Out of Her Depth Read online

  “What the heck is right. What are you going to do all by yourself in Aruba for two weeks? This is crazy.”

  Great. Now I had my youngest validating my suspicion that I was crazy. “I plan to relax, away from everyone who knows—or thinks they know—everything about me,” I told her, and vowed to make it true. “And I’m learning to scuba dive.”

  “Okay, now I know you’re yanking my chain. If you don’t want me there for dinner tonight, just say so.”

  I had to laugh at her affronted tone, even if her disbelief undermined my new confidence a bit.

  “I’m not making any of it up, I promise. Of course, when I signed up for scuba lessons, I didn’t think I’d be taking them alone. But they say learning new things helps to stave off Alzheimer’s.”

  “So learning to scuba dive will give you a few more years before Bess and I have to put you in a home?” Now her voice dripped with irony. “Then by all means, go for it, Mom.”

  “I am. I had my first lesson this morning, so I’m committed now.” And I was—though not the way Debra clearly thought I should be.

  “No way! Seriously, Mom, I don’t think you should try something like this without Dad. I mean, by yourself. I mean, you’ve never—”

  I cut her off. “That’s the whole point. There are lots of things I’ve never done. I’ve decided to start changing that.” I was impressed at how firm I sounded, how sure of myself.

  Apparently, so was Debra. At least, she didn’t try to argue any further. “Fine. I guess it’s your life. Have you told Bess what you’re doing yet?”

  “Not yet. I only turned on my phone two minutes before you called.”

  She made a “hmph” noise. Debra could be such a mother hen sometimes. “Do you want me to tell her, or will you?”

  “I’ll call her.” I couldn’t keep a touch of acid from my tone. “No need for the two of you to start conspiring about how to drag your doddering old mother back to sanity and civilization. I’m only here for two weeks, anyway.”

  “Bess will probably love what you’re doing. She’s always pushing us both to walk on the wild side.”

  “I can only hope. Why don’t you get one of your boyfriends to buy you dinner tonight?”

  There was that noise again. “They’re not boyfriends. Just friends. But yeah, I can do that. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.” She made it sound like a threat.

  “Bye, sweetie.” I couldn’t help smiling as I hung up.

  Who’d have thought I’d ever be in a position to be scolded for recklessness by one of my own daughters? It made me feel . . . young. And impulsive. Something I hadn’t felt in almost twenty-five years—not since Bess was born.

  I’d gone from bride at twenty-one to too-young mother at twenty-two. For the next two decades, my life had been defined by the roles of wife and mother. I’d worked part-time to put Tom through his MBA program while juggling the demands of two toddlers. Then I’d finished my own degree so that I could contribute to his startup insurance company. Gradually my role had shifted from business partner to corporate hostess, from mommy to empty-nester.

  From wife to ex, traded in for a newer model.

  Somewhere along the line, the real me, the real Wynne, had gotten lost. Now, I was determined to find her again.

  I just hoped I’d like her when I did.

  Chapter Two

  AFTER THREE DAYs in Aruba, I’d achieved my best tan since college, even with constant use of SPF 45 sunscreen. At only twelve degrees above the equator, I wasn’t taking any chances on a burn that would ruin the rest of my vacation.

  And by lunchtime tomorrow, I’d also achieve my diving certification—assuming, of course, I didn’t totally screw up during our first open water dive today.

  “Your tanks, weights, BCDs, and wetsuits are already on the boat,” Jason told us when we were all assembled on the beach end of the dock near the hotel. “Everyone has masks, fins, and snorkels, right?”

  I held mine up, as did the others—except Rick, who was trying to get Bebe’s attention, as usual.

  “Great. It’s time to go have some fun diving.”

  We followed him the length of the dock to the waiting boat, which rocked gently on the bright turquoise water. Colors seemed somehow more vivid in Aruba than anywhere else I’d been. Or maybe I was seeing them with new eyes?

  One by one, we stepped onto the Scubaruba, a thirty-foot modified cabin cruiser. Benches ran along both sides, from the cabin to the rear platform, with air tanks lined up behind the benches, held in place with thick elastic bands. Jason cast us off, and we headed out to sea.

  I’d been on boats before, but only on lakes, unless I counted that cruise Tom and I took for our tenth anniversary. No, I wasn’t going to count that. At least I knew I wasn’t prone to seasickness, which was definitely a good thing. Though the ocean was smooth, poor Linda was looking a bit green around the gills already. No one else in our group seemed affected—so far.

  “This is Ronan Gale, our captain today,” Jason said, and the man at the helm half turned with a grin. He was older than Jason, maybe late thirties, and every bit as good looking, but with a more rugged edge. “He’s filling in for Bertie, who’s sleeping one off—I mean, sick.”

  We all chuckled along with him. Ronan had already turned back to the wheel.

  “We’ll reach the Pedernales wreck in about ten minutes,” Jason continued, “so go ahead and put your equipment together and then get into your wetsuits. I’ll tell you about the site and what we’ll be doing there while you get ready.”

  I obediently picked up my regulator and my BCD vest and began connecting everything to an air tank. It was trickier on a moving boat than on the pool deck, but I supposed that was the point.

  Next to me, Greg was trying to help Linda attach a hose to her vest, but I could see he had the angle wrong. Since mine was already done, I offered my assistance, which they both seemed relieved to accept.

  “See, if you line this end up with this, it just clicks in.” I didn’t think Jason would appreciate me actually doing it for her, since this was still part of our training. Linda watched my demonstration closely, then did it herself.

  “Oh, okay, I think I finally get it now. Thanks, Wynne, that really helped.”

  “You’re welcome.” I was absurdly flattered by her words, but I tried not to let it show. My divorce must have destroyed my self-confidence even more thoroughly than I’d realized.

  A moment later, struggling into my wetsuit for the first time, I felt inept all over again. Made of neoprene, a thin, rubbery, foam-type material, it had long sleeves but legs that went only to mid-thigh. Jason had called it a “shortie.”

  Mimicking Bebe, who had her own suit and presumably more experience at putting it on, I first forced my right leg through one leg-hole, then my arms through the sleeves. Next, I tried to engage the zipper that started at the bottom, in the middle of my left thigh, and would—theoretically—finish at my throat.

  “Ouch!” I’d managed to pinch my white, fleshy thigh in the zipper. Wincing, I tried again, and this time managed to keep the zipper away from my skin. Pulling the tab upward, I felt like I was squashing myself into a sausage casing. No doubt that was how I looked, too.

  Once I was securely zipped into my full-body black girdle, only spilling out a little around the edges, I glanced at the others. All younger and thinner than I, they looked pretty good in their suits. Bebe, I noticed sourly, looked positively sexy in hers. The turquoise styling down the sides helped. I decided right then that if I continued diving after certification, my next purchase would be a decent-looking wetsuit.

  “We’re almost there,” Jason informed us as we strapped our weight belts on over our wetsuits. “Have you all buddied up?”

  I glanced at Dobry, since he and I had paired up for most of the pool exercises, but to m
y surprise, Bebe touched him on the arm.

  “Dobry, will you be my buddy?” she asked with a smile guaranteed to make a man agree to anything.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed. “I, ya, yes of course, Miss Bebe.”

  Rick had been struggling with the clasp on his weight belt and belatedly looked up with a frown. “But—”

  He and Bebe had been partners for the pool dives, and clearly he’d expected they would be again. But it seemed Bebe’d had enough of his macho mess-ups, which left me paired with Rick. Lucky me.

  “Guess that leaves us,” I forced myself to say brightly, mainly to break the tension, since Rick’s face was reddening as Bebe pointedly ignored him.

  He seemed to realize how rude it would be to protest. “Uh, yeah. Guess so,” he grumped, which wasn’t much better.

  “Hey, I know I wasn’t your first choice, but I won’t get in your way or anything.” I couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out of my voice.

  That penetrated. “No, it’s—I’m fine with it. Really. You need any help with anything?” After one last glance at Bebe, he gave me his full attention without too obvious an effort.

  I glanced down at my suit, belt, and vest, all fastened in place. “I think I’m okay for now, but thanks. How about you?”

  He gave a derisive snort. “Nah, I’ve done this before. I’m good.”

  I watched as he tried to clip his backup regulator—the yellow one called an “octopus”—to the wrong side of his vest. “I, um, think it’s supposed to attach to that ring, there.” I pointed.

  “Yeah, yeah, right. I knew that.” He quickly slid the mouthpiece through the flexible rubber ring intended for that purpose, not meeting my eye.

  The boat slowed, then stopped, the engine idling while Jason and Ronan attached a line to a mooring ball bobbing on the surface of the nearly smooth sea. Jason turned to us when they were done.

  “Okay, fins on. Does everyone have a dive watch?”

  Trying to ignore a fresh surge of nervousness, I raised my arm to display my watch, a cheap blue plastic model that was supposedly good to at least 100 feet. The others did likewise.

  “Good. I have nine thirty. We’re limiting our bottom time to forty-five minutes, which means we’ll head back up no later than ten-twenty, but keep an eye on your air pressure. Follow me down the mooring line, and remember to equalize on the way down.

  “Once we’re all on the bottom, we’ll have our first open water class. If anyone has trouble and needs to surface, give the signal, and Ronan will fish you out. Right, Ronan?”

  “Right. And if you aren’t in trouble, give me the okay sign.” Ronan demonstrated the circle with his arms we’d been taught in class. “I hate getting wet when I don’t have to.” His voice was deeper than I expected, with just a hint of some kind of brogue—Irish or maybe Scottish.

  He caught me staring at him and gave me a ghost of a wink that made me quickly look away. It was a good thing I was too old to blush, I told myself as I bent to adjust my fins unnecessarily.

  “You ready?” Rick asked, pushing himself to his feet.

  I nodded, then noticed that his tank was about to slip free. “Sit down a sec,” I told him. “Let me tighten your tank strap.”

  For a moment he looked like he would refuse, but then he shrugged. “I’m sure it’s fine, but go ahead,” he said, sitting sideways on the bench with his back toward me.

  I released the strap, hoisted the tank a few inches higher, then pulled the strap as tight as I could before re-cinching it. “There. That should hold.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” His tone made it clear he was humoring me, but I didn’t really care. If I had to be his buddy, at least now I wouldn’t have to attempt reattaching his tank underwater.

  Our four classmates had already entered the water during our delay, and now bobbed on the surface, adjusting the buoyancy of their vests before starting the descent. I’d really wanted to watch how they got off the boat and silently grumbled at Rick for distracting me.

  I stood up, surprised again at how heavy a tank filled with compressed air could be. Though the sea was calm, even the gentle rocking of the boat was enough to make shuffling to the back platform tricky. I couldn’t imagine doing this in rougher water, though I supposed people must do it all the time.

  “Ready, Wynne?” Jason asked, extending his hand to me. I pulled my mask over my eyes and nodded. “Okay, one hand on mask and regulator, the other on your weight belt, then a giant stride off to your left.”

  For an instant I panicked as he released my hand so that I could grasp my weight belt, sure the rocking of the boat would pitch me sideways, but then I got my balance. Before I could lose it again, I flung my left leg forward, over the deep blue of the ocean, and pushed off.

  The water closed over my head, colder than the pool water, at least where the wetsuit didn’t cover me. Then I was back on the surface, bobbing around with the others, in time to see Rick hit the water with a terrific splash. With a wave to Ronan, Jason lowered his own mask and hopped in after Rick, creating almost no splash at all.

  I wondered if I’d ever look that natural in scuba gear. At the moment, I felt more like a half-mechanical monster of the deep. One that didn’t know what the heck she was doing.

  Following Jason’s lead, I raised my vest’s air release out of the water and depressed the end until I started to sink. Suddenly, magically, I was back in the silent world of underwater—and this time it really was a whole world, not just a hotel swimming pool. I could see the bottom, thirty feet away, almost as clearly as if I were looking through air instead of water.

  Greg and Linda started down the line, with Bebe and Dobry right behind them. I waited until they’d gone at least ten feet down to follow. Twice, I saw Linda come back up a few feet, pinching her nose, before starting to descend again.

  I soon knew exactly how she felt. I was only fifteen feet below the surface, according to my depth gauge, when I felt a pressure in my ears that bordered on pain. Remembering our lessons, I stopped, pinched my nose through the mask, and “blew” without exhaling. My ears popped—first the right one, then the left, with audible squeals—and the pressure was gone.

  Twice more, as I made my way to the ocean floor, I had to pause to relieve the pressure in my ears. I realized when I touched bottom that the frequent equalizing had effectively distracted me from the frightening fact that I was now far deeper underwater than I’d ever been before.

  Once we were all on the bottom, we sat cross-legged in a circle around Jason, and he led us through our first open water exercises. They were the same ones we’d done in the pool: mask clearing, regulator recovery, etc.

  I watched Rick closely as he put his regulator back in his mouth, and, sure enough, he tried to breathe before purging it of seawater. I could see the panic in his eyes as his mouth filled with water.

  Even as I reached for him, he pushed off from the bottom, groping for the hose on his vest to inflate it. Though the very real risk of “the bends” from surfacing too quickly had been drilled into us, he was clearly too frantic to consider that now.

  Jason was on the opposite side of the circle, too far away to stop him. Shifting instinctively into mom-mode, I lunged after Rick myself and managed to grab his arm before he’d ascended more than ten feet. Digging my fingers into his forearm to force him to look at me, I reached across and pushed the purge button on his regulator. He took a deep breath, then another.

  It was hard to tell, with the regulator in his mouth, but I was pretty sure he gave me an apologetic grin as we dropped down to rejoin the others.

  Jason met us halfway, questioningly giving both of us the “okay” sign until we echoed it back to him. I noticed he kept Rick next to him as we resumed our lesson.

  Fifteen minutes later, the basic drills over, Jason swept his arm out, in
dicating that we were free to explore the area. Looking around, I saw a couple of half-buried pieces of the torpedoed German tanker interspersed with coral formations teeming with marine life.

  I gave my BCD a little bit of air for buoyancy, then kicked my fins and propelled myself forward, my body parallel to the ocean floor. It was almost like flying.

  Keeping half an eye on Rick in case he panicked again, I continued slowly along the bottom. A dull pinging sound made me look up, to see Jason tapping on his tank to get our attention as he pointed at something. We all converged on his position, where he hovered just above the sea bed at the base of a small coral reef.

  There, no more than three feet from his outstretched finger, was a green moray eel. I backpedaled, my stomach clenching, and I wasn’t the only one. We’d heard how dangerous those things could be if you got too close—they could take a finger or even a hand off a diver.

  This one didn’t look big enough to do that, but it still looked mean, its mouth opening and closing, its beady little eyes fixed on Jason’s hand. Jason didn’t seem worried. I wished I’d bought one of those disposable underwater cameras like the one Greg had.

  Our time was up long before I was ready to stop exploring. Reluctantly, I followed Jason and the others back to the line. I made sure Rick went ahead of me, and I noticed that Jason kept a close eye on him as well, reminding him to pause for our three minute safety stop at fifteen feet.

  When we reached the surface, Rick touched me on the shoulder. “I, uh, want to thank you,” he said, quietly so the others couldn’t hear. “You kinda saved my bacon down there. I don’t know why I keep forgetting to use the purge button.”

  “I’ll bet you won’t forget again.” I realized I was using my “Mom” voice—but then, Rick couldn’t be more than a year older than Bess.