Taking the Plunge

Rain was in the air, and dark clouds piled high into the night sky. The wind tore at Lauren’s coat, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her upper body as if to keep warm. She didn’t do it because she was cold, though – she wasn’t feeling anything. It was simply a habit, a reflex, something you did when it was windy like this. She was merely going through the motions, just as she was going through the motions when she ran away to this place. One look at the whitewashed outer walls of her childhood home, and she no longer knew what had brought her here. Why had she come? She turned on her heel, tilting her neck back, and watched the leaves up in the treetops of the giant maple trees dance and swirl in the wind. In the summer, these trees would form a dense canopy over the driveway, but now they showed only a few spare branches, sticking out like the gnarled arms of Death. Lauren staggered backward as the branches swayed in the wind. It seemed as if they were trying to reach for her. As if Death himself was trying to reach out his grisly arms out for her . . .

She let out a high-pitched scream, and started running. The world around her seemed to come apart at the seams, and everything was spinning around her. She knew she needed to sit down, take a few deep breaths, come to her senses, but she was locked in a nightmare. With unsteady steps, she dragged herself in the direction of her beloved lake house, but this time it didn’t look warm and inviting. The wind tore at the honeysuckle, making the vines writhe like snakes below the awning, and the dark windows stared at her like dead eyes.

She turned around, making for the small pier that the rowing boat was tied to. The boat was bobbing on the water, grating against the pier with every wave.

Lauren’s whole body trembled as she reached the end of the pier and let her eyes wandered over the lake. She felt like a wild animal caught in a trap. There was no way out of this. No hope. Not even despair. She stood, her arms hanging at her sides, limp like empty potato sacks, unable to hold on to anything. She inhaled deeply but felt nothing. Not the relief of being able to breathe, not the cold of the storm raging around her, and no fear, even though she knew that she probably would not live to see her fortieth birthday. An involuntary sob escaped her chest, and she wanted nothing more than to feel something. Pain, anger, fear – anything at all. Because this nothingness consuming her right now seemed like the harbinger of Death, separating her from who she used to be. She buried her face in her hands and jumped.

There was only one thought running through her mind as the freezing waves crashed over her, and the cold pierced her body like a thousand needles:

‘Why me?’

Tim quickened his step when he saw Lauren stagger along the pier. She seemed to be in a trance. He called out to her, but she kept moving. The wind had picked up quite a bit and carried his voice away before it could reach her ears. Suddenly feeling the cold hand of premonition, Tim broke into a run.

He saw her jump and hit the water – and his world stopped. Water splashed up as if in slow motion, and he could see her coat, briefly billowing out over the surface before it, too, was swallowed by the lake. He saw her thrashing her arms and her breath rising in great air bubbles, even heard her scream, muffled by the water, but he was momentarily frozen to the spot. Then he was running, he knew that much – but he didn’t seem to be getting closer. Tearing off the thin sweater he was wearing when he had started following her, he jumped in after her.

The lake wasn’t deep in this spot, not even seven feet, but the cold hit him like a freight train, paralyzing him as soon as he hit the water. He managed to grab her under the arms, but her hair was long and wet against his face, blocking his view. Every move toward the shore was a struggle. He could hear himself calling her name, even though he had no idea why. Gripped by furious despair, he held on to her. Her wet coat was tearing at her shoulders as if trying to pull her back into the water, and Tim desperately tried to free Lauren from the heavy orange fabric. She held onto him, shaking, with her teeth chattering loudly. When he finally carried her to shore with his last ounce of his strength, she clung to his neck and couldn’t stop weeping.

‘Goddammit, Lauren!’ he yelled again and again. He needed to get through to her, reach her somehow beneath the shock . . .

Lauren’s whole body twitched, shaken by heavy sobs. The cold burned against her skin, the water tasted like fish against her lips. Tim’s heart was beating against her chest, and his arms made her feel safe again.

‘Tim,’ she sobbed through chattering teeth, burying her face in his shoulder. ‘Hold me, Tim. Hold me!’ The tears were burning like fire in her raw throat, and her stomach was tied in knots from the deep-seated pain. ‘I’m so scared!’

Tim staggered ashore, almost breaking under her weight. Her clothes were completely soaked, weighing her down, and he sank into the sand with her, without letting go for even a second. Taking her face into his cold hands, he brushed a strand of red, wet hair from her cheek.

‘Lauren, why . . . why did you do it?’

Lauren didn’t respond, unable to talk. With every breath she took, her strength dwindled.

Angry, Tim shook her by the shoulder, turning her face to look him in the eye.

‘Were you trying to kill yourself? Is that it?’ he screamed. Lauren shook her head and wiped the snot away with the back of her hand. How could he even think such a thing? She saw the shock in his eyes. The shock and disappointment. One thing was now clear to her: come what may, she could not walk away from her life like a coward. Never would she give up on what she had. Her children, her friends . . . and her love.

‘No,’ she wailed. ‘No, Tim. I wasn’t! I want to live! I don’t want to die . . . but I feel nothing. Ever since Ahrens said it . . . I can’t feel a thing! Nothing! I can’t think, I can’t cry, I can’t even be angry. Tim, I feel as if I’m already dead. I just . . . I just wanted to know what it was like to feel something!’

Tim pressed her against him and kissed her cold lips. His mouth felt soft and hot against her wet skin, and she pushed up against him.

‘Wanna know what I feel?’ he muttered close to her ear, and his tears were running over her cheek. ‘I feel scared. I’ve never been so scared before in my life, Lauren.’

‘I’m scared, too. I’m so scared that I can barely breathe. And I’m cold. So cold.’

Tim lifted her up and carried her up to the Latham’s house, but before they even reached the steps leading up to the front door, Celeste came running toward them, screeching.

‘My gosh! Tim? Lauren? What . . . what happened?

Look at you! I saw you down by the shore, and . . .’

‘Let us in, quick – I need to get Lauren out of these wet clothes,’ Tim commanded, squeezing past his mother-in-law and into the living room. Without paying any more attention to Celeste and the horrified look in her eyes, he lay Lauren down and started undressing her. Water was dripping from both their pants and seeping into the expensive rug.

‘Go get some towels and dry clothes – and blankets,’ he instructed Celeste, still shaking from the cold.

She ran upstairs. The strange mood that had followed them into the house sent shivers down her spine. Something was wrong.

A short while later, Celeste was sitting in the dining room, wringing her hands. She was trembling and found herself unable to think straight. The long dining table seemed like a shield to hide behind – but it failed to protect her from the rest of the world. Peter had just returned home after a long day at the firm, and she could hear him talking quietly to Tim in the living room. After Tim had told her what had happened, and why, she had needed to get away, not wanting to show Lauren that the news shook her to the core. She did not want her child to see her cursing God.

Which was what she was doing: cursing God, the Universe, and everyone lucky enough to be spared such a fate.

Nervously, she braced herself for Peter’s reaction, half expecting him to yell or shout or start hitting something. But none of that happened. All she heard was her own heart beating much too fast in her chest, and she could feel herself breaking out in a sweat.

Then the set of double doors opened, and her husband entered. He was moving slowly, dragging his feet, as if he had aged twenty years, and his skin looked gray. His lips were pasty, and he gasped for air. Distraught, he pulled Celeste up from her chair and pressed her against him.

He trembled, almost breaking every bone in her body by holding on to her so tightly. As if trying to stop himself from drowning.

‘Our child!’ he managed, convulsing with sobs. ‘Our baby!’

* * *

Over the flames Lauren looked into her dad’s stoic face. He was taking this evening with level-headedness, using all his strength to offer his wife and grandchildren a strong and comforting presence.

‘That was one of the hardest day of our lives. Almost as hard as today,’ he confessed, putting his arm around Celeste’s trembling shoulders.

Ben rose and walked over to his parents.

‘Mom, are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Do . . . do you want me to take you home? It’s getting late,’ he offered, but Celeste shook her head.

‘No. I’m staying. I want to stay,’ she said resolutely. ‘I’m fine. I . . . I’m going to stop crying now.’