Episode 19.2

Gillian fills her vest with air, grabs a mask and flashlight, puts on her fins, and climbs into the small cooler at the stern.

"Gillian, wait...

She doesn't even turn. There is a splash and the boat rocks from the sudden loss of weight. Gillian disappears from the surface, reappearing a second later.

"Hey, you gotta feel this!" She—she screams.

"Is it hot?"

"She's freezing!" It's like I have ice in my panties!

Gillian laughs like she's having the party of the year, and the more I look at her, the more I realize that she is.

"Come on," she tells me. You have to at least try it. If you don't like it, you can always float around the boat.

I know it's not fair what I'm doing, but I try to imagine Beth in the same situation. She hates the cold. And at this time? She wouldn't even have gotten in the boat.

-Come on! Gillian yells as she reaches for the fins and mask. Gently, you just have to get on the fridge and jump!

I adjust the mask over my face and forcefully grip all the tubes.

"Are you sure this is the best way to get into the water?"

—Jacques Cousteau could not do better... a giant step for all mankind...

He closed his eyes, jumped in, and quickly dove in. The extra weight weighs me down, but thanks to the inflated vest, I'm thrown back to the surface. The temperature is the first thing I feel. No sun on the water...even in the wetsuit...ice on the shorts is a good description.

"Is it cold enough for you?" Gillian asks.

"No, this is great, I like it when I absolutely, positively can't feel my penis.

It's an easy joke, but she knows full well that it's not just the cold that makes me shiver. The sea is dark and deserted, the mask is tight against my temples, and all I can hear is the theme song from the movie Jaws.

"Are you ready to dive in?" Gillian asks.

-Right now?

Staring at me through her mask, Gillian comes up with a couple of arms lengths and grabs me by the shoulders.

"You'll do great, I'm sure.

-These...?

"Absolutely," she promises me.

As Gillian moves away from her, I reach up to my right shoulder and feel for the tube with the regulator.

"All I have to do is breathe through this thing?"

"That's the whole instruction manual." Breathe and breathe and breathe. In fact, why don't you take a swim around the block...

As before, I place the regulator between my teeth and Darth Vader returns. After three or four breaths, Gillian points to the bottom. Biting down hard on the hard plastic prongs that hold the regulator in place, I lean over and plunge my face into the dark ocean.

I pause briefly before I can breathe again, but my brain is focused on Gillian's crash course. Breathe, breathe, breathe. I open my lungs and suck in a breath... and exhale it quickly. A burst of small bubbles comes out of the regulator. From then on, I focus on taking short breaths, and it works.

Gillian pats me on the back. I stick my head out of the water and remove the regulator.

"Ready for the starting gun?" She —she challenges me.

I nod, hoping that will help her take it easy. But it only speeds them up.

"Okay, these are the instructions. First: if you get disoriented, follow the bubbles... they will always take you to the surface.

—Follow the bubbles. Agree.

"Second: when we go down, don't forget to uncover your ears, you don't want to perforate an eardrum, do you?"

To practice I pinch my nose between my thumb and forefinger and blow hard.

—And third, which is the most important thing: when you rise to the surface, keep breathing. You will be tempted to hold your breath, but you must fight the urge.

-What do you mean?

"It's instinctive." You are underwater... you start to panic. The first thing you'll do—guaranteed—is hold your breath. But if you surface like that, and you're not breathing, your lungs will burst like a balloon. Her—she puts on her mask and looks at me quickly. Prepared?

I nod again, but remain focused on a single image. "My lungs bursting like a balloon." Beneath the waves, my feet move quickly, propelling me backwards.

-What? Gillian asks. Are you scared now?

"Are you telling me I shouldn't have it?"

"I'm not telling you anything. If you want to quit now, the decision is yours.

It's not about giving up...

-Really? Her," she interrupts me angrily. So why are you suddenly acting like the first rat to jump ship?

The question sticks like a corkscrew in my chest. I had never heard that tone of voice from Gillian before.

"Listen," I tell him, "I'm doing the best I can. Anyone else would let you dive in alone.

-Yes, sure...

"Do you think I'm kidding?" Name one person who would jump into the icy ocean in a wetsuit and risk her life simply to experience a new sensation at four in the morning.

"Your brother," Gillian says, staring at me to drive home the nail. Before she can react, she places the regulator between her teeth and grabs the tube that she has resting on her left shoulder. Lifting it above her head, she presses a button on the end of it. A hiss of air tears through the silence. As the vest deflates, Gillian begins to slowly sink.

Quickly putting on the regulator, I lift the tube and press the button with my thumb to deflate the BC. The pressure loosens around my ribs. The water brushes my chin.

"You won't be sorry, Oliver," Gillian yells, pulling off her regulator to take her last breath out of the water. As she's about to dive in, she adds, "You'll thank me later." I shake my head, pretending to ignore the sudden excitement. But as I sink—as the black water licks my cheeks and fills my ears—I suddenly discover that I have never told Gillian that my real name is Oliver.

At three in the morning, as her car blocked the fire hydrant in front of Maggie Caruso's building, Joey promised herself she wouldn't fall asleep. At three-thirty she rolled down the window so that the cold of the night would keep her awake. Around four o'clock, her head leaned forward. At four-thirty she slumped back onto the headrest. Then, at exactly ten minutes to five, she was jerked awake by a high-pitched shriek.

Blinking back to the watchful world, Joey searched for the sound trail on the illuminated display of her global positioning system. The brilliant blue triangle was moving across the digital plane again, directly down the West Side Highway. She placed the screen on her 'lap and watched as Gallo and DeSanctis's car headed toward the edge of town. It was like a primitive video game that she had no control over. At first she thought they were heading back to Brooklyn, but as the car passed the bridge entrance and turned onto FDR Drive, she felt a pang of heat on the back of her neck. There were very few things open that late. Or so early. Shit, don't tell me they're… The tiny blue triangle turned on the 59th Street Bridge, and when Joey saw it heading toward Grand Central Parkway, she started the engine and sped. At the top of the digital plane, the blue triangle was heading straight for her destination. The most popular destination in Queens at five in the morning: LaGuardia Airport.

Submerged beneath the waves, I float like an astronaut and plummet into the heart of darkness. Dozens of bubbles rise around me, bouncing off the hard plastic of the mask. I turn my head up, toward the only visible source of light, but the deeper I slide, the faster it fades. The sea green turns to dark blue and then turns into a black cloud like a raven's wing. Just breathe, I tell myself as I force myself to send a puff of air through the regulator. I suck again and it sounds like a respirator. There are no waves, there is no wind, there is no background noise. Just the gurgling echo of my own breath. And Gillian calling my name.

Don't even think about it, not now. But there are things you can't ignore. You probably heard Charlie say it. She called my name at least a dozen times when we were both in the garage. Struggling not to lose my cool, I look around for something to soothe me, but everything—in every direction—is dark. I press my fingers into my nose and blow out my ears, and a group of tiny phosphorescent fish passes in front of my mask. I turn my head to the left and they disappear. Everything is black again. It's like swimming in a sea of ink. And then, a lightsaber cuts through the darkness. Gillian's lantern. He directs it at me and then at her. All the time he has stayed by my side.

"Come on," she signs to me, trying to get me to follow her. I hesitate for a moment, but soon realize that she has the only source of light. Besides, after what she's said about Charlie, I'm not going to prove her right.

Gillian kicks her legs and her fins propel her cleanly through the water. The way she moves—the elegant spread of her arms—is like she's flying. Behind her, I try hard not to distance myself, flailing her arms as if I'm swimming breaststroke. It is more difficult than I had imagined. For every few inches I manage to move forward, the underwater current seems to push me backwards. Gillian glances over her shoulder to see if I'm following, then sprints. Whatever it is that she wants her to see, there is no doubt that we must be close.