The water seemed miles below, yet she could still hear the haunting echo of Reginald’s screams as he slowly drowned. It was his own fault really. She had warned him about how he had to land at an imaginary bull’s-eye located in the center of the buoys, otherwise the undertow would be too strong for him. No matter how hard they worked, his scrawny arms and legs would never be able to launch himself out of the underwater vortex, completely invisible on the water’s placid surface.
He jumped. Completely missed the mark and, well, you have already figured out the next part.
She watched his body rise to the surface—face down—and a light ripple emanating from beneath the bridge carried him into the setting sun. It really was the best kind of sunset, pink hues sporadically dotted by billowy clouds. Reginald’s madras plaid swim trunks, garishly clashing with the beauty of the evening sky, fanned out around his toothpick legs.
“I forgive you, Reggie,” Betsy shouted to Reginald as he floated toward the open sea. She knew how to push his buttons and leaving him hanging on that question would worry him for eternity. She could imagine his nasal voice and how irritated Jesus and the Saints would be at Reggie’s befuddled, “Forgive me for what, Bets?”
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