“God, I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve to be rescued, and I’m not in the habit of asking for help, which I’m sure you know. But it would be super awesome if you could maybe shift the wind and give me a push toward the shore.”

The waves just kept pulling her deeper and farther away.

She supposed miracles were in high demand these days. And maybe it simply wasn’t her turn. She clung to the board as fear welled up inside her. Panic buzzed somewhere down deep, and she tried to keep it from overtaking her.

She’d make a list like she always did to help sort out her anxiety.

A wave swelled, and she let out a scream (and she really was not the screaming type, so it surprised even her), but the water settled her back down, and somehow she still had hold of the board.

A list. Okay . . . what to list? Things to do seemed a bit pointless given her current situation.

Another swell, and she swallowed a mouthful of water. She coughed—hard—then drew in a clean breath.

Things I wish I’d done in my life. A bucket list made moments before my impending death.

• I wish I’d worn a life vest.
• I wish I’d checked the weather forecast.
• I wish I had put on waterproof mascara (because when they find my body, it would be nice not to look so dead).
• I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time on Eric Anderson.
• I wish I’d said I was sorry.
• I wish I’d mailed the letters.
• I wish I’d made it to my golden birthday.

After all, she’d spent twelve years wondering if he’d show. Or maybe that pact had been long forgotten, sucked down to the depths like dirt down a drain.

The next wave enveloped Louisa completely, heaving her under for so many seconds she was certain she’d lost the way back up and into the air. But no, another toss and there it was again—glorious oxygen.

She inhaled a sharp breath and coughed.

I wish I’d fallen in love.

She looked up at the sky, which had turned gray and dark. She hadn’t realized she had so many regrets. Her teeth chattered and she started to tire. These waves were kicking her butt. She’d practically resigned herself to dying when she spotted a headlight—a boat out in the sound.

She tried to lift her arm, but it was so heavy. She tried hauling herself onto the board, but she didn’t have the strength. Maybe she wasn’t doing as well as she thought. Maybe she’d already half died. She looked for a white light in the sky but saw nothing.

Maybe white lights were only for people who weren’t responsible for someone else’s death.