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splashing so wildly now he could barely see her or anything else. Certainly not the boat.
Do I scream for help?
he wondered, thinking it might be his only choice.
    The thought had barely crossed his mind when he felt Carrie slip out of his grasp. She immediately sank beneath the surface without so much as a struggle.
What the hell’s going on?
    Jake sucked in a quick lungful of air and went after her headfirst. Damn it! The water was too murky to see through. The best he could do was feel around for her. She was going to drown, wasn’t she—just like Stuart.
    Ten seconds… twenty seconds… thirty seconds…
    He felt nothing!
    Except his lungs about to explode.
    Then, a few more feet down, as his head began to ache from the pressure, he felt something, the soft, slippery feel of flesh. Carrie’s arm!
    Jake pulled on it fast and hard, as if he were starting a lawn mower and had only one try.
Hang on, girl.
Up they went, breaking through the surface without a moment to spare. They both gasped. Air had never felt so precious to him.
    Jake even found the life preserver again. For a second time he’d saved Carrie. And for the second time it seemed as if—
    No,
he thought.
This can’t be happening.
    But as he continued to struggle with her, what else could he think? She was no longer just kicking and screaming, she was violently pushing him away!
    Carrie knew exactly what she was doing. She had known all along.
    Jake was certain of it now.
    His niece didn’t want to be saved.
Carrie was trying to drown herself.
    Chapter 11
    MARK THROWS UP HIS HANDS in disgust. He can’t believe this, and neither can I. “What the hell’s Carrie trying to do,
drown
him?”
    “Shut up!” I say. “Please, Mark. Not now.”
    That’s only because I know it’s a good question, one that’s too painful to answer. It certainly does look that way, though. Worse, Carrie seems to have the upper hand. Jake outweighs her by eighty or ninety pounds, easy, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The way she’s fighting him, he can barely stay afloat, let alone hold on to her.
    “Carrie, it’s going to be all right!” I yell. “Let Uncle Jake help you! Carrie!”
    That’s when the awful truth comes blaring out of her mouth. “Let me be!” she screams back. “I don’t want anybody’s help! Let me go!”
    Let me go?
    My knees suddenly go weak.
Oh, dear God.
Carrie didn’t fall overboard, she jumped. She tried to kill herself!
    And she’s still trying.
    Again I’m about to dive in the water to help if I possibly can. I can’t stand here and watch this—I have to do something! But again I stop at the last second.
    The sound of Jake screaming in pain freezes me. There’s blood streaked on his forehead. Carrie must have scratched him with her fingernails.
    As the blood trickles down his face, Jake’s expression immediately changes.
That does it! No more Mr. Nice Uncle!
He’s had enough of this.
    With a thunderous grunt he swings his arm around Carrie’s neck, taking her in a tight chokehold I’ve seen cops use in the emergency room at the hospital.
    I never thought I’d be so happy to see someone do that to one of my children.
    Carrie’s still kicking, but with her arms restrained against her chest, Jake can now drag her over to the side of the swimming platform at the stern. Mark, Ernie, and I reach out and grab her by her wrists and ankles. We pull her onto the platform, landing her like a fish.
    “Stop it!” she wails. “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!”
    My heart is breaking into a million little pieces.
    We walk her up to the deck, where she flops around, throwing a tantrum. Finally she curls up in the fetal position, crying pitifully. It’s contagious, and I start crying too. I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to say to her. What can I do for Carrie?
    “A little help here, guys,” comes Jake’s out-of-breath voice from behind us. We turn to see him treading water—waiting—next to the platform. He’s a lot harder