A Study in Drowning

by Ava Reid

“How come all the spiders are men?” “Because then it feels more satisfying to squish them,”

It was an eternal feeling, this sense of being unwelcome. No matter where she was, Effy was always afraid she was not wanted.

There was an intimacy to all violence, she supposed. The better you knew someone, the more terribly you could hurt them.

“Wherever you are in a room, he watches you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to trip so he can catch you.

“You don’t see yourself very clearly, Effy.” Preston shifted in his seat so that they were facing one another. “Challenging me isn’t pestering. I’m not always right. Sometimes I deserve to be challenged. And changing your mind isn’t foolish. It just means you’ve learned something new. Everyone changes their mind sometimes, as they should, or else they’re just, I don’t know, stubborn and ignorant. Moving water is healthy; stagnant water is sickly. Tainted.”

Anything can be taken from you, at any moment. Even the past isn’t guaranteed. You can lose that, too, slowly, like water eating away at stone.”

“You’re not just one thing. Survival is something you do, not something you are. You’re brave and brilliant. You’re the most real, full person I’ve ever met.”

She wanted to say I don’t believe you. She wanted to say thank you. She wanted to say tell me more about who I am because I don’t know anymore.

“I wanted you, too. For so long. It was terrible. Sometimes I could barely eat—sorry, I know that sounds like the strangest thing. But for days I didn’t feel hungry at all. I was . . . occupied. You took away all the other wanting from me.”

‘One must know before loving.’”

He loved nothing more than the truth, and she had loved nothing more than her imagined world. Somehow, in spite of that, they had found each other.

“The only reason anything matters is because it ends,”

“I wouldn’t hold you so tightly now if I thought we could be here forever.” “That makes me want to cry.”

“Some things are constant,” Effy said. “They must be. I think that’s why so many poets write about the sea.” “Maybe the idea of constancy is what’s actually terrifying. Fear of the sea is fear of the eternal—because how can you win against something so enduring. So vast and so deep.

Until I broke the spell my mind had cast, I could not ever be free.

“I meant what I told you, before,” he said softly. “I want to take care of you.

I never want you to have to weather it all alone again.”

Effy’s throat tightened. “They’re cruel. They’ll be cruel to you, too.” “It doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid to care about you, Effy.”

and at last Effy understood why the Southerners, in the very ancient days before the Drowning, believed that there were only two gods: the Sky and the Ocean. The land itself was just something caught and pressed between their warring furies.

But stories were devious things, things with agendas. They could cheat and steal and lie to your face. They could crumble away under your feet.

“I love you.” Effy pressed her forehead against his. “I love you,” Preston said, voice wavering. “I’m so sorry it’s ruined us both.”

when he noticed Effy’s blue fingers, he took both of her hands in one of his, raised them to his mouth, and blew on them. “I won’t let you lose another one,” he said.

“Well,” Effy said at last, a bit dizzily, “when things are meant to rot, they will.”

Writing that book was like shining a beacon from a lighthouse, I suppose. Are there any ships on the horizon? Will they signal back to me?

“I wish I had fought.” Effy surprised herself by saying it. The words had leaped out of her throat, unbidden. “I know I beat him in the end, but for so many years all I could do was run and hide. I just sat there and let the water pour in around me. I didn’t know that I could fight back. I didn’t know how to do anything but wait to drown.”

“Oh no, Effy. That’s not what I meant at all. You don’t have to take up a sword. Survival is bravery, too.”

“This way I’ll always remember,” Effy said. “I’ll always know. A lighthouse, like you said.”

And then, unexpectedly, Preston pulled her into an embrace and lifted her into the air. He spun her around for a brief moment before putting her down again, his cheeks flushed, looking bashful. Effy laughed again. “I thought you weren’t a romantic.” “I wasn’t,” Preston said, cheeks still pink. “Until you.”

The architecture of her new life was taking shape, and there were windows and doors. She did not need to slip through cracks in order to escape. If she wanted to leave, she could. If she wanted to stay, there were repairs that could be made. The foundation would be strong. Effy was sure of that.

Better to pen a story of your own. Better to build your own house, with a foundation that was strong, with windows that let in plenty of light.