and snapped rigid, coming down fast with the board at her back and her arms stretched toward the water.
She had an instant of stabbing fear when she realized she had come out of the tuck too late.
Her head missed the end of the board. So did her upper back. It caught her just above the buttocks. She gritted her teeth as the board pounded her, scraped her and knocked her forward. She glimpsed her bare legs kicking against the pale sky. Then the water blurred her view.
She blew out air through her nose. Plunging toward the bottom of the pool, she wondered how badly she was hurt. She clawed at the water.
Then she felt a hand on her back. The hand found her arm and pulled her. She reached out and grabbed the side of the pool. Jerry was beside her.
His face looked pale. “My God,” he gasped, “are you okay?”
She shook her head. Her heart was slamming with fear and her throat felt clamped tight. Tears filled her eyes. She crossed her arms on the tiles, and rested her face on them. Jerry’s hand gently rubbed her back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do it.”
“It’s what I get ... for showing off.”
“Damn, I bet that hurt.”
“I feel... like I got... kicked by a mule.”
“You ever been kicked by a mule?”
“Don’t be a wiseguy.” She managed to swallow. She took a deep breath. She wiped a wet forearm across her eyes, then reached down and carefully fingered a raw area near the top of her right buttock. She could feel loose edges of skin that had been peeled down. Her left buttock was in better shape. It felt battered and slightly scuffed, but not flayed.
Suddenly alarmed, Gillian reached lower. Her bikini pants.
“Oh shit,” she muttered.
“What?”
“I lost something.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Easy for you to say,” she told Jerry. She thought she was done crying, but her voice broke and her eyes flooded.
“I’ll find them for you.”
Jerry was no longer beside her. She wiped her eyes and turned around. He was far below the surface, kicking his way toward the bottom of the pool.
Gillian pushed away from the edge. She swam toward the shallow end, then stood. She was shoulder-deep. She peered down. The water blurred the view, but not enough.
Jerry was swimming toward her, well below the surface, the white rag of her bikini pants fluttering in his grip.
She drove her hands down quickly to cover herself.
Jerry veered off. So he has his eyes open under there, Gillian thought. Wonderful.
He swam toward the left, moved past her, and stood up. He lifted her pants out of the water. “Here you go.”
He looked into her eyes. He didn’t look down.
Gillian uncovered herself. She took the garment from him. The cords on both sides dangled, torn loose from the seat. “It’s ruined,” she muttered.
“You can’t put it on?”
She shook her head. She sighed. She felt as if she might burst into tears again.
“I’ll get you something to wear,” Jerry said. He turned away, waded to the side of the pool, climbed out, and hurried across the sundeck to the rear of his house.
While he was gone, Gillian moved to the pool wall. She pressed herself to it, feeling the slick tile against her belly and hips and pubic mound and thighs.
The initial pain had been replaced by a dull ache. Even the skinned areas no longer hurt much.
What hurt was the humiliation.
It wasn’t much different from the time, a few years ago, when she got plastered at a party and barfed on the floor in front of everyone.
That was worse, she decided. This time, at least, it was an accident. It wasn’t exactly my fault.
If I hadn’t been showing off...
Jerry came out of the house with a blue terri-cloth robe. “This should do the trick,” he said. He dropped it onto the pool deck in front of her, then turned away.
Gillian climbed out, hoping he wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity to look at her. She put on the bulky robe, and belted it shut. “Okay,” she said.
He faced her. He was frowning. “Better?” he asked.
Gillian nodded. “Thanks.”
“You really caught it.”
“Yeah. I noticed. Thanks for pulling me out.”
“Do you think you need a doctor? I could drive you to an emergency room.”
“No, it’s not that bad. I’ll have an ugly ass for a couple of weeks, that’s all.”
Jerry smiled a little sadly. “It’s a shame for something that gorgeous to get banged up.”
Heat rushed to Gillian’s face. “I’d better get going,” she muttered. Stepping over to the table, she slipped into her sandals and picked up the shirt she had worn as a cover-up.
“You’ll come back for the barbecue, won’t you?”
“I don’t know, Jerry.”
“You earned it. The hard way.”
“I don’t know. This is all ... pretty embarrassing.”
“Yeah, I guess it would be.” He lowered his voice. “Look, the invitation stands. I’d really like you to come over. But I’ll understand, if you’d rather not.”
“If I do come, are you going to make me dive?”
He looked up at her. “Certainly. If you won’t dive, forget it. Stay home and starve.”
“What time do the festivities start?”
“Say five?”
Gillian nodded. “We’ll see. I’ll bring you back your robe, anyway.”
He walked with her to the gate, and opened it. “I’m awfully sorry you got hurt.”
“I’m awfully sorry I lost my pants.”
“I’m not.”
“Screw you, buster.”
He patted her gently on the arm. She stepped through the gate and walked down his driveway, trying hard not to limp.
“I think we should push on,” Bert said. “It’s still early, and Dead Mule Pass is only two miles.”
“Two miles straight up,” Andrea pointed out. “I don’t know why we want to push it. This looks like a perfectly good place to spend the night.”
Rick thought so, too. The lake was surrounded by trees, and the shady place where they’d stopped was close to the shore and had a rushing stream nearby. There were flat areas where they could pitch their tents, a ring of stones for a campfire, and sawn-off logs for seats.
Nobody was using the seats. All four had dropped to the ground and were resting against their packs.
“Let’s go on,” Bonnie said, looking up from a map spread across her legs. “It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours to the top. We’ll come into a whole string of lakes just on the other side of the pass.”
“Bug squat,” Andrea muttered.
Bert smiled at her. “Look at it this way. If we don’t go over the pass this afternoon, we’ll be hitting it first thing in the morning. Wouldn’t you rather get it over with?”
“Maybe it’ll flatten out overnight. Maybe we’ll die in our sleep. Maybe...”
