Between Octobers

August 7th

August 7th

Something was shaking, dragging me from the depths of a dream where I stood staring at Noah. He was wearing that red clown nose of his, but he wasn't laughing. We were outside, but I couldn't tell where. I registered the jostling touch while trying to drag my mind from a deep slumber.

"Grace, Grace. Wake. Up." It was Lily's hand on my shoulder that produced the shaking.

"What?" Through groggy eyes, I searched her expression. It was grim and unchanging in the dim light.

"Look." She pointed to the television. I must've fallen asleep watching.

The room was still dark as I focused on the images that were something of a mystery; a birds-eye view of a shoreline. It was the view from a news helicopter. The local station's number and logo were stamped in the bottom corner of the screen. The camera swept from the roof of a dark house to the dark water of the Pacific Ocean. Searchlights swirled over the water while red, computer-generated arrows pointed to indicate the current and direction of the high tide.

Confusion beset me on all sides as I looked back to Lily. She was covering her mouth, crying. I moved towards the screen, to read the words ticking across the bottom.

A search is underway tonight for missing actor Rhys Matthews, 27, nicknamed Hollywood's King of Teen Horror, most famously known as the star of the Time Redeemer trilogy of films and, more recently, for his stunning performance in the independent film, Triumph in the Sky. Matthews was last seen sleeping on the beach behind his home approximately three hours ago. An unidentified witness reports: "One second he was there, the next he was gone. The sand where he was sleeping was all wet. He didn't go back in the house; he couldn't have made it that far without being seen." 

The carpet flew up to my knees.

Lily was on the phone. I could tell she was talking to Marcus, who was in the midst of planning his father's funeral. He said the Coast Guard was out in full force, as well as experienced locals who'd volunteered to assist in the search, and several news stations were lending air support. They were all confident he'd be found as long as he could keep swimming.   

 "He's a strong swimmer."

My heart grabbed onto the hope. A life preserver in my sea of pain. The first night we swam in the pool—I was surprised at his ability to keep treading water long after I was winded. And he'd quit smoking at least once since then. That could only improve his chances. 

 My face pressed into the rug, begging God to bring him back. Promise after promise, if He would only give Evan more time. I clenched the carpet fibers between my fingers. All the while, vaguely aware of Lily at my side, saying things I couldn't understand. Whatever it was wasn't important enough to ask. It couldn't happen again. He had to be okay. He had to be.

I looked back to the silent television that was looping the same footage—showing a smiling picture of Evan in the corner of the screen—as they panned the dark shoreline.

I didn't know how long, but at some point, the sound of the ringing phone broke through. Lily already had it on her ear. "What is it, Marcus?" She gasped, listening.

My heart plunged, waiting for her to repeat the news. I wanted to ask but I didn't want to miss anything. My eyes strayed desperately to the television. Nothing new. A small part of me wondered if I'd be better off not knowing, as another, more prominent, part demanded answers. I stared, apparently muted by the shock, as the corner of Lily's mouth twitched.

"Where?" Again, she spoke and did not translate—hearing everything I wanted to know and giving nothing away!

"That's only a few minutes from here."