Expecting to Die

part of the reason he’d turned down the invitation.
Meet me at my dock at noon . . .
Sam gazed up at the sun. It had started its descent to the horizon hours ago,

---

though it was long after Sam had texted his brother back and told him he
couldn’t make it, even though he could. He came up with a dozen excuses, but
Joe never sent another text, which kinda pissed Sam off at the time. Joe ordering
him around? Playing passive-aggressive? Nope. That wasn’t the nature of their
relationship.
But Joe texting him at all was unusual. His brother pretty much left him alone,
and vice versa. Was he imagining the imperative note to the message? At first it
had just seemed autocratic; his older brother making demands on him just
because he could. But that wasn’t Joe’s way. If anything, he tended to leave Sam
alone and that was just fine with Sam. But then the text had wormed its way into
Sam’s brain, circling around, and he started thinking it was something more. A
desperate plea? Why had his brother sent the message?
He’d tried to call Joe to ask him. He wasn’t going to go racing down the
mountains from his parents’ old cabin to the beach without a good reason. Of
course Joe had no way of knowing he wasn’t at his own condo, or for that matter
that he could be at work. Sam hadn’t told Joe that he’d quit the Seaside PD in
favor of a job in Portland that, in the end, hadn’t materialized. The job had been
a step up to detective and Sam had been more than ready for it, but then there
were supposed shifts within the department—a lot of double-talk from everyone
involved—and the upshot was someone with political ties was slotted into the
open position and Sam was out. He could’ve gone back to Seaside, but instead
he took time off to think things over. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go backwards,
and returning to his job as a general cop—Seaside wasn’t big enough for
departments—felt like that’s what it would be. Also, his relationship with
Dannella had fallen apart because he couldn’t commit, or so she said, although it
hadn’t taken her long to find someone else and the last he’d heard she was
pregnant and heading for the altar. He’d felt a twinge of regret over that, but like
his job, he’d decided to just wait and let things happen. There was nothing to do
about it anyway, and really, Dannella moving on was a good thing.
Joe hadn’t answered, and he’d never responded to Sam’s further texts. The
morning had slipped by and finally Sam had just thought, screw it, and had
driven the hour from the cabin to his brother’s house on the Nehalem River.
He’d braced himself for a run-in with Joe’s wife, but the house had been
deserted when he got there. He’d rung the bell and peered in the front windows,
through the living room toward the back deck and across the narrow inlet to the
house on the opposite side. The neighbor’s boat sat outside their dock, which
made Sam realize Joe’s was gone. To make certain, Sam had tramped around the
side of the house and sure enough, there was no boat tied to the silver cleats
gleaming in the sun against the weathered boards of the dock.

---

A woman came out from the house across the river and waved at him. Sam
reluctantly waved back, aware she probably thought he was Joe, even though his
brother was eight years older than he was.
She called over to him. “Who’s got the boat?”
“I’m not Joe. I’m his brother,” he yelled back.
“Oh!”
She was clearly taken aback, and Sam suspected Joe had never mentioned him
to her. No surprise there.
“You didn’t see him leave?” Sam asked.
She shook her head and motioned behind her. “I just got home,” she yelled.
Sam nodded and waved a goodbye as he headed back around the house to his
truck. He walked up to the garage and cupped his hands over his eyes, looking
through the narrow garage window. Two vehicles were inside. A black Explorer
and a light blue Subaru Outback. He surmised Joe’s was the Explorer, a Ford.
His brother probably didn’t hear the same grief as he did about driving
something other than a Ford when your last name was Ford. His Chevy pickup
had been a good deal, period.
He’d asked himself: Are Joe and the missus together on the boat? Maybe on
their way back now?
He’d checked his cell phone. 11:50. If his brother was returning by boat, he
was pushing it pretty hard to make noon. There were houses on both sides of the
narrow waterway that led into Nehalem Bay and further to the ocean that
blocked his view of the river, but Sam could tell by sound alone that no boat was
approaching.
Could there be a third car?
He’d waited until twelve forty-five, then he climbed back into the cab of his
truck and reversed out of the drive. He punched the accelerator and headed
toward the bay. When he approached, he saw a crowd of onlookers outside of
their cars in the marina’s lot. They were all staring at a line of smoke and the
faint flashes of orange light at the edge of the horizon.
“Boat’s on fire,” a gravel-voiced man in a baseball cap bearing the name of a
local hardware store had stated.
Sam’s heart clutched. There was no reason other than timing to think it was
Joe’s boat, but still . . .
A young woman in shorty shorts that were completely covered by an
oversized sweatshirt said, “Coast guard should be there.”
“Don’t hear the whirly-bird,” gravel-voice pointed out, frowning.
At the moment the whup-whup-whup of the approaching helicopter reached
their ears. Gravel-voice gave a quick nod and said, “Thar it is.”

---

Sam had reached for his cell phone. He tried Joe one more time, then sent
another text: Where r u? On the boat? Call me.
He’d waited another five minutes, but no answer. With growing alarm he
jumped back into the truck. He put in a call to his ex-partner, Griff.
“Hey, man,” Griff answered lazily. “I’m off today. Want to get a beer later?”
“Griff, you hear about a boat accident? Looks like one’s on fire, out on the
horizon.”
“Coast guard chopper’s out there,” he answered after a minute.
“I know.” Sam had debated on mentioning his brother, but Griff wasn’t known
for keeping things to himself. “Let me get back to you on that beer. Got a few
things to do.”
“You know where to find me.”
Griff spent a lot of time down at a decrepit pub overlooking the Necanicum
River in Seaside, another of the feeders to the Pacific on this stretch of coastline
but thirty miles north of the Nehalem. Sam had lifted more than a few pints with
his partner during their five years together on the force. Griff had been against
Sam’s decision to quit and was hopeful Sam would return. Maybe he would and
maybe he wouldn’t. He’d been offered a job with the Tillamook County Sheriff’s
Department, further south down the coast, as well. He had friends there, too. He
just wasn’t certain what he wanted yet.
He’d then driven north to a section of sharp cliffs that reached into the ocean,
creating an isolated beach that was only approachable at low tide around the
sheer stone arms that clawed into the Pacific. He parked and half-walked, half-
ran down the sharp, small rocks that tumbled off the massive stone walls. It
wasn’t a popular place to come. The beach was too narrow, the view north
blocked by the cliff, the beach south disintegrating into larger rocks that were
arduous to cross. If you were a thrill-seeker, then you might attempt a swim
around the rock arm to the sheltered beach, but the frigid water, even in the dead
of summer, might give you pause.
Now, Sam’s gaze moved across the horizon. He liked this stretch for its
inherent loneliness. What that said about him he was pretty sure he didn’t want
to know, but Joe had once known how Sam was drawn to the place, so maybe . .
. ? The beach itself was deserted except for an enterprising seagull who eyed him
with a baleful eye. If it came to a turf war, Sam thought he might win, but the
gull let him get within a foot before he hopped a few steps away and flapped his
wings.
He pulled his gaze from the haze of smoke and that’s when he saw the shoe
bobbing amongst the waves. A woman’s tan, slip-on sneaker. His heart clutched
again, and he could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins.

---

Without serious conscious thought he dropped his cell phone and wallet on the
sand and ran toward the surf, meeting a wave as it was coming in. He dove into
water cold enough to stop his breath, and he battled the waves and turned
northward as soon as he could round the cliff of rock.
He saw the woman’s body immediately. It was being teased by the incoming
tide. Soon it would be sucked back out to the sea.
Julia.
He swam with the waves toward her, then battled the receding waters,
staggering up the beach, falling down to his knees and stumbling up again. He
grabbed her as she tumbled back toward the waiting ocean, clamped onto her
arms and pulled her up the sand. The waves rushed back and he lost his balance
and his grip on her. Her brown hair was a mermaid’s floating crown around her
head.
“Shit . . .” he whispered.
He grabbed her again and this time he hauled her as far up the beach as he
could. He rolled her onto her back. She wasn’t breathing. Immediately he started
CPR, rhythmically pushing on her chest while his head jerked around from side
to side. Where was the Coast Guard? Where was Joe? God, was it his boat?
She wasn’t responding. Even though it was no longer protocol he leaned over
her, opened her mouth, blew air into her lungs, then pushed on her chest some
more.
“Come on, Julia, come on,” he gritted through his teeth. “Where’s Joe? Come
on, come on. Breathe . . . breathe . . . where’s Joe?”
It seemed like forever before she hawked up a rush of fluid from her lungs.
Sam immediately turned her onto her side to help her.
Her lips were blue but her eyelids fluttered.
“Where’s Joe?” he asked, unable to help himself. “God, Julia. What
happened? Where’s Joe?”
“Joe?” she warbled, shivering.
“Were you on the boat? Did it catch fire? Was he with you? Julia . . . was he
with you?”
Her gray eyes regarded him dully. She was shivering all over and he gathered
her close, aware how cold she was.
“I’m going to give you my shirt,” he said. “I’ve got to call 911. Let them
know where you are. My phone’s on the other side of the rock.”
“What . . .” she whispered.
“Stay warm. I’ll just be a minute. You’re safe here.” For now, he thought. But
with the tide coming in, maybe not for long. This whole area would be under
water soon.

---

He left her, racing back into the water, calculating how much time he had. If
worse came to worst, he would swim with her in the water around the rock, but it
would be harrowing. For now he just needed the chopper or a rescue boat.
He worked his way around the cliff face, pushed against it by a sudden,
powerful wave, and banged the side of his head. His vision spun for a moment,
then he was around and letting the waves shove him up the beach on the other
side. He got to his feet with an effort and staggered to where he’d left his phone.
He dialed 911 and spoke to the dispatcher calmly, telling them exactly where
they were.
Then he left the phone again and took his wallet. It would be soaked, but he
wanted the identification, just in case.