More Than One Way to Drown

By Meredith Mead

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The terrace was alight with splendor. The white frame of the house glowed against the moonlit backdrop, and the backyard bustled with the sounds of a party. Guests mingled while the strains of music echoed across the lake. A black grand piano had been moved outside, and a suited man sat at the bench. His hands danced across the keys, caressing note like an old friend. When at last he finished, his guests lifted their drinks and applauded.

Smiling graciously, he stood. “My friends,” he addressed them, “thank you for joining me tonight! I urge you to enjoy my home like it was your own. The night is yours!”

He had just sat down to play once more when a young man approached him. He leaned on the instrument, his drink held lightly in his gloved hand. “Enjoying playing host?” he asked.

His companion grinned, trilling on a high G-chord. “It's very entertaining, Samuel. You ought to try it sometime.”

Samuel laughed. “Believe me, I would if I had an estate of this expanse.” He clapped his friend on the back, whose notes wavered slightly from the impact. “But you've been playing that thing all night. Relax, enjoy yourself. It is your party after all.”

“Just one more song.”

“And ten later, you'll still be here. Come on.” He offered his hand and with one last chord, Roy stood. Together they walked to the edge of the courtyard, soaking in the atmosphere of the party.

“Roy, I must hand it to you. You know how to draw a crowd.” Samuel waved his hand as if writing a headline in the air. “Roy Summerfield—twenty-three years old, piano prodigy, and a near-millionaire.”

They stopped at the railing overlooking the lake. Below, a long flight of stone steps led down to a dock stretching into the water. Samuel nodded to the craft parked alongside it. “Quite the boat. Had time to take it out?”

“Not much. It's been dreadful with all the summer people on holiday. All the houses are filled up to the north shore.”

“I saw a boat earlier. Turning figure eights so fast I was surprised they didn't fly out. Look, it’s still there. Across the lake. Why . . . it's flying straight towards us!”

The roar of a motor echoed across the water.

“You do think it can see the dock?”

Roy frowned. “It must. We've got a light off shore, see? Attached to the pole. Still, I’m shocked there hasn’t been an accident—”

Suddenly there came a loud crash as the boat barreled straight into the pole. There was a scream and a splash as someone flew from the craft. The noise of the party fell silent as the guests stared in horror. Then the boat sputtered, turned, and began to limp back across the lake.

“Someone’s in the water!” Roy snapped. Kicking off his shoes, he raced down the steps to the dock. He whipped off his jacket. Gripping it in his hand, he dove off, squinting through the murky water. There. Several yards away a woman thrashed, head barely above the water. Her arms flailed as if groping for a ladder to the surface, but her resolve was fading. Heart pounding, Roy swam forward.

“Here!” he cried, throwing the other end of his jacket like a rope. “Grab hold!”

Her hands reached out but couldn't seem to take it.

“I’ll pull you to shore!”

With one final effort, she threw herself toward the fabric and seized the end. One arm grasping the jacket, the other arm stroking, Roy kicked furiously towards the dock. At last he felt sand beneath his feet. He stumbled through the water, the girl sagging in his arms. Finally he reached the strip of beach beside the steps. Roy lowered her to the ground and collapsed. His formal pants were waterlogged, and his white dress shirt was soaked and see-through. All he could do was gasp for breath as she coughed beside him. At last his heart slowed and he rolled into a sitting position.

Wiping at his face with his sleeve, he asked, “Are you all right?”

She didn't respond with words. Instead, she threw her arms around him, sobbing. Shocked, Roy went rigid. Her body trembled and when she coughed, a stream of lake water ran down his back. His cheeks burned, but before he could rectify the situation, Samuel leaped down beside him.

“Roy! Thank goodness.” Offering his hand, he helped Roy to his feet. The girl fell back on the sand, shivering.

“Send everyone home, the party is over,” Roy said. “I’ll get her inside. See if there’s a physician.” Lifting her into his arms, he stood slowly, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

Samuel ran up the stairs shouting, “Clear the way! Clear the way! Is there a doctor about?” Roy followed steadily behind, shoving past curious guests. Finally he reached the French doors. Hefting them open, Roy carried her inside and laid her across the sofa, dripping dress and all.

He breathed a sigh. Everything happened so quickly, he hadn’t even looked at her properly. In the warm light, he could see her clearly for the first time. Her wet hair was dark, and her eyes were a deep brown. They weren’t as frightened as before, but looking into them, all he could see was the fear on her face as she clawed the water. If he hadn’t been there, it would have swallowed her.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

“Thank you.” The words fell from her mouth, but she had spoken nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, but I never introduced myself. My name is Roy.” He half-expected she wouldn’t answer, but she replied, “I'm Carmen.”

“Carmen? Pleasure.”

She didn't speak for several minutes. Then at last she said, “I owe you my life. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come after me. Even after we got to shore—I knew we were on land, but it felt like I was still going under. My mind still thought I was drowning. All I could do was hold on for dear life.”

Come to think of it, her eyes weren’t brown, they were ebony, ebony against ivory skin. If he hadn't been there, would it really have been the end for her? Was he the sole reason she was still alive? And if so, what did that mean for him?

“Your home is magnificent,” she said. “You live all alone?”

“If you don't count the cat.”

Her laugh was like a distant wave coming to shore. Something about the sound made him want to hear more. It was a type of music cut short before the final note.

“You're Roy Summerfield, aren't you?” she asked quietly. “The musician?”

“I can't deny it.”

“I heard stories of his manor on the lake . . . Oh, I'm so sorry, I never meant for any of this—”

“Carmen.” He reached for her hand. It was frigid, but he could feel the warmth from his palm traveling into hers. “It’s all right. I’m glad we met tonight.”

The door creaked behind him, and he whipped around. A doctor stood in the entryway, his hat in his hands and a briefcase under his arm.

“You’re lucky, Mr. Summerfield, that I was here tonight. If you step outside, I’ll examine her.”

Feeling foolish, Roy dropped her hand. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He walked to the doors, but he paused. Unable to stop himself, he turned back to Carmen.

“I—I have a piano,” he stammered. “I can play if you'd like.”

She smiled. “I'd like that.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, and he stepped out into the night. Pulling out the piano bench, he sat down, watching the light glisten in the ivory keys. His hands rested on the chord, but his fingers froze, the music held back. Lost in thought, his eyes wandered back to the window.

“You know, you form a connection when you save another's life.”

Roy turned. He hadn’t heard Samuel come up. “You think so?”

“I wouldn't be surprised.”

Roy watched her unwaveringly. “She wanted to hear my music.”

Samuel smiled. “Then play, my friend.”

“Yes,” he breathed softly. “I think I will.”

Slowly his hands found the keys again. Liquid gold poured from the instrument, from his soul, as the melody carried into the house and across the lake. Swept up in the song, he lost himself in the music until all he knew was the smooth, ivory keys and the ebony of Carmen's eyes. Everything inside him had grown wings and shot up into the skies above. Breathless, he looked to the heavens. He was flying and falling at the same time, spiraling to the music that carried him higher and higher, playing for an audience of one. The stars above twinkled, and he smiled. Maybe, he thought as his fingers danced. Maybe there's more than one way to drown.