Randy White - Twelve Mile Limit

I placed my beer on the table, still looking in her eyes. Touched my index finger to her chin, tilting it upward, then kissed her lips softly, then again, feeling her tongue move and moisten. When I felt her hands slide to my sides, when I felt her body begin to react, I pulled away long enough to say, “All I can tell you is, I think you were right. I think there’s a chance a boat picked them up and took them to South America, maybe Colombia. I’m leaving Sunday if I can get a flight. Monday, maybe Tuesday at the latest.”

Momentarily, her eyes had gone sleepy-woozy, but now they came back into sharp focus. “I’m going with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

She stepped back, holding me away with her hands. She was suddenly very serious again. “Doc, you don’t understand. I have to go. If there’s any chance they’re still alive, I have to go and try to help them. Please don’t argue with me about this. You don’t know how important it is to me.”

I was looking into her face, feeling, once again, that there was something she wanted to tell me but couldn’t. I said, “This is the sort of thing that one person can do better than two. Colombia’s a dangerous place. If you go, it’ll only double our risk.”

“I don’t care! I’m going. I’ve got my reasons.”

Sometimes you sense the need to push, and so I did. “Reasons? Why, because you feel guilty?”

Her face flushed. “Yes! I feel guilty. I’ve already told you that.”

Now I was holding her arms, making her look into my eyes. “Yeah, you told me, Amelia, but you didn’t tell me the rest of it. You haven’t told anyone, have you? What really happened out there that night? You’ve got the courage to go to Colombia, but you don’t have the courage to tell me the truth, do you?”

“That’s not fair, Doc!”

“Fair? Unless you’re playing some kind of game, why should there be rules? Just tell me what happened.”

“Okay. Okay, I will. The truth is… the truth is…” She yanked her arms free of my grasp, turned her back to me, shuddered, and then began to sob as she talked. “The truth is I’m a worthless, cowardly piece of crap because I went off and I left them! Okay? I went off and left all three of them alone to die. I panicked. I’ve never been so scared in my life! That’s what happened. Are you satisfied?” She’d been shouting, still crying, sobbing, and now she turned to face me, her eyes closed, and leaned against my chest.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, patting the small of her back. I waited for what seemed a full minute before I said softly, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Amelia. It’s okay.”

She was shaking her head. “No. No, it’s not okay. That night, when we were trying to swim together, they were going so slow. I knew we weren’t going to make it to the tower. Then I got hit by a really big wave and sucked down a lot of water. Then I got hit by another, and I just snapped. I lost it. I ripped my BCD off and started swimming. I could hear them shouting for me to come back, but I didn’t. The last thing I heard Janet say was, ‘Please don’t leave us alone.’

“But that’s exactly what I did. I left them alone. And they died. At least, I thought they died, and it’s been killing me slowly ever since.”

I stood there, letting her cry. Then I stooped and scooped her up into my arms and carried her into the bedroom. I laid her down on the bed, pulled her close. I waited until her sobbing had quieted before whispering into her ear, “You did the right thing. The smartest thing you could have done that night was to send the strongest swimmer off alone. It was the only way to be sure there’d be at least one person to tell searchers what happened and to keep looking. Without knowing it, you did the very best thing possible for the other three.”

That surprised her. I could tell. “I… I never thought of it that way. Do… do you really mean it, Doc?”

Maybe I did. It really might have been the smartest thing to do. In light of what happened, it probably was. But I said, “Of course I mean it. If you feel guilty, you’re wasting your time. You gave them their very best chance of being found. It didn’t happen, but that’s not your fault.”

I felt her hand on the back of my neck, and she hugged me close. “You’re still a terrible liar, and I love you for it. At least now you understand why I have to go with you.”

I said, “Do I?”

For the next ten minutes, we argued back and forth. I despised the idea of her going. But she kept pressing, saying she had no choice, her conscience demanded that she make the trip. Her argument had the articulate professionalism associated with her craft, plus passion-so much passion that, ultimately, I withdrew and listened to her without responding until she paused, and said, “Doc? Hey… what’s wrong? You look almost… almost on the verge of tears or something. I’ve never seen you so emotional.”

“I’m not emotional,” I snapped. “I’m concerned. I’ve had very bad luck taking friends to dangerous places. Please don’t ask me to go into detail, but it’s something I just won’t do. I can’t take you. I absolutely refuse to risk it again.”

Lying there, she pushed herself away from me, framed my face with her palms, forcing me to look into her eyes. “I’m not asking you to take me to Colombia. I’m asking you to let me live my life as an adult.” She tapped a finger to the side of her head. “Since the night I left them, I’ve been trapped in here, trapped by my own guilt. I’m sick of it. It’s destroying me, so I have to go. I have no choice.. . and neither do you.”

I was shaking my head-it was impossible to argue with her. “Okay, okay, okay. I don’t like it, but okay.”

Now she hugged me close. “It’s settled then.”

“Not until you agree to one thing. When we’re there, you have to promise to do what I tell you to do. No matter what. I’ve spent a lot of time in places… in places like Colombia. Americans, people in this country, most of them don’t realize how dangerous it can be once they cross the boundaries. I do know. So you need to trust my judgment without question.”

Amelia whispered, “Deal,” then touched her lips to mine. We lay there holding each other, kissing, and touching for what seemed a long time before my hands were on her blouse, fumbling with buttons, and her fingers were searching for me.

So now we were six miles high, sitting deep in leather seats, flying first class, the Caribbean Sea a canyon of blue beneath us.

Our relationship had changed irreversibly that early Saturday morning. We confirmed the change several more times throughout the day.

She was a healthy woman in her early thirties, and all that that implied. Sometimes the bodies of unfamiliar lovers simply do not fit. No explaining it, but it’s true.

Our bodies did fit. They fit comfortably, passionately, and athletically. Amelia had that rare ability to abandon all inhibitions in sex while retaining her sensitivity to her partner’s needs, as well as her sense of humor. Being in bed with her was fun and funny yet satisfying on a level of intimacy that I’d seldom experienced. Maybe never experienced before in my life.

Once, she whispered into my ear, “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time.”

I was surprised to hear myself whisper in reply, “That’s nice. I mean it. Very nice.”

Why would I encourage such feelings? Ask Tomlinson, ask anyone at the marina, I’m the cold one, the one who believes that emotion is a waste of energy. But it really was the way I felt.

Overtly, she gave no sign that we were anything more than friends. I liked that. No public touching or hanging-on; no holding hands or nuzzling. I liked that, too. Outwardly, we were two individuals. Inwardly, though, we were already joined in some indefinable way, and I found that surprising as well.