And then it’s time to say goodbye to Kei. I try not to think of it as the last time I’ll see him, but the thought hovers around my consciousness like a pesky fly. I peer through the crowd of people, searching for the golden brown of his skin, but I can’t find him.
He’s not here.
“Where’s Kei?” Harmony is looking at me with concern.
“I don’t know. He must have—” I can’t finish the sentence. Maybe it’s too hard for him to say goodbye? Or maybe he just doesn’t care at all.
This thought is just launching me into a spiral when a voice in the crowd pipes up, “There he is!”
I look up. Kei is jogging down the beach path, his eyes full of determination. For some reason, he’s shirtless. And wearing his swimming shorts.
He jogs up to me. “I’m coming with you,” he says.
I shake my head. “Kei, no, it’s too much—”
“I’ve been diabetic my whole life. I know my limits. I can do this.”
I look at Sue-Ellen. She shrugs. “He’s a big boy, he can make his own decisions.”
“I’m coming.” To really hammer his point home, he starts to wade into the water. When he gets up to his knees, he turns, stretches out his hand to me.
“Let’s do this.”
And then, we start to swim.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The water is cold, colder than it ever has been before, and the surface of the lake is churning, throwing its chop in our faces. It’s a totally different lake than the one I have come to know.
We swim in a triangle formation, with Sue-Ellen in the lead, and Kei and me on either side of her. For the first twenty or thirty minutes, it feels like my limbs are made of lead, every stroke, every kick, the ultimate effort. But once we find our pace, my movements start to feel reflexive—muscle memory in action—as we make our way deeper into the lake.
Our progress is slow. There’s a current that I’ve never felt before, gently tugging us, and the roiling water has us choking on unexpected waves, causing us to stop every few minutes.
I look back. The campers are still on the beach, watching us as we go, and I’m surprised to see that we’ve drifted noticeably down the shore.
“Look,” I say, waving to get Kei’s attention. I point back at the shore. He looks, then grimaces, but keeps going. What else can we do?
We push onwards. The rain starts falling in heavy sheets. A low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Sue-Ellen flicks her head in the direction of the sound. She doesn’t say anything, but she picks up her pace. After a few minutes of trying to keep up, I feel myself flagging. My mouth tastes metallic, and my muscles are once again leaden.
“Stop,” I yell, but my voice is lost in the wind. “Stop!” This time, Kei hears me, and he yells to Sue-Ellen. His deep voice must carry better than mine.
“I need a break,” I gasp.
Sue-Ellen nods and rolls onto her back into a restful float. I do the same. I clench my eyes and mouth shut against the rain and use as little effort as possible to stay afloat. After a few minutes, the burning in my lungs has subsided, and I feel rested enough to keep going. I right myself and look at Kei.
He’s treading water about eight feet away from me. There’s a pallor to his skin, and his eyes are glassy.
“Are you good?” I call to him. He doesn’t answer. “Kei? Are you good?”
He turns and gives me a weak smile. “I’m good,” he calls.
“We should keep going,” Sue-Ellen calls from up ahead. Kei gives her a thumbs-up, which, a couple of weeks ago, would have been enough to land him on my Ick List. I must really have it bad for this guy, because beyond making me cringe the tiniest bit, I’m unbothered. As long as he doesn’t use the thumbs-up emoji in a text—then we might really have a problem.
The thought of Kei texting me gives me a special kind of thrill. I guess I went on a reality dating show and found love after all. Who’d have thunk?
It turns out letting my mind wander to things other than the impossible task ahead of us makes the swim feel easier. I replay every moment Kei and I have had together, creating a movie montage of our relationship, from that first night at the bar, to the steely look in his eye when he said he was going to do the swim, too.
With my mind occupied, my body goes on autopilot. I alternate my stroke between a breaststroke, which is easier for breathing but causes my lower back to ache, and a front crawl, which is much faster, but difficult to manage because of the choppy water, and tires me out easily.It’s a long while before I’m hit again with fatigue, but then it wallops me. Every stroke takes everything I’ve got, and I’m not sure how much more I can do. I stop to tread water. Kei has fallen quite a bit behind, so I wait for him to catch up.
