Читать книгу Killer Summer - Lynda Curnyn, Lynda Curnyn - Страница 7

Maggie

What a way to spend a Saturday night.

Kismet, Fire Island, 10:00 p.m.

I’d always heard that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

In my case, it was a song. Janis Joplin. Good ol’ Janis. She was always there when I needed her. Of course, “Freedom’s Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose” has a whole new meaning once you’re floating facedown in the tide.

The water was so cold. Even colder now that I had been left alone. But as I learned, just moments before I took my last breath, I’ve always been alone.

Who knew death would make an existentialist out of me?

Kind of ironic that my husband was once a lifeguard. That was when Tom was a teenager spending summers on the shores of North Carolina. He used to brag to everyone in earshot that he had saved seven lives over the course of two summers. Oh, Tom was everybody’s hero. At one time, he was even mine.

But not now. Definitely not now.

Of course, I probably deserved to drown. I wasn’t, after all, the best wife.

God, what a waste. My life. My marriage…

Even my death was a disappointment. Tom once told me that something like three thousand people a year die in drowning incidents. Well, la-di-da. Now I’m a fucking statistic.

I just wished I had some clothes on. I knew there was a reason I never skinny-dipped before. Too many opportunities for humiliation. This was worse than humiliating. It was downright pathetic.

I can just see the headlines now: LONELY MILLIONAIRE’S WIFE

DROWNS DURING DRUNKEN FIFTY-YARD DASH. I wasn’t even that drunk. Or swimming. But after ten years of marriage and more than my share of disappointment, I have discovered that nothing is ever what it seems.