Going Under

Chapter One ∾ I Work Alone

The thing of it is, you don't know when you're life is about to change. You don't wake up and say, "Everything will be different today." It just feels normal, which is why I think it's the scariest. You don't suspect a thing—nothing is amiss. It lulls you into a false sense of security, and the blow is one thousand times harsher.

The day my mother left was one I barely remember, but won't ever forget. I was young—four or five at most—and she was my idol (besides my sister Jenny). It felt like any other day, so the details are hazy, and the one thing that will always be imprinted in my mind was the way my heart felt like it had stopped beating, like my body couldn't accept what was happening and was at odds with my mind. I denied the whole ordeal. But to this day, when my father laughs, I will always think about his broken face when he told me Mommy wasn't coming back, and how Jenny didn't leave her room for days, and how I didn't understand why she left. I see Mom's jovial face as she sweeps me off my feet, and then I remember how I stared at the phone, hoping it would ring, the little flame of hope in my chest flickering, and the memories are poisoned. And the sad thing is, I think maybe if she called, I would've forgiven her. If she just tried maybe Jenny would have too. After all, they were the closest.

But she didn't. Never once did she attempt to keep in contact.

And that made me resent her. I hated the fact that she made Jenny toss and turn in her bed, and that Dad had to sleep on the couch because he couldn't bear being in their room without her. I hated that she didn't even ask to see us, like some parents did when they left. It was like she just wanted to cut us out of her life, pretend we never existed. She ripped a throbbing wound in my heart, and every day she stayed silent, more salt was added into it.

So sixteen years later, at the ripe age of twenty-one, I was done with feeling the pain she inflicted on our family.

But the question that occupied my thoughts was the one thing I didn't want to face.

How do I keep myself from never experiencing that again?

                                                                                             ∾∾∾

The hot sun shone down on the back of my neck, trying to penetrate the thick layer of goop I'd generously slathered on. My body was covered in a thin film of sweat, but my tanned skin made it almost worthwhile. Surveying the pool, I crossed my legs and tilted my sunglasses down to the tip of my nose before deeming everyone safe and pushing them back up.

I'd been working the lifeguard job at Kingsley Ranch since I was sixteen. We'd been regular visitors ever since I was little since Dad's old college friend owned the country club, and he and his wife, Linda, had always loved Jenny and I. When little baby Lainey came along, they accepted her with open arms, and cherished every one of us Jameson girls. It only seemed fitting that when I was legally old enough to work, he offered me a spot in the staff. And as I got older, I grew to love the hot days and constant chatter of poolside residents.

Sighing in content, I leaned back in my tall chair and relished the feeling of being in control. It was moments like these, where the wind ruffled my hair, and the sun was momentarily blocked out by clouds, that I never wanted to leave my post above the water.

But of course, my peace was short lived.

"Belly?"

I opened one eye, looking down to see Walt Kingsley standing below me. The slight breeze blew his gray hair off his forehead, where it was meticulously styled, and his eyes were surrounded by deep laugh lines. His ever-present smile was currently plastered on his lips, but I detected something in his face I rarely ever saw except when he knew he was in trouble with Linda.