Bitter. By comparison, Boston Harbor was a warm bath. Normal people wouldn’t venture past their ankles in water like this. The more adventurous, like lifelong, headstrong surfers might—but with the protection of thick wet suits and for short periods of time. I was neither normal nor adventurous. Wearing just a swimsuit, I swam and dove, not caring how deep I went or for how long. I paid attention only to my lungs, expanding and releasing; my torso, freezing and warming; my muscles, tightening and lengthening. At first, I gulped water like runners do oxygen after a race, but breathing soon became easier as my body adjusted. It felt so good, so natural, I stayed under until the ocean’s surface began to darken. And then I paddled toward the beach, where Mom was waiting for me. “Ninety-seven minutes,” she said. “Not that I was keeping track.” I smiled, took the towel she held out. “Thanks.” “So how was it?” she asked, as we headed for the steps. “Great. A little cold, but great.”
What do You think about Dark Water: A Siren Novel?
