The Summer Girls (6 page)

Carson frowned with annoyance. This was a recipe for trouble. Anytime fish gathered, wildlife hovered. Instinct told her to paddle farther from the boat, but in the distance she saw a strong wave building. “At last,” she murmured, and gripped her board tight. This would be her ride in. Suddenly her attention was caught by a pelican tucking in its long wings and dive-bombing into the ocean, a mere ten feet from her board.

“Whoa,” she exclaimed as she felt the ripples in the water. The bird had barely disappeared under the water when from the same spot the sea exploded in spray as a massive shark burst from the water, the pelican dangling in its jaws. Carson’s breath froze in her chest as she watched the shark spin in the air, a glistening gray missile, then fall with a bombastic splash mere feet from her board. Carson pulled her legs onto her board and stared in shock as she rocked in the powerful wake.

For a second it seemed as though the whole earth had sucked in its breath. On the shore, people clustered near the water and pointed toward her. Yards away, a fellow surfer’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Get out of there!” Danny shouted as he paddled hard toward shore.

What do I do?
her mind screamed. She was fearful of putting her legs and arms back into the water. She’d missed the wave and the shark could be anywhere in the murky water, even right below her. Carson scanned the sea. The sun glistened like diamonds on the water. Overhead, the seagulls had resumed their grating cries as they circled the receding shrimp boat. All appeared peaceful. Carson released her breath and slowly leaned forward to her belly to paddle.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a swift movement. She turned to see the unmistakable dorsal fin of a shark circling the shrimp boat.
Dear God, don’t let the beast be inflamed into a feeding frenzy,
she prayed, paddling hard, focusing all of her mounting adrenaline on just making it to shore. Amid the cries of the birds, Carson heard the shouts of fellow surfers calling to her to get out of there. Moments later she felt a rough bump against her right leg from a large body. It felt like wet sandpaper. Carson’s stomach dropped and she yanked her legs back up onto the board, holding tight.

“Oh God, oh God,” she cried against her knees. The salt water burned her eyes and her whole body shook as she searched the dark sea. She knew from beneath the surface her surfboard resembled a sea turtle or a seal—ideal prey for a shark. For the first time in the sea, Carson felt hunted and helpless.

She shivered, waiting, watching as time crept by. All seemed quiet again. The sun was changing the sky from dusky to a brilliant, cloudless blue. She raised her hand like a visor over her eyes and squinted as she scanned the blue water that went on forever. She was alone. The other surfers
had made it in to shore and the shrimp boat was heading north in its leisurely trawl. For a moment Carson felt a sense of hope. Surely the shark would follow the trail of the boat’s fish-chummed water.

Then her surfboard rocked as a dark shadow passed close, fully as long as her six-foot board. Carson choked back a scream as the large gray body emerged from the depths beside her, but she released her breath in a sigh of relief at the sight of the rounded head, the long snout, and the sweet smile of a dolphin.

The dolphin circled her board, arching in its typical fashion, then circled twice more before it disappeared again. Carson swiped her hair back and took a deep breath. She’d read somewhere that dolphins didn’t swim near sharks. Encouraged, once again she slowly loosened her legs and began to tentatively paddle toward shore, trying not to splash. She was making progress when she spotted the shark circling to her left. Cursing it to hell, Carson jerked her legs back on her board.

The shark was maybe ten feet in length and at least four hundred pounds of hard muscle. It was a bull shark, one of the most aggressive and unpredictable sharks that prowled shallow waters. Humans were not part of their diet, but the bulls were testy and had been known to deliver fatal bites. And this predator was clearly curious about her. It advanced toward her in its unmistakable zigzag pattern.

Suddenly, the dolphin emerged again. It swam close to her board and began slapping the water with its tail fluke aggressively, as if beating a drum in warning. It seemed to work; the shark suddenly veered away and the dolphin
submerged again. Carson felt the seconds tick by, clutching her legs, teeth chattering. What was happening? She’d heard that dolphins protected humans from sharks, and she prayed that was happening in this moment.

But the shark would not be chased off. It reemerged farther out, refusing to yield. The dolphin turned and began swimming with agitation in the stretch of blue sea between her and the shark before it disappeared again. Carson kept her gaze pinned to the shark, which suddenly turned her way. At that moment time seemed to crystallize. Carson felt numb as all sound diminished into the vacuum of those soulless eyes. Her mouth slipped open in a silent cry.

Out of nowhere, the dolphin suddenly streaked past her in a straight trajectory for the shark. The dolphin was so fast it hydroplaned across the water like a missile to T-bone the shark’s flank. The bulky shark seemed to fold in half under the force of the hit in its vulnerable gills. For a fraction of a second the stunned shark appeared to hang limp, suspended in the water. Then, in a swift, reflexive move, the monster swung its head, its blood-colored gums and fierce teeth exposed, in an attack. The dolphin bolted, but not before the shark’s teeth closed on its tail.

“No!” Carson couldn’t stifle a cry as they both disappeared again under the water. It had all happened so fast—a matter of seconds.

Her heart broke for the dolphin, but she knew she had to get away while she could. Mercifully, a decent wave was building. This would be her best, perhaps only, chance to escape. She paddled for her life, stroking deep, immeasurably grateful for the familiar feel of the water lifting her
forward. Clinging tight to her board, with her eyes fixed on the beach, she rode the crest on shaky legs close to shore.

Normally Carson was careful not to scrape her board by driving it into the beach, but today she rode the wave all the way in. Her legs felt like rubber and were scraped by the sand. Her friends ran to help her up and to carry her board from the sea.

While people clustered around her, Carson stood on the shore and stared at the ocean, her arms crossed tightly around her chest, shivering violently despite the morning sun. She looked out in an uncomprehending daze. Somehow, for reasons she didn’t understand, a dolphin had saved her life, perhaps losing its own in the effort. She’d heard similar tales from fellow surfers, but this hadn’t happened to somebody else. It was real. It had happened to
her
.

T
he following day, Carson returned to the Isle of Palms and stared out from the beach at the familiar vista of ocean and sky. The surfboard felt heavy under her arm, and the late-afternoon sun was hot on her shoulders, but she lingered, staring out at the expanse of ocean and the mild waves cascading ashore. Only one other surfer was out there, bobbing in the calm sea, staring out at the horizon. The surf was unremarkable, barely enough to bother with. Yet that wasn’t what was keeping Carson’s feet rooted to the sand.

She was afraid. Her mouth was dry. Her heart was racing, not in anticipation but in dread. As she looked out at the vast expanse of the ocean, images of the shark flashed in her mind. She saw again the death in the soulless eyes, the rolling back of the mouth, exposing powerful pink gums and razor-sharp teeth. Carson felt again the terror of floating
helplessly on her board while, underneath the murky water, a frenzied beast was biding its time.

Never, not even as a little girl, had she hesitated to leap into the salt water, as eager as any other creature of the sea that had been on land too long. The ocean, the Atlantic especially, was her motherland. She knew she shared the water with countless other creatures. Sharks included. The ocean was their home, too, one she’d shared with them for all of her life. She told herself that what had happened yesterday morning was a freak occurrence.

She shook her legs, swallowed hard, and expelled a long, shaky breath. “Get back in there. You belong there. Come on . . .”

Carson rolled her shoulders, then took off into the water. The water was chilly as she splashed into the shallows. Her heels dug into the soft sand; then, when she was far enough out, she slapped her board onto the water. She felt the tingling cold on her bare skin as she lay flat on the board, then stretched her arms out and began paddling hard out to sea.
Push, push, push,
she told herself, puffing hard. The sunlight on the water was glaringly bright. Carson felt cold, and the salt water burned her eyes. The first wave was approaching. She gripped her board tight. Ducked her head. Took a breath to dive under it.

Then she bailed. She couldn’t help herself. Her muscles were tightening and her heart was pounding in a panic. All she could think of was that she had to get out of the water, get back to shore. Gulping air, she paddled for her life. Once in the shallows she leaped from her board and dragged it ashore, collapsing on the sand.

Carson crouched on the beach with her forehead resting on her knees as her breath slowly returned to normal. When she could, she wiped her face with her palms and stared out at the ocean again, stunned.

What had happened to her out there? She’d panicked for no reason she could name. Who was this girl? She had always thought of herself as fearless. But today, when the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, she hadn’t fought. She had fled.

Carson retreated from the beach, packed up her car, and headed back to Sea Breeze. Her hands clutched the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. She told herself over and over that her panic was just a normal reaction to what had happened yesterday morning. That in time the fear would dissipate like the confusion one felt after a nightmare. She just had to keep trying.

Still, Carson felt shaken to her core. Her whole life seemed to be spiraling. She was free-falling without a parachute, and now even surfing didn’t bring her the sense of belonging that it always had.

Perhaps her fear wasn’t a failure as much as it was an omen.

There were no secrets from Mamaw.

Later that night, after Carson had showered and feasted on crab cakes and red rice, she and Mamaw went to sit for a spell on the back porch. Carson curled up on a large black wicker chair with a glass of wine. A candle flickered in the
low light and Carson could hear the pounding of the surf in the black distance. Across from her, Mamaw sat in a rocker, wrapped like a queen in a scarlet shawl.

“Well now, missy,” Mamaw said when they’d settled in their chairs. Her blue eyes shone like full moons in the candlelight. “You’ve arrived early looking like one of the Joad family with your car packed to the gills, you’ve been sulking around, and tonight you’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” Her left brow arched. “Let’s have it.”

Carson sighed, took a sip of the cool wine, then set the glass on the table. “I’m okay. I’m just a little freaked, is all. I was almost shark food out on the ocean yesterday.”

Mamaw sucked in her breath and her hand reached up to the pearls around her neck. “What? What happened?”

“It was one of those weird perfect storms of coincidences. I was farther out than usual and this shrimp boat was closer in than usual. All these gulls and pelicans and dolphins were chasing the chum.”

“Not a good combination.”

“Right. It was a smorgasbord.”

“A shark . . .” Mamaw shivered dramatically. “Honey, I hate knowing you’re out there with those beasts.”

“Oh, Mamaw, they’re out there all the time. It’s their home, don’t forget. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of sharks out there. A
lot
.” She saw the expected look of shock on Mamaw’s face and wanted to spare her worry. “We’re not their usual diet and they leave us alone. But this guy . . .”

Carson paused, feeling again that drop she’d felt in the pit of her stomach after the determined bump the shark
had delivered to her leg. Carson knew that most of the accidents with sharks in the surf were just that—accidents. A case of mistaken identity.