When she’s overstimulated, she has episodes. I don’t want to imagine what she’ll do once we’re out of the water.
Finally, we break the surface. My arms and legs feel like jelly by the time I drag us to shore. I gasp, desperately sucking air into my starved lungs. Sherry supports herself on both hands, coughing and sputtering water. I look around quickly. The men aren’t around anymore.Did they freak out and run after Sherry fell into the water?She might’ve jumped into the lake before they could react. I’m not sure how she’d react when faced with the possibility that her daughter might drown—again.
“Mom.” My voice is hoarse. “Mom” feels so strange and unnaturalon my tongue. I’ve avoided calling her that as much as possible because it enrages Aaron. “Mom! Are you okay?”
She coughs some more, then shakes her head slowly. Her clothes stick to her body, and stringy hair plasters her skull. She turns her head toward me, her face bloodless, her lips trembling. She studies me, as though to make sure I’m breathing. Then she shoves herself off the ground and launches herself at me.
“You stupid, stupid child!” she screams, hitting me. Her fists are so soft, they feel like soaked cotton balls. Her muddy japamala beads smack my chest. “What’s wrong with you? You never, never try to protect me! You protect yourself! How am I going to go on if anything happens to you?”
Tears stand in her eyes, which are unsteady with heartrending fear, relief and fury. She continues to scream and hit me. My falling into the water must’ve been horrifying, recreating the nightmare she wants to forget at all costs. Seeing Sherry suffer because of me makes my heart heavy with an uncomfortable cocktail of emotions I can’t pinpoint.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I say, pulling her into my arms. She resists, like she knows I’m just playing along. “Shh… I’m fine. We’re fine. Please, settle down. Please.”
“Why did you risk yourself like that?” she sobs, pressing her fist over her heart. “Why?”
“It’s for good karma,” I say, knowing this will comfort her. I don’t understand Buddhism, not the way Sherry does, but talking about good karma can soothe her.
“Finley,” she whispers, her gaze vacant. “Finley.” Her thumb brushes over the japamala beads, and her eyes light up with a fervent zeal. “Namo Amituofo, Namo Amituofo, Namo Amituofo…” she chants with the fanaticism of a mother who wishes her dead child well in the afterlife. She looks around, reciting under her breath.
“Mom, what are you looking for?” I ask.
Instead of answering me, she continues to repeat, “Namo Amituofo.” Her eyes skitter right past me.
Suddenly, she crawls toward the water. “Mom!” I say, putting my arms around her.
She shoves at me with almost superhuman strength, still recitingthe two words. She stares at the now-calm water, then stretches her hand out, the japamala hanging from her thin wrist. Although her mouth says, “Namo Amituofo,” her eyes scream for Finley.
The water laps at her muddy knees. I cling to her, desperate to keep her on the shore.
“Finley,” she sobs. “Finley.” She passes out.
Chapter Three
Fiona
The machines beep. I look at Sherry lying on the hospital bed. The doctor says she’s fine, thank God, just in shock. She’s become more fragile over the past few weeks, but losing Zachary and having the thugs manhandle us was probably too much to bear. She’s lived her life in wealth and luxury, cocooned and protected.
I shiver as chills run through my body, and realize my clothes are still wet. Now, out of the sun, they’ve gone cold and clammy. I need to change before I catch a cold—or worse, get hospitalized for hypothermia or something.
The door to the private room bursts open. Aaron in his funeral-black suit barges in. He glances at Sherry on the bed, then turns his burning eyes toward me, his chest heaving. “What thefuckhave you done to Mom?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you!” He points a finger at me.
Fury and adrenaline pump through my body. “Do you owe money to some loan sharks?” I ask in a low voice.
His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“Two sketchy-looking men came, demanding repayment of some ‘loan.’ Said something about the entire family being responsible for thedebt. One of them pushed me into that lake by the cemetery. Then Sherry fell in, too. I’m not sure if they shoved her, or if she jumped after me.”
The explanation seems to dampen his rage. His gaze flicks away as he opens his mouth then almost immediately clicks it shut.
Apprehension bites my gut. “How much?”
Irritation and defiance stiffen his back. “Not that much. Half a mil.”
My eyebrows pinch as surprise cuts through the earlier unease. It would be a staggering sum for most people, but not for a family like the Obermans. They’re blue-blooded upper crust with a vast wealth that has passed down over four generations. Money is like water to them—something that just exists for the family’s use without their having to think about it.
