Ham’s belief that she wouldn’t need to be a captain to be over the beach station. Ham had not been for the longest time.

But the chief of police had wanted a captain—had wanted to give Derek expanded authority that Ham had never had. The area was growing.

And Ham had been short sighted in his command. He had never understood the changes that were coming.

“You’re going to the mountains...” Amy sighed.

Mitch let the words settle between them. “When Joe called, he told me not to take the job here. The people in Upper Springs would have been reluctant to give me a job if I had just taken on new responsibilities here. They want me in the position before the end of October.”

“I didn’t think you would go this soon.”

“Not yet. I’ll finish the season. Train my replacement.”

"I still have two semester left in school-minimum."

"I know."

She leaned forward, stared at him, frowned over what she saw. "You don't think they would have given it to me anyway. Five, ten years from now."

He hesitated, but he wouldn't lie to her. "Can you tell me that being captain of Beach Patrol was something that you really wanted?"

She looked away, stared hard toward the horizon. "I don't know ... but I would have liked to have a chance to try."

"You don't have to prove yourself to anyone."

She lay her head on Mitch’s shoulder. He slipped his arm around her. He felt her long sigh.

“It’s not official yet—decided, yes, just not public. I didn’t want you to find out from somewhere else.”

“You going to tell Chloe?”

“I thought maybe you could do that,” he said, remembering the way she had stood, her back to him, looking for nothing in the refrigerator.

“Mitch—” Amy leaned away from him.

“Look—there’s one more thing I need to say to you. I don’t like leaving you like this, with things messed up with your dad, with your probation nearly over, with things between you and Derek still so unsettled. I just wanted you to know, that I’m still here for you. You need to get away, you need a job, I’ll find you one up there. Just promise me one thing.”

“Is this about Derek?” she asked and rolled her eyes. “You and Andrea both want Derek to be Ham, to be my best friend. He’s my boss.”

Mitch shook his head. “I was your boss. My replacement will be your boss. Derek will just be there to oversee your work. We’re lifeguards, Amy. Teamwork has to come first. On an extended search, in an emergency, everything has to come naturally. You don’t speak up when he asks for information. You depend on me to give him information he needs about this area. No one has worked as much or as closely with myself and Ham the last five years besides you. Not one lifeguard on this beach with more experience has as much experience as you. Ham was grooming you. Ham depended on you. Have faith in what Ham was giving you. Don't let him down.”


The parking lot at the station was crowded with cars; life guards, not competing, already on duty, junior Olympians and their parents, and community volunteers setting up for the competitions. Amy had to park her truck in the The Springs parking lot and walk across.

Andrea had just arrived, her sleek green sports car parked illegally in front of the station.

“Need some help?” Amy jogged over to Andrea’s car. Her bag bounced against her hip. Andrea looked rested and recovered, classy even in khaki shorts and the bright orange top given to volunteers. Her designer sunglasses were perched on top of her head.

Ignoring the pointed look Andrea sent her, Amy leaned into the trunk and lifted a box of trophies and medallions.

Andrea glared at her. “Shouldn’t you be conserving your energy?”

“Just stretching. I can’t go into the water unprepared.”

“I don’t need to be babied, Amy.”

“Fine,” Amy sat the box in Andrea’s arms and lifted the lighter beach bag from the trunk before shutting it. Then she turned, rested her hand on the trunk, and stared at her. “What would I usually do—what would anyone usually-do when they see a friend getting things out of their car?”

Andrea sighed. “You haven’t been around mom and dad the last two days.”

“Sure I have. When I went to talk to your dad yesterday, as my legal representative, he told me he was worried about you.”

“They’re always worried about me. And if either one of them come today, I’m going to run off screaming." She smiled a bit. "That would leave you in charge."

“Ha-ha. Why would they come when they know you’re going to be surrounded by dozens of trained lifeguards and a number of your best friends?”

It bothered her that Andrea resisted help. That, even though their friendship had formed in a dark, bleak time, two things seemed to form a large, gaping hole between them. She'd gone away to college for a few years, nearly cutting herself off from Amy. There had been a guy, Amy had deciphered. Then she'd come home without the guy, without ever mentioning the guy.

She never talked about it, though she kept a framed photograph in the drawer beside her bed. Amy had only caught a glimpse of it once.

Did she see it as a weakness, Amy wondered, as she saw her diabetes?

Amy opened the door for her, then turned and met her gaze evenly before she could step through. “Andrea, being a diabetic is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No—" Andrea closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, then forced a smile as she looked at Amy again, "but you can get embarrassed easily. Where’s Chloe? I thought she was coming with you.”

“She decided she wanted to stay home today and study.”

“Chloe? ”

“She’s a little mad at Mitch.” Amy had told Andrea about Mitch’s plans the night before during a long phone call—and yes, she had been checking up on her. “Maybe just a little upset with me for being in the middle.”

“He should have told her himself.”

“Yeah, well—he’s not going to have to worry about that for awhile. She’s decided she’s giving him up—that she has to get over him. I don’t think he realizes what he’s loosing.”

Andrea set the box down on the front desk. “Of course he doesn’t. Mitch wants to grow up and be just like Ham and Joe and your uncle Pete. Bachelor’s to the end. Of course, that’s not necessarily a male pattern.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss. Concerned. And when was the last time you went on a date?” Andrea’s eyes flashed. “Besides, Mitch dates.”

“Get real. Mitch?”

“Sure he does.”

“Never seriously. He laughs, smiles, hangs out with girls—he cares about them, but date? Like, in a serious relationship?” Andrea shrugged. “I’m going to move my car. Would you take this box out to the deck?”

Amy took the box and went outside. She left it with her bag against the side of the building and went to stand at the railing. She looked out over the beach. Some memories could never be forgotten, especially when the sounds and the smells and the pump of adrenaline made the day magical.

Like it had been, everyday, with her mom.


The blinds to the ocean were open, so Derek was aware the moment Amy stepped out on the deck. She stood at the railing, so obviously remembering.

Across the table, Ham and Mitch were studying the emergency management layout they had prepared–altered only slightly from the previous year. They’d spent most of the morning reminiscing, thinking over more than twenty years on the job. Derek took the comments in stride.

For as much as he wanted Ham’s experience, he was also confident in his own-as well as his staff's-abilities.

They had placed ambulances and emergency teams closer to the venues. The uniformed officers remained a constant presence.

“We asked community volunteers to wear orange tee-shirts. They will be briefed on where first aid and other emergency help can be found.”

“You’ll catch some flack from the mayor’s office. They expect for the lifeguards to be seen.”

“Everyone is on duty–except for those competing in multiple events. However, unless called to their various stations, they have been given more flexibility to attend different events.”

How could he expect more from his team when he hoped to find some time to watch a few of the events himself? He wanted to see Amy in competition. She was, by nature, a competitor. It wasn't that he was interested in her-not in a romantic way. He just wanted to get a handle on her.

He glanced out the window, studied her profile. The facts he knew about her clicked into place. She had been a junior Olympian. On days like today, her mother would have brought her, encouraged her, rooted her on.

And if assumptions could be trusted, Amy had later competed for her father’s approval as well. Lance Carpenter, MVP, star of the town. He would have been traveling during the summers with his team, playing ball across the country. How many events had he missed? How many had he attended?

She had never really promised that she would compete today, Derek thought. She had never signed up, and if asked, she would never commit herself. From what he understood, it was more of a running joke, and had been for years, to ask her. The one time he mentioned the tournaments himself, she’d responded only by pointing out what the other lifeguards could do for them.

But no one had ever doubted that she would show, and do what she needed to do to support the team. She was a home town girl, and had been raised by a hometown girl.

Derek pushed away from his desk. “I’ll be right back.”

He was aware the former captain and his own lieutenant watched him go to Amy. He was not ready to question why he wanted to be there.

There was little he could ask, or say. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t ready. She needed the time to relax, prepare herself.

And she didn’t relax around him.

Still, he refused to cave into her need to stay away from him.

“Looks like we’re getting a big crowd.”

Amy blinked, and came out of her trance.

“The Junior Olympics has always been a big deal.”

“Doesn’t look like a lot of kids.”

She hesitated, seemed to fumble around for a response. Or a reason not to respond.

“It’s one of the last weekends of the summer. A big part of your crowd will be teenagers out here for a place to hangout.”

“Better here than other places.”

Something flashed in her eyes, but she only nodded.

“You never came, gave me your perceptions on problems.”

“I’m not the one you need to ask. I’ve been competing for most of my life. You don’t notice much where you’re in the zone.”

“No, I don’t guess you do.”

“You compete much in anything?”

“I was on the football team in high school. Surfed a bit. I have the record in Willis County for marksmanship—a competition between county departments.”

“You any good?”

He shrugged, “A little.”

“Ham’s horrible with a gun. I don’t think he kept bullets in it. He depended on Mitch a little too much in that area. He hates the things.”

“Was there ever a moment he needed it?”

“I don’t know. Mitch has drawn his a couple of times. He’s fairly accurate. I don’t think he’s ever used it in a confrontation though. You don’t deal with most people around here that way.”

“I don’t suppose you would need to. Where I grew up the police had to know how to use their weapon to survive.”

“And if anyone had realized Ham wouldn’t have used his gun, we wouldn’t have had the reputation we had.”

She glanced down toward the pier, so obviously thinking about Maureen Childs. Even a month into the investigation, her name was still a hot topic in the news.

“If your mom was alive, what would you be doing right now?”

She glanced up at him, surprised. “Why?”

“I’m assuming that’s what you were thinking about before I broke your concentration.”

He doubted she was share. By the look in her eyes, she didn't want to.

So he was surprised when she did. She turned, looked out over the ocean, remembering.

"I was thinking that I've always been here for this part of the competition. Even after mom was gone and I didn't want to come, I was still here, still early. Sometimes I would look for her. You can pretend to spot anyone in the crowds."

"Is that what you remember most?"

"No–I remember who she was–her smile, her heart," she answered quickly. "She would have gotten a kick out of the orange shirts you’re passing out. I ... I guess I just remember. I remember a lot of things on days like today ... when I went to bed last night, I didn’t think I would come this year. I didn’t think I could do it. And yet I came. Every year I do." She closed her eyes. “My mom used to kiss me on my forehead and whisper that she loved me, that she was proud of me, that she wanted me to go into the water to play. The words were like right there against my forehead so I could feel her breath on my skin. She would tell me, ‘don’t think about what your father would do. Think about how good it feels to be alive.’”

She sighed, then took a deep breath back in. “It was always my mom and Ryan, just them here on those days. It was so hard to compete without that. Dad had baseball–which, for my life, was just as much a part of summer as swimming and the beach. I–”

She opened her eyes, blinked and turned to Derek. She was guarded now, disappointed, maybe, that she had revealed so much of herself.

“I think I’ll go find Ham.”

“Last I saw him, he was in my office.”

Derek stood with his back to the ocean, to his responsibilities, and watched Amy disappear into the station house.

And he wondered why it bothered him so that she ran from him.


“Chloe—you’re here. You—”

“Did you think I’d miss this? It’s absolutely fantastic,” she said, a little too brightly. She had spread her towel out next to Amy’s bag. She was stretched out on it, her skin gleaming with sun screen, her eyes hidden by sunglasses.

“What—”

“How did you do on your race? You were close, but I couldn’t tell.”

“Chloe, what did you do to your hair?” Amy asked, lowering herself next to Chloe onto the sand.

“Oh, this?” she held up a strand as if casually twirling it around her finger. “Well, I got to thinking about it and it’s ridiculous for me to sit home alone and miss all this sunshine. So, I decided to just do something different.”

“That’s more than different. You’re . . . almost a blond,” Amy stared at her friend, her hair edging toward a light brown with golden streaks instead of the rich brunette that framed her face and highlighted her eyes. “It’s just kind of sudden.”



“I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s not just any color. Put a little water on it and tangle it up a bit, and it looks like yours. We can get our pictures taken together and pretend we're twins. It might work, if we sit down.”

Amy ran a hand through her damp hair. “Chloe—”

“I needed to not worry about what he thinks of me.”

“So you make your hair look like mine?” She reached forward and pushed Chloe’s sunglasses up off her face and onto her hair. It frustrated her that she could not read her friend’s gaze. “Chloe, Mitch has never looked at me like that.”

“No, but he looks at you,” she held up her hands. “It’s not about the hair. It’s about getting through the next few weeks until he leaves. It’s about allowing myself to be me and to do something just a little over the top so I can. At least now I can pretend to be just a little out of my mind.”

“You’re making absolutely no sense. Why am I comforted by that?”

Chloe smiled and slipped an arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Because that’s what always happens. Besides, if Mitch is leaving soon, I’d rather him not remember me at all instead of remembering me hard and cold as I was thinking of being. Are you going to tell me how you did on your first race?”

"You're not going to be invisible, Chloe. You're too bright of a light for that."

"The race?" Chloe prompted again.

Amy sighed. “Second place.”

“Second place? What’s wrong with you?”

“My time was good—hers was better. She was a little younger, right out of high school competitions. I’m getting old, Chloe. I’m loosing my edge.”

“Never.”

“Yeah, well. Hand me my water bottle?” Amy took it, still trying to take in Chloe’s sudden new look. A group of kids, showing off their junior Olympian medals, ran past.

“Hey Amy—” Andrea jogged up, apple in hand and stopped, sand scattering at her feet as she focused on Chloe. “What did you do to your hair?”

“Something different. You don’t have to tell me what you think. In a couple of weeks, maybe I’ll be a red head.”

Andrea rolled her eyes. Amy tilted her head back and squeezed water into her mouth.

Chloe shook her head. “No . . . you don’t have to say anything, give me any sort of opinion what so ever. I know what you’re thinking—at least enough to know I don’t want to hear it.”

Amy coughed twice and shook her bottle, surprised at the bitter taste in her mouth, “You got any water?” she asked Chloe. “I don’t think this was cleaned out completely.”

“I have a diet coke.”

“I can’t swim on that. The carbonation will kill my lungs,” she shook the bottle a few more times, and lifted it to her lips. The second time around was no better.

“I’ll go get you something from the stand,” Chloe volunteered.

“Thanks,” Amy said as Chloe grabbed the bottle and ran toward one of the food huts. “We need to run some bleach through the dishwasher or something.”

“Amy, looked to your left, down toward the hut.”

Amy looked and she froze. "He's standing right there, where Chloe could have seen him."

"And as long as Benny's right there where we can see him, we know he's not following Chloe."

"What is he thinking?"

"I don't think he ever did. Not one moment," Andrea sighed. "And neither did Mitch think of her. No wonder she's hurt."

Andrea rested a hand on Amy's leg. "I'll send Chloe off to the competition with you, then I'll find John or Mitch. They can make sure he's escorted off."

Amy turned and glanced to the row of concession stands lined up behind her. Looking for Chloe–hoping that she didn't see Benny.

Not today, God. She doesn't need another stab in her heart.


“This is Amy’s event, isn’t it?” Derek asked when he spotted Mitch. They were both standing in front of the crowd, overlooking the ocean. The left and right stations floated across the water. The lifeguards would run from down the beach, past where Derek and Mitch stood, dive into the water, retrieve the buoy from the platforms and swim back to dunk the bucket. Then they would run back to their team to tag the next runner.

Each team had five lifeguards participating in the relay—two girls, three guys— and one on each platform to hand out the buoy. This was the race that made the counties competitive.

“Where’s Ham?”

“He was getting a little tired. I had John take him on home. The first race was Amy’s forte. This is a relay. She’s a decent runner, and she holds her own. She’ll run second, keep the pace, but the guys pull in the last laps.”

The announcer began an enthusiastic countdown. Derek and Mitch stepped back, out of the way.

Down the beach the horn sounded. The first runners were off.

It was fast paced, a scattering of sand. The first runners, all males, quickly covered the distance and dove into the water at different times. The crowd behind them was shouting. He felt his own blood pumping.

He’d known part of his own reputation with other counties depended on this race. He'd fielded two calls from two different captains who wanted to trade barbs.

The balls flew into the buckets—all but one—and that lifeguard stumbled back to the bucket and tossed it in, taking off after the other guys. Then the others were headed their way—all girls, except one.

Amy was running, nearly to where Derek and Mitch stood. She stumbled, falling forward into the sand. And pulled herself up just as quickly.

“Something’s wrong,” Mitch muttered as they watched her run past. Her eyes seemed unfocused. She dove in behind the others. He watched her appear, watched her move into a smooth stroke—and then she stopped.

And disappeared.


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