She wasn’t in a rush to return to the kitchen or the dining room. When she was with Carlotta, she felt grown up, felt seen, and returning to the hotel would again render her invisible.

The beach was deserted this time. The moms, even the girls now, were resting or deciding what to wear tonight. Seemed they all were in a constant competition to look their best.

She slipped off her shoes and walked along the edge of the water, savoring the cool splashes against her feet and ankles.

The squawk of a gull drew her attention out toward the water, more unsettled and restless than it had been this morning. The condensing clouds were a shade grayer.

The gull squawked again, and this time it sounded distressed. She looked toward the sky and then along the beach but didn’t see it.

Squawk.

Her gaze skimmed the choppy waters, and this time she didn’t see a bird but a pair of thrashing arms. She looked back toward the hotel and pool, ready to shout, but no one was there.

The arms slapped against the water harder, their movements more frantic. The crosscurrents of the tide hinted at an undertow.

Ruth’s eyes squinted, and she could make out a blond head and pink skin. “The Manchester boy.”

He was stuck in a rip current and needed to swim parallel with, not toward, the shore. She cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and shouted, “Stop fighting. Swim out of it!”

The arms cut faster into the water, but his cries sounded gargled.

“Tarnation,” Ruth muttered as she threw her shoes up on the shore and set her sketchbook beside them. Her mother wasn’t going to appreciate her getting drenched before supper.

She moved toward the water, the waves crashing higher and higher on her body. Salt water splashed her mouth, and she spit out the brine.

Ruth was a strong swimmer. Daddy and Uncle Henry had seen to it when she wasn’t more than five or six. They’d insisted she learn if she wanted to go along on a fishing trip. After her first lesson, Henry had proudly called her part fish, which had gotten her to thinking maybe her real mama might be a mermaid. Took a long time to let that idea go.

She sucked in a breath and dived into the crashing wave, letting it wash over her as she pushed her body out farther to sea until she popped up above the surface beyond the breakers.

When she rubbed the salt water from her eyes, she spotted the Manchester boy. His arms were moving slower as she swam toward him. Henry’s warning about those who were drowning echoed in her head with each stroke. They’ll be desperate and will pull you down. They won’t mean to kill you, but they will.