A piercing cry hits my ear like a dart, a physical stab. I whirl around, tentacles sending up sand and water.
It’s my stranger, the woman in purple and black, and her eyes are wide. She drops the phone she was holding, and runs towards the water like a champion athlete, hurtling over sandcastles and sunbathers like an Olympic sprinter.
Why? It’s my turn to scan the water and sand harder, and I’m shocked when I realize that Zack is on some pre-teen girl’s bodyboard.
“Allison! Bring that baby back here!” someone shouts, but I’ll deal with them later.
“Here, Mommy! I’m surfing!”
It’s one of those awful moments.
Two mothers running. The girl, Allison, turning to look towards the shore, letting go of the board—and Zack, standing up. Everything happening, all at once.
For a second, I think everything is going to be okay. The girl will grab him and sit him down. He’s wearing little yellow floaties. His mother is already swimming over.
And then Allison, in her haste to fix her mistake, I’m sure, grabs the board hard and yanks it back towards the direction of the shore, listening to her mother’s frantic commands.
Zack lets out a startled scream and topples into the water with his mouth open wide, falling hard.
“Out of the water! Everyone, out now!” I shout and blow my whistle hard and fast before diving.
As soon as my entire body is in the water, I snap all my tentacles closed, using the jet propulsion that is unique to cephalopods and krakens to send me forward at speeds no human can match. One, two, three pumps of the coiling masses of muscle that make up my tentacles, and I have the little guy, a wide-eyed, flailing little ball who keeps screaming in panic as he’s trying to find the surface—and taking in more water as he does so.
I yank him out, holding him upside down, and wrapping one tentacle tightly around his middle while striking his back in the old kraken trick for expelling water.
A tidal wave of water and whatever the child had for breakfast comes out into the lake—and onto my hand, but I don’t care. He takes in a breath. A breath of air, not water, thank God and all the seas.
“Mommmmy!” His wail is beautiful to hear, even though it’s hoarse and accompanied by tears. I swish my hand clean and place him on my chest, my other hand patting his back, while one tentacle keeps squeezing, moving up and down to make sure his lungs are expelling any last bits of water.
“Zack! Oh, baby! Baby, it’s okay. Mommy’s here, Mommy’s here!”
The blonde woman is suddenly wrenching her child into her arms, taking my tentacle with her, cradling myself and her son to her chest as she peppers his head with kisses and her own tears.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say, wondering how I can get my appendage back without seeming insensitive.
The mother finally looks at me. Up close, even crying, she has a beautiful face, with full lips, a round nose, and flushed cheeks. It’s not some classically beautiful face. It’s far more sensual, with a natural sun-kissed look. Something out of a bathing beauty calendar.
None of these thoughts are useful or appropriate, but they stick, and I stick, somehow wrapping another of my tentacles and one arm around her back to guide her towards the shore.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I... I just moved here, and Zack never wanders off. He was talking to some kids right next to me. I got a text, and it turned out to be—well, it was a long text. I should never have read it. I should never have—”
“Ma’am, I wouldn’t blame yourself. I wouldn’t look at your phone if you’re the only one watching your son, though,” I say, hoping I sound stern but empathetic. “And you, little one? Don’t go anywhere without your mother knowing about it.”
Zack whimpers miserably.
I hustle them back to shore, and the sobbing Allison is there, her mother’s glare like fire on the back of the girl’s neck. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I want to be a babysitter this summer, and I thought since Zack and I were having so much fun in the sand, we could go in the water, too. His mom said we could!”
“I did?” The blonde woman looks horrified. “I said that?”
“Yes! I said, ‘Can we play in the water?’ and you said, ‘Sure.’”
“I said, ‘Stay by the shore.’ The shore of the lake.”
Allison looks horrified by her mistake. Her lower lip trembles as she explains.“He had floaties on. He said he could swim.”
“He can splash around, but it’s not actually what you’d call swimming. It’s not your fault. I understand.”
