Open Water Part 1

Open Water.

Robinson, Pol.

Dedication.

To the Olympians among us; both the Special and the able-bodied. You embody an ideal to which we all aspire.

For Sheryl.

Always.

Acknowledgments.

Longfellow wrote, "Look, then, into thine heart, and write!" A moving directive, to be sure, but a writer can only get so far on heart alone; the rest comes from research, from community, from family. The following are representative of those who contributed directly or indirectly to this project: various rowing clubs across the country for providing invaluable information on their websites on terminology and proper technique; members of the Radlist who responded so positively to the original short story; NaNoWriMo for the impetus to hit that tantalizing 50k bar; and the GCLS for the tremendous community and opportunity that splendid and growing organization offers readers and aspiring authors. Additionally, my online families-the Bella Forum and GateWorld especially-provided cheers and spurs as needed.

Thanks to athletes-both active and armchair-and coaches at all levels. Credit for this project goes to Gypsy who said so long ago, "You should do this," and to Sheryl who said emphatically, "You can do this." Extra special thanks to Jeanne Magill for expeditious first and last readings and marvelous critiques. I am so grateful to Linda Hill, Katherine V. Forrest and the Bella team who have been so supportive and welcoming. Last, but by no means least, thank you to my family: Sheryl, Matthew, Megan, and Charlie (the wonder dog). Without your love and support (and enthusiastic tail-wags), this book would not be...and neither would I.

Prologue.

"Just lie still."

"Where am I?"

"You're at St. John's Hospital, you've been in an accident."

Blurry, indistinct faces floated in and out of her line of sight. A cacophony of sound battered at her senses, pulling her focus from the words coming from the mouth at her ear. There was something she needed to know, something...

Later, the voice was back.

"Ca.s.sandra, we're going to have to take you to the operating room. Is there anyone we can call?"

No, there's n.o.body. I don't have anybody. Ca.s.s tried to get the words out, her grief at just those few words darkening her face. Finally she forced out, "M'leg. What's...I can't feel my" Even that effort cost her and she collapsed back against the bed.

The voice hurried to rea.s.sure her, "I know it hurts, honey, but we have to call someone."

"n.o.body...n.o.body to call," she mumbled, trying to clear her head of the haze. My leg. Oh my G.o.d. I can't...no, it's just not there.

Ca.s.s fought back panic and tears. She felt her throat close up and she began to gasp for air. It was over. She'd be lucky to walk again, let alone get into a boat to row. She blinked up into the light, turning her face away as the mask slowly descended. Voices around her raised as she fought to stay away, desperate to know what was happening.

"Please," she whispered into the clear plastic mask. "Please don't take my leg."

Chapter One.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will now begin boarding United Airlines flight 8460, bound for Beijing. Pa.s.sengers holding tickets..."

Ca.s.s jumped as the woman's voice boomed out of the speaker just above her head. She tuned out the rest of the boarding call as she flipped her book closed and patted her pocket for her ticket. Around her, the general hubbub of voices grew as people came to life with the boarding call, everyone gathering their bags and extras and moving to stand in line. Ca.s.s watched the odd sampling of humanity that made up her fellow pa.s.sengers begin to crowd to the gate.

Why is everyone so eager to stuff themselves into a tin can? We'll be in that thing for nearly sixteen hours. What's the rush?

Taking advantage of the announcement to stretch her legs one last time, Ca.s.s slipped her carry-on over her shoulder and moved to the window and gazed at the huge silver aircraft. Nose, two wings, lots of engines...top floor, windows for the pilot to see out of...looks okay to me. Ca.s.s watched as a tall blond woman in a dark blue uniform chatted with a scruffy-looking member of the ground crew. The man, wearing bulky kneepads and ear protectors, laughed at something the woman said, then gestured toward the rear of the plane. He looked up at the uniformed woman, then made a note on the clipboard in his hands. The woman peered over his shoulder and nodded sharply; then, taking the clipboard from him, she patted the man briefly on the shoulder and began to walk around the plane.

"Ma'am?"

Ca.s.s turned to find the loud gate announcer at her elbow. Her polyester uniform ironed to a s.h.i.+ne, the woman eagerly reached to take Ca.s.s's arm.

"Ma'am, if you'll come with me, we have your boarding pa.s.s all set up."

"Um, I think there's been a mistake, I have my boarding pa.s.s here..."

"No, ma'am. We are overbooked and had to make some changes." The gate attendant glanced around conspiratorially, then lowered her voice. "See, the captain is a fan and saw that we were overbooked and then noticed that you were in coach, so..."

Uh-oh. s.h.i.+fting her feet, Ca.s.s pulled her arm free. "Uh, fan? But...I'm not anybody." What, does the guy think I'm some gullible actress?

The woman tugged again and Ca.s.s planted her feet. "Look. No offense and, um, tell your captain I appreciate it, but I really don't like taking those kinds of favors." No telling how I'd have to "pay'"for the upgrade. No thanks. "Tell him that-"

"Her."

"What?"

"Her. Captain Landers is a 'her.' Or I should say, Captain Landers is a 'she.'" The attendant c.o.c.ked her head slightly, then suddenly smiled at Ca.s.s. "Oh, honey, it's not like that. The skipper's just a former rower, er, 'sweeper' I think she called it. Anyway, she was tickled when she saw your name on the manifest." She patted Ca.s.s's arm and shepherded her to the gate, past the long line of now-curious pa.s.sengers. "C'mon dear, you let Cecelia handle things, okay?"

Amused now, Ca.s.s followed Cecelia down the ramp to the plane, listening to her chatter about how Landers was an "almost national" sweep-oarsman a few years back and how she, Cecelia, had never heard of sweeping before-aside from the whole broom and dirt thing-but now they, the whole San Diego-to-Beijing crew, knew all about Ca.s.s and how she was joining the team late and they were all sending her their wishes for her success in the upcoming Games. Just listening to the woman wore Ca.s.s out and she was glad when she was handed off to the flight crew.

"Hi, Ca.s.sandra Flynn?" Barely waiting for Ca.s.s's nod, the new attendant quickly ushered Ca.s.s into first cla.s.s. "I'm Meredith, nice to meet you. Wow, the Skip is so excited! You know she used to row for Cal, right? She said to tell you that if you don't mind she'd like to come out and chat with you sometime during the flight, is that okay?"

Like Cecelia, Meredith barely paused for breath, seeming to expect nothing more than the occasional nod in response. Ca.s.s obliged and settled into the s.p.a.cious seat next to the window, letting the perky Meredith stow her carry-on bag above her head. After another minute or two of excited gus.h.i.+ng, Meredith took off to help the other pa.s.sengers settle in, leaving Ca.s.s to her "peruse the safety card" preflight ritual.

"That won't help much, you know."

The low voice in her ear surprised her and Ca.s.s looked over her shoulder to find a pair of laughing blue eyes, framed by the gentle crease of lines that traced a face that had seen its share of the sun. Oh my, what have we here?

The eyes belonged to the body Ca.s.s had seen earlier on the tarmac, encased in the blue uniform and walking around the plane. The body straightened and Ca.s.s was forced to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. Tall and blond in that "I'm Swedish and proud of it" way, the newcomer was at least six feet tall by Ca.s.s's guess; she would easily top Coach Thompson's five-foot, nine-inch frame. Ca.s.s guessed the woman was about twenty years her senior, somewhere in her late forties or early fifties. Her dark blue uniform was pressed to within an inch of its life, the razor's edge creases of her trousers breaking evenly just above her s.h.i.+ned shoes. The care taken to look sharp spoke volumes to Ca.s.s about the woman wearing it. Broad shoulders decked out in five gold bars bespoke her rank, as did the marks on her sleeve identifying her years of service. She stood leaning gently against the back of the seat in front of Ca.s.s, one arm casually draped along its top. Ca.s.s let her eyes drift again to the face above her, unconsciously returning the easy smile she found on the tanned face, enjoying the mischief that lurked in the bright blue eyes.

Ca.s.s herself, at five foot three, was on the short side for a sculler, especially a double sculler, one of only two in a boat. She could see from the reaction that she was not what the captain expected.

Captain Anne Landers stepped forward and grinned down at Ca.s.s tucked comfortably in the first-cla.s.s seat before her. Small and made even smaller by the large leather seat, Ca.s.s Flynn did not look like an Olympic-level sculler. She looked more like a co-ed on her way home for the term. Anne knew, however, that looks were deceiving. Packed into that small body was the equivalent of a small package of dynamite. Soft brown eyes sparkled up at her under a mop of curly brown hair that reached just past her powerful shoulders; shoulders that Anne knew could propel a sh.e.l.l through the water at an amazing speed. Yes, Ca.s.s Flynn was tiny but mighty, as her own partner might say. Landers knew it was cliche, but she couldn't resist, "You're much shorter in person. Do you get that a lot?"

Ca.s.s raised an eyebrow in response, then her grin mirrored Captain Landers'. "How's the weather up there, Stretch? Do you get that a lot?"

Landers threw back her head and laughed heartily, drawing looks from the boarding pa.s.sengers; one man not-so-subtly nudging her as he moved past. Ignoring him, Anne stepped into Ca.s.s's row and asked, "Mind if I sit for a minute? It's getting kind of crowded in here."

Shrugging one shoulder, Ca.s.s tilted her head to the empty aisle seat next to her. "Sure, be my guest. It's your plane, right?" Ca.s.s's gaze traveled from the Captain's shoulders down to the hash marks on her sleeve.

Anne followed her glance and smiled again as she caught Ca.s.s's final look at her left hand. "Yup, it's my plane and yup, I'm married...or as much as the government will allow." She waited, her smile growing as Ca.s.s caught her meaning. "Not to worry, this isn't some awkward pickup," she rea.s.sured Ca.s.s. Landers looked again at the safety card in Ca.s.s's hand and gestured with her chin, "I was not kidding about that card, by the way. As high as we'll be, that little bit of paper won't be much help."

Ca.s.s's gulp was audible and she slid the emergency procedure pamphlet back into the seat holder. "Uh...great. Well, thanks so much for stopping by, I feel so much better now."

The captain chuckled as she stretched out in the seat, watching as the remaining pa.s.sengers shuffled aboard carrying everything from large bags to small animals. Shaking her head as a man wrestled what appeared to be a cello down the narrow aisle, she returned her attention to the woman next to her. Ca.s.s Flynn is on my plane! Janie's gonna freak when she hears. I've got to get her autograph without sounding like a complete dolt. In her college days, Anne had been a skilled sweep rower, one of eight on a crew, but she had been nowhere near good enough to make the national team. Her partner, Jane Zimmerman, had been a member of her college's eights crew, but she too had missed the cut for anything beyond that level of compet.i.tion.

Anne and Janie were still avid followers of the sport, however, and Anne was still trying to get Janie an open berth on a partner airline so they could catch the heats together live in Beijing. She couldn't believe her luck today when she'd spotted Ca.s.s's name on the manifest for this, her last flight before her vacation began. After checking the rest of the manifest, Anne had called the gate crew, and made a simple request. She did not often ask favors of the crew and Cecelia had been happy to make the change she requested. A few keystrokes later and Anne Landers found herself seated next to one of the best scullers in the country.

Ca.s.s studied the woman who had planted herself in the seat beside her. Presumably, this was the mysterious "Captain Landers" who was responsible for her b.u.mp up to first cla.s.s. Up close, she could see the laugh lines that framed the bright blue eyes and their matching partners around the edges of her ready smile. As the flow of pa.s.sengers began to slow, Ca.s.s, remembering her manners, cleared her throat and stuck out her hand. "Hey, thanks for the upgrade, I appreciate it. I'm Ca.s.s Flynn."

"Oh Lord." Anne stuck out her hand. "Anne Landers and you're welcome." Anne clasped Ca.s.s's hand in a cool, firm grip. She grimaced slightly as Ca.s.s's eyes widened. "I know, not the Ann Landers. To quote somebody, I am Anne with an 'e,' and that makes me, um, not her." She chuckled as Ca.s.s grinned back at her.

"And...well, she's dead, isn't she?"

"Well, yeah, there's that, too."

Ca.s.s waited as Anne paused and scratched her head. "So, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I am a huge fan of yours. If you don't mind, can I pop back during the flight to chat a bit?"

"Sure. But, um...don't you have to do that 'flying' thing?"

"Nah, it kind of flies itself, really. Besides, Jim can take care of the in-the-middle bits. I just do the up and down bits."

Again Anne paused and Ca.s.s wondered why. The captain had made a special effort to make her more comfortable and now seemed hesitant to talk to her. Finally, Anne spoke up again. "Look, if you need to rest, or are tired, or, whatever, it's really okay. I can-"

Ca.s.s shook her head. "No, really, it's great. Ah, Cecelia said that you used to row?"

"Yes, I-"

Meredith's voice came over the loudspeaker, interrupting Anne's answer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention for just a moment..."

"Crud." A small frown crossed her features as Anne pulled herself out of the seat and glanced into the flight deck while Meredith began her preflight recitation over the intercom. "Okay, time to get to it. I'll pop back later. Really, though, if you're tired or have things to do, just do them. I won't bug you." Despite her a.s.surances, Ca.s.s sensed that the self-a.s.sured captain felt awkward about intruding.

Charmed by the older woman, Ca.s.s gently teased the pilot, "Great, I'd love to hear how it was in the old days."

Anne's loud, throaty laugh filled the cabin again as she brushed her trousers straight. "Old days!" She snorted again with laughter and tossed a last smile at the brunette grinning up at her. "Fine, youngster, I'll be back to bother you later."

Chapter Two.

Ca.s.s sighed and readjusted the pillow at her shoulder. The takeoff from San Diego had been uneventful and the flight the smoothest she could remember in a long time. Unfortunately, rain had obscured her view of the ground after takeoff, depriving Ca.s.s of the chance to see the training center from the air. As she often did when flying, Ca.s.s let her mind wander, trying not to focus too much on what awaited her at the end of her flight. The thrill of it all was there, though, tucked away safely. Every once in a while she would let herself revel in the idea that she was going to the Olympics. The Olympics! A dream since childhood, it had faded with time. Even taking up rowing in graduate school had not really reawakened the dream. It was a fantasy, really. What team would want a nearly thirty-year-old athlete with no proven records? No solid international standing?

Returning to college eight years after getting her bachelor's degree and being bitten by the rowing bug soon after, Ca.s.s had found herself in a world far different from the one she had experienced as an undergraduate. Discovering a gift for research and a love of a sport she'd always longed to try, she had thrown herself into both. Standings or rankings did not matter; she was not really trying for any team. She had just needed something to take her mind off her studies for a while, something that would keep her fit and allow her some time to relax. Rowing seemed the perfect sport.

On a whim, she had gone to open tryouts for the University of Wisconsin team and n.o.body had been more surprised than she when she'd made it. She had tried several events before finding her niche as bowman in the double scull. By the end of her attendance at UW-Madison, Ca.s.s had her master's in kinesiology, two National Champions.h.i.+p medals under her belt and her eye set on the U.S. Rowing Training Camp and the Trials. One late night at the library, combined with a rainy drive back to her apartment, had brought those plans to a screaming, painful halt. She flashed back to that night, letting the pain of that moment fill her. Because it was that pain and despair that had driven her so hard to come back.

Ca.s.s slowly swam back to consciousness, pus.h.i.+ng through the miasma of medication-induced haze. The first sensations to penetrate were smell and sound. Hospital. She was in a hospital. The unmistakable antiseptic smell brought her further to the surface, accompanied by various sounds. As she became more aware, she began to categorize the sounds. The beep of the monitor above and behind her, the squeak of soft-soled shoes on waxed floors, a murmured conversation just outside of the door. With consciousness came increased awareness and...pain. Ca.s.s gasped and tried to reach down, anxious to know.

"Shh, honey. Don't move."

Blinking groggily, Ca.s.s turned her head and found the owner of the voice. A nurse was bent low over the rail, clearly trying to get Ca.s.s's attention. "You awake now, honey?"

"Mh-hm." Blearily she blinked again, trying to bring the woman more clearly into focus. She tried again to reach down. She had to know. "M-my leg?"

The nurse's expression froze and with it Ca.s.s's heart. She briskly twitched the blankets around Ca.s.s's body straighter, her face grim. "I'm sorry. We called your...family."

Ca.s.s opened her mouth and then closed it again. She was terrified to ask. She could feel her leg, could feel pain. But, she'd read too of phantom pain and was certain that this was what she was feeling.

"The doctor will be in to talk to you."

The look of pity on the woman's face was almost too much for Ca.s.s to take. As the nurse stepped around the bed, Ca.s.s finally managed to ask, "How much did you take?"

"Of what, honey?"

"My leg."

"Oh, no. No, no, dear. It's all there." She hastily moved back around the bed and patted Ca.s.s's shoulder.

"I...it...it is? But," Ca.s.s gaped sleepily at the nurse, trying to decipher the anger and pity she saw on the nurse's face. "But you...what are you sorry about?"

Her jaw set, the nurse turned her face away for a moment, then turned back again, her gray eyes almost fierce as they captured Ca.s.s's gaze. "I'm sorry honey...the university gave us your family's number." The nurse looked uncomfortable. "Your aunt and uncle. They said they won't be coming. But," the nurse pasted on a falsely bright smile. "They wish you well."

Watching the clouds slide by below her, Ca.s.s struggled to push the memories aside. She knew the nurse had added that last part to be kind. Uncle Marty and Aunt Lisa had not sent their good wishes, of that she was certain. She shook her head as the unwanted memories crowded in.