Chapter 2
The ripcord burned through my palm.
I pulled and the pilot chute snapped out behind me and the harness bit hard into my shoulders and thighs. My whole body jerked upright and the wind that had been roaring past my ears suddenly turned into a steady, holding pressure. The tan coat flattened against the straps and my cream shirt pressed to my stomach where the baby sat low and tight. For two seconds I couldn't breathe from the yank.
Then I was floating.
Below me the ocean was still deep blue and empty except for the white line of surf against the distant rocks. Above me I couldn't see Richard anymore, just the white underside of the canopy and the thin lines going up to it, humming in the wind. My ears rang in the new quiet after the rotor faded.
I checked the baby first. Hands flat under the harness, over my skirt. Small, hard bump, still there. No sharp pain, just the deep ache of the straps. My breathing evened out on its own, the way I'd practiced in the living room with the YouTube video on mute while Richard was at work. In, four counts, out, four counts.
The descent gave me time to think, which was worse than falling. I turned my head and saw the coastline again, closer now, gray rock and a thin strip of beach I hadn't seen from the helicopter window. No boats. I hadn't expected boats. I'd picked this stretch because the charter pilot's log showed he always cut inland along the cliffs to save fuel. Richard liked to save fuel when he was doing something he didn't want to log.
My coat pocket buzzed once against my hip. The recorder, still running. I pressed my hand over it through the fabric to make sure the red light wasn't visible. My fingers shook despite the harness.
About three hundred feet up, the wind shifted and swung me east, toward the rocks. I pulled the left toggle the way the manual said, just a little, and the canopy responded, slow and heavy. My arms ached. The tan trench caught air and pulled sideways and I had to fight it.
That's when I heard the helicopter again, distant now, circling. He wasn't gone. He was looking. I kept my head down and my arms slightly raised the way a real panicked person would, not a person who'd taken a tandem class in Perris last October under a different name. Let him see a small figure under a black canopy, drifting. Let him wonder how far I would drift.
The water came up fast in the last fifty feet. I remembered the instructor's voice — feet together, knees soft, don't reach for the water — and I bent my knees and crossed my hands over the harness. The shadow of the canopy hit the surface first, a dark circle on the blue.
My feet hit and the cold shot up through my shoes and skirt and the canopy collapsed behind me in the swell. I went under once, coat heavy, straps tangling, and then the harness kept me up. I coughed on salt and kicked.
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A white fishing boat was coming around the point, closer than I'd dared hope. Someone on the bow was standing and waving both arms.
I lifted one hand out of the water and waved back, and kept my other hand pressed to my belly where the baby kicked hard against my palm.
