Emily's Reasons Why Not by Carrie Gerlach Page A

around him and we float, just kissing and more kissing …
    “Do I have those really horrible lines around my eyes and face from my mask?” I squint painfully, waiting for the answer.
    “Yeah … but it’s hard to make them out from the traces of mascara all over you cheeks and under your eyes,” he laughes. “But it just makes you cuter.” He kisses me. “Sexier.” I look up and Mom is back on the beach, packing her stuff. She motions a big thumbs-up at me with both hands. I wave back at her and she heads to the bungalow. “Come on, let’s go in.” He starts to swim to the shore.
    “I’m going to swim just a couple more minutes.” I paddle away from him. He looks almost hurt as I stare back at him and mouth through the snorkel, “I … have … to … pee.”
    “You gotta pee?” I shake my head yes and he swims toward the shore.
    The reef is covered in incredible turquoise coral. I want to touch it but am a little afraid it might reach up and grab me. Silly. I float at the top of the water looking down through my mask, studying the pools of bright purple fish next to me. The only sound is the slow, easy rhythm of my breath through the snorkel.
    Finally I poke my head above the surface and see Craig standing on the beach in his trunks, and a tingle rushes through my body. I tug down my mask and snorkel and start to swim toward shore. After a few minutes I realize that I am further out than I was when I started back.
    I start to kick a little harder. My fins seem heavy. The sound of my breath is a little faster. The current is stronger, and for the first time I realize I am being pulled out.
    My breath races faster. I am caught in a riptide. Try to relax , I think to myself.
    I look back at Craig and can barely make out the concern on his face. His hands rest on his hips. His head is cocked. He turns and races to put on his fins.
    I am further out and my breath is sprinting. So this is panic. My God. Now I know how it happens, how people drown. My obituary is going to read: Drowned in St. Croix, 27, SINGLE, with a few close friends, a renter, and a dog named Sam .
    I am losing the fight to live when Craig’s arm reaches out and cradles my lower back, lifting me above the surface. “Relax! Relax! It’s not going any further out. It’s heading south, to the side. Go with it,” he yells sternly.
    “I can’t.”
    “You can. You’re all right. Trust me!” He holds onto my arm more tightly.
    Trust? Trust a man? Now, in the middle of a life crisis? It’s trust him or die? Fuck it. I’ll trust him. But if I do drown, I want it written that I died because I trusted a hot guy in St. Croix.
    I am not sure how long we were in the water. Maybe a half-hour, maybe longer, but it seemed like days. When we finally get to shore, we’re a mile and a half down the beach. The muscles in my legs and arms feel like they’re full of hot coals.
    I sit on the sand motionless, silent, watching the sun go down, unable to think. Then I’m crying, crying with my head between my knees. All the while Craig strokes my back.
    “I thought I was going to die,” I finally choke out. “I really thought it was over. I mean, all those things people say aboutyour life passing before your eyes.” Shaking my head …“I didn’t have that. There was nothing. Just that, that, I was going to die on a romantic vacation with my mother.”
    “I wasn’t going to let you drown.” Craig pushes my hair off my forehead and tucks it behind my ears.
    “You saved my life. Oh my God, you saved my life.” The realization hits me. A real hero.
    We walked down the beach toward the resort, Craig wrapped his arm around me, and I melted into his body. I felt safer than I ever had in my entire life.
    “Women often fall in love with policemen, firemen, even doctors who save them due to posttraumatic stress disorder or a superman complex,” Dr. D. interjects.
    I shoot back, “That was not a superman complex.”
    “It was.”
    “I could have died