White Horse

drifts into our path or someone here can do magic. Can you pull a miracle out of your ass? Because I can’t.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Stand at the back. When I say jump, we jump overboard.”

The other two women are panicking. They cling to each other, weep snot and tears. The men, being men, remain stoic. Too calm, almost. And in a moment I understand what the Swiss said is true. The world as we knew it is gone. We’ve lost families and friends and enemies. What do we do when there’s no one left to love or hate?

The shore is a concrete and steel tiger coming for our throats. There is no time to admire its stripes, there’s no time to pray. We barely have time to survive.

“Jump!” I scream at Lisa, and drag her fingers from the railing. Holding her wrists in mine, we fall.

The sea makes us work for our landing. It does not surge to meet us but waits until we slam into its membrane and sink. For a moment, peace. Then the water shakes until my bones want to fly from my body.

DATE: THEN

Jenny and I are drinking our coffee on our usual corner when she drops the bombshell on me.

“I’m seeing someone.”

“You’re cheating on Mark?”

She frowns. “Jesus, no. I mean a therapist.” She takes a mouse-like sip of coffee. Today we’re both shivering. “It’s too hard. I’m not coping. I keep telling myself I am, but it’s just a lie, and it’s getting thinner by the day. You’re great, and Mom and Dad are supportive, but I need somebody outside of all this to help me cope.”

“I understand.”

“Really?”

I nod. Sip my coffee. Try to savor the warmth. I don’t think about Nick. I searched for his name again today and didn’t find it; that’s all I need.

“I’m glad. I needed someone to tell about the person I needed to talk to, which is funny, isn’t it? I can’t tell mom and dad because they’ll say—”

“You can talk to us about anything,” we say in unison. We laugh.

“Exactly,” she says.

“I had a therapist for a while.” The words blurt out, bridging the gap between us.

“Did he help?”

“He might not agree, but yeah. It’s his name I look for on the list every day.”

“Because you love him?”

“No. Because I could have.”

“It’s the same thing,” she says. “You just don’t know it yet.”

DATE: NOW

If I stare up at the sky, I can pretend I am at the beach, that my mother and sister are paddling in the shallow waters, that there will be ice cream when I tire of floating. In my fantasy I’m not surrounded by splintered wood and steel. The Elpis is not burning, her fuel weaving smoke plumes thick enough to chew. Her front half is not concertinaed against the concrete docks of Piraeus. Her backside does not dangle in the water, a beached whale of a vessel whose faulty instincts have sent her to her doom.

Sea birds circle overhead. Their cries are a dirge; to them I am nothing more than a big fish. Their obsidian eyes watch me for signs of surrender, but I will not do it. I will not.

But oh, how sweet it would be to let go.

I close my eyes just for a moment, and when they open again the sun has shifted behind the clouds, and me along with it. The tide is a helping hand pushing me toward the bulb-shaped concrete shore. Then it shifts again and I am being dragged sideways, parallel to the shore, into the path of a drifting yacht. We collide. It’s a gentle bump for the boat, but a sharp blow to my shoulder. Salted tears flood my eyes and instantly blend with the seawater that laps my face.

“America!”

My flagellating feet spin me around so that I’m facing the shore again. The Swiss is there. Lisa, too. She’s on her knees, panting, trying to pull as much oxygen as she can. But the Swiss stands, legs apart, hands on hips, his lips in their familiar cruel twist.

She’s alive, and so am I. We’ve made it this far.

“America, do you need help?”

I do, but I don’t want his brand of help. Help that costs is no help at all. So I struggle to the shore in the great harbor of Piraeus where the land races skyward, its spine an intricate trellis of houses and roads. This is Brindisi all over again, great ships low-slung in the water, their corpses rusting. In time they’ll sink below the surface when there’s no one to patch the red powdery bubbles and the sea first seeps, then floods through.

Already weak, my arms ache as they fight the steadily thickening water.

“You won’t make it,” he calls out.

My head is heavy, my arms, too. My whole body longs to stop and let the sea claim it. There’s a sleepy fog rolling into my mind. I blink, shake my head, try to clear a path, but it persists. The shore is too far. Too, too far.

“Come on, America.” He bends, picks up a tattered life preserver, waves it in the air, declaring his victory with a makeshift banner.

Another painful stroke.

“Maybe you need incentive. European incentive. Americans only act for money. But you… I think you will act for something else.” He turns, circles Lisa. “For her you will do anything, even though she is close to worthless.”

“No,” I start, but the salt water sloshes up, fills my mouth, stings my eyes. A hefty slug of brine pours into my stomach and I spit it back up again. Up on the concrete dock, the Swiss draws his leg back. Look, he taunts me with his icy eyes. I control even this. I have power, you have nothing.

No. No. No.

Then he unclenches his glutes, lets that leg fly, nails Lisa in the ribs. She makes an oofing sound as she collapses flat on the concrete. Another subtle wave drifts through the water, covering my face. I hold my breath, tilt my head, search for air. When my vision clears again, the Swiss is watching me.

“Come on, swim. Lazy American.” This time he catches Lisa in the shoulder. She cries out.

Fresh anger is a forest fire burning through me. Fueled by rage, my body conjures up energy stores from nothing. Maybe my muscles saved a doughnut for emergencies. Or that chunk of cake I once ate in the kitchen after a lousy date. Maybe my body is devouring itself.

Slowly, I cut through the water, my arms duel blades slicing so that my kicking feet propel me forward. On dry land, the Swiss continues to mock me. His words are punctuated with Lisa’s cries. I wish she would fight him, but I know she’s afraid—of his temper and losing his cruel affections.

One stroke turns into two. Two turns into three.

He pins her to the ground, boot grinding her neck.

Three leads to four. Four to five. My lungs ache. On stroke thirty I touch concrete. Is it victory if you’re too exhausted to care? Does it matter that you’ve survived?

Hugging the ground to me, I swing my body ashore, not caring that the rough surface is sloughing my skin away. Oxygen, sweet oxygen, is what counts. It comes in jagged clouds, stinging my throat and lungs. With each breath the pain lessens.

The Swiss laughs. “You’re alive. I’m impressed. You saved this one, of course.” He pokes the girl at his feet.

“If you’ve got a problem, take it out on me, you piece of shit.”

“I like this better. I enjoy watching your reactions. Your face tells me everything. I can see what you want to do to me. And for what? This creature would turn on you for little more than a bag of hot chips. Wouldn’t you?” He prods her with the tip of his boot. When she groans, he plants it in her ribs once more.

I can’t help myself. Every time I look at Lisa I see Jesse, I see Nick, I see everyone who’s crossed my path since this all began. They collect in my mind, bunching into one violent black cluster, so that when I finally fix my