~ A Man From The Sea

by

A. J. O'Dell

Sara paced at the edge of the water. She fought the urge to dive in, knowing that the very undertow that snared the victim could also pull her under. Dear God, let ‘em be alive! The undertows near the breakwater were some of the most treacherous for miles. Once a lifeguard, always a lifeguard. Sara couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. Not wanting to think about the odds, she kicked off her sandals. "Damn it all, I have to try!" Her heart slammed hard against her ribcage as the familiar surge of adrenaline raced through her veins. She remembered the time she hadn’t been there soon enough and the anguish she’d felt. If only Jake was here--he was the stronger swimmer.

Her eyes felt as if she’d rubbed salt into them. "Com’ on." Softly she prayed that the waves would carry the person closer. Then the floating debris disappeared behind a wave. When it reappeared, it was considerably closer.

"They’re taking too long! I can’t wait for the rescue squad!" For a moment, her mind was paralyzed with thoughts of the last time she was too late.

The moment passed. Sara mentally prepared herself for what she morally knew she had to do.

Pearl ran back and forth at water’s edge, barking wildly. Sara could make out the form of what she thought was a man, one of his arms draped over what looked like a broken piece of an old wooden mast.

"I can’t wait any longer!" Sara watched as Pearl jumped into the waves and began swimming out ahead of her. "Wait for me, Pearl!" Sara dropped her sweater and her canvas bag with all the seashells she’d collected that morning.

Taking long, jumping strides, she attacked the water with all that was in her. Diving into the first breaking wave saved her from being pushed back to shore. It was hard to see, but she focused on the pale patch of her dog’s fur and headed straight for the man in the water. She could see Pearl paddling hard. As Sara avoided the peak of each wave, she felt the muscles in her arms respond to the need for speed. She pulled hard with each stroke and set her cadence the way Jake had taught her. Almost there, she thought.

After what seemed an eternity, Sara reached out for the piece of mast, pulling herself close to a large man with his head barely above the water. She tipped his head back. He sputtered and coughed. When Sara freed his arm, she was able to turn him and slide one of her arms across his chest, performing her rescue strokes with the other arm. "Relax and I’ll swim for both of us." She was relieved that he was too tired to struggle against her. Once more she set her cadence, each stroke intended to pull them closer to land. She paced herself, praying that her arms still had enough power to get them both to shore.

Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, Sara saw that Pearl had grown tired of swimming and was back on the shore. The dog ran back and forth on the wet sand, barking excitedly as the rescue squad arrived and waded out to help.

Once they were all on the beach, the paramedics worked quickly to warm the frigid man and give him oxygen before loading him into the ambulance.

One of the paramedics handed her a blanket. "That was a brave thing you did, crazy but brave. Bet this guy will be glad you took a risk to swim out and rescue him. We’re taking him to Bayside Hospital in Breakwater Bay." He reached for her hand to take her pulse. "You really should come in with us and get checked."

She walked close to the shivering victim, wrapped in blankets. Momentarily he opened tired brown eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up in a half smile. "Thanks," his voice barely audible. Then he closed his eyes again and gave in to exhaustion.

"You’re welcome." Sara smiled.

"Miss, you really should come with us." The paramedic urged.

Sara turned, "I appreciate your concern, but I’m a doctor and I assure you that I’m fine." She handed him the blanket and walked in the direction of her bag. Without another word, Sara watched as they loaded the stranger into the ambulance.

"I can’t wait to tell this guy that he was rescued by a beautiful woman." The driver must have been all of twenty. He nudged his partner as they stretched a safety belt over their patient. "Sure you don’t want to ride in with us?"

She turned around and waved. "Thanks for your help. Maybe I’ll stop by Bayside before I go to my office." She picked up her sweater and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Odd comment for him to make. She’d never thought herself beautiful. Outdoorsy maybe, but not beautiful. She watched the ambulance speed away in the direction of town. How could I possibly have time to swing by Bayside? I have group therapy to run in an hour and a half. She looked at her watch, which was none the worse except for a stubborn piece of kelp clinging to the band.

As she walked towards her beach house, she saw Pearl throw something in the air playfully and shook it hard. When she approached, Pearl ran from her with the black cap again hanging from her mouth. The game was on, and Sara was determined to retrieve the cap without a chase. "Damn it, Pearl, I’m too tired to chase you!"

After pursuing her dog for a few moments, Sara decided to act disinterested and walk towards the back porch. It worked. Pearl followed her at a distance, not wanting to have her prize catch end up in her master’s canvas bag.

The beach house had never seemed so far after the strain of the swim and the excitement of finding the stranger in the sea. Finally Sara climbed the stairs to the sun-bleached deck, retrieving her spare key from beneath a large terra cotta flowerpot full of daisies.

As soon as Pearl was inside the screened porch, Sara grabbed the cap and forced the wet dog to surrender her treasure. Pearl, in turn, gave a growl of protest before trotting over to her feeding dish. Once there, she gave a forceful shake, sending sprays of salt water and sand all over the stone entryway. When finished shaking, Pearl turned and looked back at Sara, then over at her bowl.

"Okay, okay. You deserve a reward. If it hadn’t been for your finding his cap, that poor man might have drowned before he washed ashore." Sara gave the wet retriever a healthy serving of her favorite dry dog food and a rawhide bone to keep her busy. She then went to the garage for cleaning rags.

Sara shivered as she cleaned the entryway on her hands and knees. Satisfied with her work, she climbed the stairs to her room. When she’d peeled off her wet clothing, she dropped them in the hamper in the laundry room. The captain’s hat she laid thoughtfully on her white ceramic sink, and then she stepped into the welcome streams of steaming hot water. A sea captain named Logan... Wonder how he ended up in the sea? There hasn’t been a word about a storm in at least a week.

The stranger’s striking features played on her mind. His strongly chiseled jaw line rose up to meet the prominence of his tan cheekbones. Dark eyebrows framed expressive brown eyes, the color of warm honey. He was hauntingly handsome, almost as if from a different time altogether. He so resembled the captain in the old oil painting she had hanging in her hallway: a historic sea captain, sailing his tall ship in a storm. The fury of the waves crashed against the ship. Wind-filled sails were stretched to the point of almost breaking loose, but the eyes of the man in the painting were steadfast and fearless as they focused straight ahead.

The painting, circa early eighteen hundreds, had always reminded her to keep her eyes on the goal. The man she’d rescued looked very much like the captain in her painting, with his curly chestnut hair blown away from his face by the shear force of the wind. She loved that painting.

Sara mused that after dozens of rescues as a lifeguard during her college years, it was odd that she’d remember a victim’s features. This man was different.

Once she’d towel-dried her long curls, she pulled them back into a silver clip and quickly slipped into a soft cotton dress, a linen jacket, and summer sandals. If she hurried, she could stop at Bayside and check on the stranger.

Halfway down the driveway, Sara realized that she hadn’t put the extra key back under the flower pot on the porch. She’d always had an extra key hidden there in case Jake came over. When he didn’t have weekend plans, he’d stop over to see her.

She’d arrive home after a tough day and walk into the kitchen to find Jake fixing his latest culinary delight for her. He’d been a big brother watching over his kid sister for so long that it was unnatural for her not to be able to talk to him. Jake was an incredible judge of character, a tribute to the medical profession, and her mentor when she was in medical school. He was supportive, even though he would have had her enter surgery instead of the field of psychiatry.

Sara closed her fingers into a fist around the key and ran to the porch to put it back. Sometimes holding on to even the smallest habit helped to lessen the pain. "I miss you, Jake."

Once back in the car, Sara blinked back the tears that threatened to cloud another day. "I can’t do this. I have to function." She stepped hard on the gas and turned onto the frontage road that led to the highway for Breakwater Bay.

Sara looked down at her watch. She’d have plenty of time to check the status of the patient and then speed to her office a few blocks from Bayside Hospital.

At eight-twenty, she pulled into the crowded physicians’ parking garage and locked her car.

Entering the ER was always an eye opener. One could see everything from children with broken arms, to various drunks and drug users with sundry infections. The ER’s main entrance opened into a plant-filled solarium furnished with padded chairs and a large salt-water aquarium with brightly colored fish.

Sara’s ER rotation two years prior to passing her medical boards was enough for her, especially when her ex-fiancé was the current trauma physician. Sara rounded the corner to the main desk and shuddered at the sight of her ex-fiancé.

Brad Johnson was a brilliant doctor, extremely good looking, but after she’d broken off the engagement, he’d turned into the biggest womanizer in town. He’d always been an egotist, but now he was his own biggest fan. Under normal circumstances, he was someone Sara avoided like a fresh case of the flu, but today she needed information.

"Sara, did you get my flowers yesterday?" Brad grinned.

"Yes, I did. And Christy, my office manager, enjoyed taking them home with her." Sara’s eyes narrowed as she forced a smile.

"Oh." He looked hurt for all of three seconds, then proceeded with small talk. "So what have you been doing? Still making those little driftwood lamps?" He smoothed his hair back, squared his shoulders, and leaned across the counter.

"When I have time. The tourists like them." She stepped back to put distance between herself and Brad’s ego.

"Actually, since starting my own practice, I don’t get over here much, but today I need some information." A lone strand of hair had worked its way into her eyes. She pulled it back into the clip, irritated at the way she lost her composure when she got near Brad. Just the sound of his voice made her nervous. He’d been the only man in her life for five years, even during her rotation in the ER. Now he affected her like fingernails raked down a blackboard.

"Why haven’t you returned my calls?" He drew close enough for her to smell his expensive cologne. "How long are you going to punish me for one mistake?"

"Mistake? Oh, you mean when I found you in bed with my best friend, Marcy? How is good old Marcy, by the way?" Sara raised her eyebrows and gave him a frigid stare.

"She moved to Frisco." He looked down. "You and I were a good team, Sara. Why can’t you give me another chance? You know? Let me make it up to you, huh? Have dinner with me tonight. I miss you."

"You’re pathetic, Brad. Oh, and I’ve been hearing how much you miss me. Christy fills me in on the singles scene around town. She says you have a different girl every week. Frankly, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw your Mercedes!"

"Well, if you change you mind," he turned on the charm, "give me a call, huh?"

"Do me a favor. Hold your breath!" Sara scowled at him.

Brad narrowed his eyes. "Okay, okay. You said you needed information?"

Sara shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. "I pulled a half-drowned man from the ocean this morning. He’s about thirty or so, dark hair--" she spoke quickly, hoping to get their conversation over with in a hurry.

He raised his eyebrows. "You interested in him?"

"Professionally. What did you do with him?" She truly wished it weren’t against the law to strangle someone in broad daylight.

"We turfed him up to seventh floor a few minutes ago. He swallowed half the ocean, and they’re going to watch him for pulmonary complications and neurological deficits. I ordered a CAT scan of his skull."

"Was he confused?" Previously, seventh floor was designated for head injury patients.

"Confused? The bastard thought he was in another country!"

"What country?"

"Well, you remember Ramona, the pretty night nurse that used to tease me about us?"

"How could I forget?" Sara groaned. "What about her?"

"She was getting off shift this morning, and your John Doe was the last ER admit before she gave report and left."

"And?" Why does Brad always have to embellish his stories? It drives me crazy.

"And she said he told her that he had to get back to County Cork to help his father get ready for some long fishing trip. He was ranting and raving about this trip." Brad laughed, then shifted his weight to get closer to Sara.

"County Cork, Ireland? You’re kidding me!" She gave him an amused sideways glance.

"Now would I lie?" He shifted his weight side to side. "Don’t answer that. In response to your question, your half-drowned victim is amnesiac and has a nasty abrasion on his left temple. He couldn’t tell us his name or what happened out there before he ended up in the drink. I ordered the scan, some routine labs, a chest x-ray and am keeping him on a clear liquid diet until the results from the scan are back. I turned him over to the on-call neurologist, but he wouldn’t mind if you got involved for a psychiatric consult. That guy’s gonna need all the help he can get."

"I don’t usually take ER patients, but under the circumstances, I’d be glad to help. Thanks."

Brad circled the counter and moved closer. "He was pretty stable otherwise."

Sara shifted her heavy briefcase from one hand to the other. "I appreciate the information." She gave Brad a stiff smile and attempted to edge past him to the elevators.

"So if I need counseling, you know? Getting over my fiancée dropping me and all... If I have some behavioral problems, maybe you’d agree to counsel me?" He stood in front of her with a grin.

"You already have behavioral problems, Brad, but you’re sadly beyond hope." She walked around him, happy to be able to increase the distance between the two of them.

"Anytime." He turned away, cursing under his breath as he walked back to the admissions desk.

The encounter with Brad left a bad taste in her mouth, and when the doors to the elevator closed she tried to shake off the uneasy feelings.

When she reached the seventh floor, she went straight to the main nursing desk. "I’m Dr. Mitchell. Could you tell me what room the new ER admit is in?" Sara looked down at the charts lying helter-skelter on the desk in front of her.

"Room seventy-eight, Dr. Mitchell." The nurse smiled.

"Thank you." Sara reached for the chart and headed down the blue and white tiles of the hall. She stopped and took a deep breath before knocking on the man’s door.

When she entered the room, her patient was standing at the window facing the ocean. His chestnut hair, dry now, fell in long layered waves to his shoulders. The blue hospital gown he wore was open in back, showing her a glimpse of his firmly defined shoulder muscles. This man’s no stranger to hard work, she thought. Sara’s eyes continued down his strong, bronzed back to his narrow waist. When her eyes reached his hips, a dark tan line and the edge of his pajama bottoms, she smiled and shook her head. Under different circumstances, she might have appreciated the tight muscles of his buttocks, but today she was under a time crunch.

She squared her shoulders and walked toward him. "Good morning. I’m Dr. Mitchell." When he didn’t respond, she cleared her throat. "I said--"

"Aye, I heard what you said, lass." He turned to face her. "I only wish I could introduce myself to you, but I can’t remember my own name. So you see, you have me at a slight disadvantage." The stranger took a wide stance, crossed his arms and stared out to sea as if he were on the deck of a ship, preparing for rough weather. The Irish brogue added to the mystery of his demeanor.

"I’m here to help you in any way I can. I believe that I can help you regain what you’ve lost."

"Lass, if you don’t know what I’ve lost, how can you help me get it back? I cannot tell you who I am nor how I got thrown to the mercy of the sea. Only the sea knows the answers."

Sara watched him lean both arms on the windowsill. "Not all the answers. Most of them are still in your head, and I plan to help you unlock them. First I’m going to review your test results. From there we’ll have somewhere to begin."

"Aye, to begin..." Mentally, she could see that he was a thousand miles away.

"What’s the last thing you remember?" Sara pulled out a small note pad and sat on the chair next to his bed.

He turned to her. "I remember you in the water... your face...as close to me as my very breath. And your eyes...I remember your eyes. You worked so hard to save me. You should have let me go. Why’d you pull me back?"

"Habit, I guess." She smiled. "I was a lifeguard during my summer breaks when I was in college." Sara wrote the words depression--understandable on her note pad. "Could I ask you to sit down so we can talk?"

"If you say so." He sat on the bed, but his eyes remained on the windows. "What can I possibly have to say to you? I don’t remember anything before seeing you. I don’t remember who I am, where I live, or even whether I have a family. Nothing." He looked down at his large, callused hands as if trying to reacquaint himself with them. Rubbing them together in front of him, he paused, then crossed his arms on his chest.

"The night nurse said you told her you were from Ireland."

"Aye, did I now?" He looked at her. "I don’t remember saying that, but I could have."

"You do have a rather heavy accent. She said you wanted to leave so you could help your father get ready for a fishing trip. Do you remember speaking to her about that?"

"Vaguely, but I don’t know why I said that." He turned towards her. "Do you really think you can help me?" His warm, brown eyes searched her own for answers.

"Psychology isn’t an exact science, but I can assure you that I’ll shoot straight with you. And in turn, if I feel that you’re not being totally honest with me, I’ll nail you on it." Her eyes leveled with his.

"I wouldn’t have it any other way. I asked if you could help me," his eyes narrowed.

"I believe I can." For the first time since entering the room, Sara had his full attention.

He reached for her hand, and clasped it so tightly that she almost yelped with pain. "Help me, Dr. Mitchell."

"I’m going to do my best." Sara smiled.

He looked her square in the eye. "Strange, how I feel as if I’ve somehow ended up alone in a totally different world. It’s damn lonely. Have you ever been really alone, Dr. Mitchell?"

Sara saddened, remembering how lost she’d been after Jake’s death. "Yes, I have." She stood and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Rest now. We’ll talk later this evening."

"Promise?" He stood, his face inches from hers. "Promise you’ll come back, lass?"

"I promise." And as the words came out of her mouth, Sara Mitchell felt she’d possibly taken on the biggest challenge of her career.