Christina glanced over to see Andy. His hair and face were dripping water. The arms and the front of his coat were drenched. Her heart surged with joy to know how he had raced down the wharf toward her and dived into the downpour to pull her out. Could anything be more storybook romantic?

Then she heard Anastasiya say, “Bend down.”

Through her tears, Christina watched Andy tilt his head forward. Anastasiya had found a roll of paper towels. With the easy authority of one who knew his body well, Anastasiya dried Andy’s hair, laughing at how it stood up in all directions. She patted his face and neck dry and blotted water off the shoulders and front of his coat. Through it all, she murmured to Andy in Russian, her husky voice rich with affection.

Christina tried to pull herself together.

“Let us through, please,” a man said, and Christina was aware of two people in high-vis jackets coming toward her with a stretcher.

“A stretcher!” she protested. “Don’t carry me out on a stretcher!” Could she possibly be even more humiliated in front of Andy and Anastasiya?

“Christina, you’re in shock,” Mimi told her.

The EMTs ignored her, quickly lifting her up and setting her down on the stretcher, instantly covering her with a foil Mylar blanket.

“We’ll follow you to the hospital,” Andy said.

We, Christina thought. “No!” she yelled. “Please don’t come!”

Then she was slid into the ambulance, an EMT sat beside her, and the heavy doors were slammed shut.

The ambulance bumped over the bricks toward the hospital, siren wailing. The EMTs put a blood pressure cuff on one arm and an IV in the other.

“W-w-what’s that?” Christina sobbed.

“Only a saline solution with some electrolytes to stabilize you,” Misty LaRosa answered. Misty was only a few years older than Christina; in spite of her gentle name, she had the personality of a lacrosse coach.

“Misty, this isn’t necessary,” Christina said. “I’m fine, just wet. I just need to go home.”

“You’re in shock, your temperature has dropped, and this is hospital policy.”

Christina knew better than to argue with hospital policy.

It was only a five-minute drive to the hospital. As they sped along, the male EMT pulled off Christina’s poor ruined red boots and soggy socks and wrapped Christina’s feet and legs in a warm blanket. The feeling was heavenly. With a screech, the ambulance turned, and before she could think twice, the doors were open and she was being lifted onto a rolling hospital bed and rushed into an emergency room. A privacy curtain was pulled around her. Someone removed the IV.

“Open your mouth,” someone said, and quickly inserted a thermometer.

“Can you sit up, sweetheart?” a female nurse asked.

Christina recognized Annette O’Brien, another island woman a few years older than she was, a goodhearted, cheerful acquaintance.