I stood on the shore and watched as Rebecca strode across the surface of the frozen lake, carrying an ax over her shoulder. I didn’t know what she was planning to do with it. When she called and told me to meet her at the park, I thought we would talk or eat lunch in the car. When I saw her walking across the lake, I thought maybe she was planning to do some ice fishing, even though she carried no equipment and had no expertise in the sport.

            After she traveled about a hundred yards across the lake, she turned around, cupped her hands over her mouth, and yelled, “Come here, Robert. I have a surprise for you.”

            I was freezing and didn’t feel like moving. But she waved to me, beckoning me to come forward, so I started walking across the lake to meet her.

            When I came within ten yards of her, Rebecca held up her hand. “Don’t come any closer,” she said. She removed her wool hat and gloves, unzipped her parka, and slipped it off her shoulders, letting the coat fall to the ice. She was wearing baggy jeans and a navy-blue sweatshirt.

            “What are you doing?” I asked.

            “Never mind,” she said, her eyes directed at the ground in front of her.

            And then she swung the ax blade into the surface of the lake—two quick blows, one right after the other. The sound carried across the lake, startling some geese gathered on the northern shoreline. We were alone at the park on this January day, just geese and pine trees around. The wind sliced through a high chain-link fence that served as the backstop to a softball field nearby, making a rattling sound.

            The ice did not crack right away, so Rebecca kept swinging the ax, driving the blade
down again and again. I counted at least six swings before I heard a pop and saw the crack. She laid the ax down and stomped on the crack with the heel of her boot. She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed. Her face was twisted with a ferocity I had seen only once before when she pounded the steering wheel after her Nissan died in the middle of an intersection in Cleveland in the summer of 1998.

            “Be careful,” I said. “You could fall through.”

            “Yes, that’s possible,” she said, never taking her eyes off the ice.

            Then, failing to heed my warning, she stomped on the crack one more time, and the ice broke; a three-foot-wide opening formed and she fell in.

            It took only seconds for her body to disappear, first her legs and arms and then her head dipping below the surface of the water.

            That was it. There was no goodbye. No grand gesture. No final words.

            I half ran and half shuffled across the lake toward the opening. As I got closer, I went down on my belly, splaying my weight across the surface so I would not fall in too. I reached my arm into the hole and shuddered as I felt the icy water. I stretched my hand deeper into the water but could not reach Rebecca.

            She was lost in the darkness.

            I would like to say I dove right in, that I tried to rescue her. But I thought about the cold and the icy water below and how it would take my breath away. I was frightened it would stop my heart, terrified that I would not make it back on top, certain that I would be lost too.

            I backed away from the opening, got to my feet, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed 911.

            I wondered if Rebecca was holding her breath or if water had filled her lungs. I told the female dispatcher a woman had fallen through the ice at Carroll Park.

            “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

            “It’s hard to explain over the phone,” I said.

            “Is the woman breathing?”

            “No. I don’t think so. She’s still in the water.”

            “Where exactly are you, sir?” she asked.

            “I’m out on the lake, about a hundred yards from shore,” I said.

            “OK, stay right there, sir. I have a rescue crew and medical help on the way.”

            “I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

            After the dispatcher hung up, I closed my eyes and listened to the wind. I then replayed Rebecca’s voicemail on my phone. The message revealed no portent or warning of Rebecca’s actions. She had sounded lucid and almost upbeat. “Meet me in Carroll Park. I want to show you something.”

            Yet the manner of her suicide—if that’s what it was—baffled me. Why would she kill herself by plunging through the ice? And why did she want me to be there to watch? Was she punishing me? Did she hope I would be accused of her murder?

            I worried the police would not believe my story. As I considered this, I looked toward shore, anticipating the approach of emergency vehicles.

            I then heard a splashing sound, something like a trickle of water over rocks in a stream, and my eyes spun back to the opening in the ice. I saw Rebecca’s head pop up in the water, her long black hair glistening. She looked like a seal with a human face. Her teeth were chattering, and she must have seen the shock on my face because she said, “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Help me up.”

            I moved with caution closer to the opening. I sat down on the ice, scooting my bottom and legs toward Rebecca and extending my arms forward. She grabbed my hands, and I pulled her toward me. I hoisted the upper half of her body out of the water and then hugged her waist and lifted the rest of her out and onto a solid patch of ice.

            “Wow, that’s cold,” she said, as she clung to me, shivering. She let go, stood up, took off her wet sweatshirt and boots, and pulled down her jeans—revealing a wetsuit underneath her clothes.

            “Come on, we’ve got to get you inside,” I said.

            But she just looked at me and laughed. “Surprised?”

            “Let’s go, the ambulance is coming for you now.”

            “That’s not necessary.”

            “What are you talking about? I didn’t know if you were alive or dead down there.”

            “And yet you didn’t dive in after me.”

            “No, I didn’t. How was I to know what you were doing? But I called for help.”

            “Good. Now I’ll probably get billed for the rescue team being sent out here.”

            “Stop screwing around, Rebecca. I thought you were dead.”

            “Yes, I could have been, but I’m not. And now I know you wouldn’t risk your life for me.”

            “You’re right, especially when you do something so foolish.”

            “Let’s stop talking. My teeth hurt.” She came closer to me, leaned against my chest, and kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t be mad. You know I’m crazy and need a little adventure now and then.”

            The sound of sirens intervened, breaking up our conversation. I looked up and saw the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles in the distance as they drove up the entrance to the park. A fire rig and an ambulance arrived on the scene.

            “Wow, all this for me?” Rebecca said.

            The vehicles parked near the boat launch, and I waved my arms as the rescue team began staging in the parking lot. One of the firefighters seemed to be looking at me. He held up his arm and yelled, “Stay right there.”

            I saw two firefighters grabbing ropes and flotation devices while a third was getting into a wetsuit. Two paramedics stepped out of the ambulance, went to the back of their rig, and wheeled a gurney toward the boat launch.  

            “You’re right about getting inside, it’s freezing out here,” Rebecca said. “Let’s go. Grab the ax while I get dressed.”

            I picked up the ax as she put on her boots, slipped on the parka over her wetsuit, and zipped it up to her neck. She reached down and grabbed her sweatshirt and jeans and her hat and gloves. She put on the hat and gloves and cradled the wet clothes close to her body. As we started walking toward shore, the two firefighters and the man in the diving suit met us halfway. They seemed surprised to see Rebecca looking so well. Before they could ask any questions, I said, “She just resurfaced.”

            One of the firefighters, a swarthy man with wide shoulders and a bushy black mustache, said, “I’m Lieutenant Sanders, the incident commander. Are you all right miss?”

            “Yes, I just need to get warm,” she said.

            “What’s your name?”

            “Rebecca.”     

            “OK, do you think you can walk the rest of the way?” Sanders asked.

            “Yes,” Rebecca said.

            “All right, let’s go then,” he said.

            Lieutenant Sanders took the wet clothes from Rebecca and handed them to me. He and the other firefighter each grabbed one of Rebecca’s arms and they guided her to shore as the diver and I trailed behind.

            After we crossed the lake, Rebecca and I sat on a gurney in the back of the ambulance. The firefighters had given us warming blankets, and the two paramedics took our vital signs. They also started an IV drip of fluids for Rebecca. “Can you tell us what happened miss?” Lieutenant Sanders asked, bending down close to Rebecca.

            Rebecca wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. With her head hung low and her eyes focused on the floor of the ambulance, she said, “I wanted to do some ice fishing, but after the ice broke, I fell in.”

            “I didn’t see any fishing equipment with you,” Sanders said.

            “I thought my boyfriend was gonna bring it. He never does anything right,” she said, lifting her head and letting out a weak laugh.

            “Rebecca, you know, this isn’t funny,” Sanders said.

            “I didn’t say it was.”

            “Well, you or your boyfriend could have died, and you could have put my crew at risk.”

            “I’m sorry,” she said.

            “Just be more careful. You don’t break the ice with an ax when you’re going ice

fishing.” He looked at me and said, “Can I talk to you outside?”

            I got up and followed him out of the ambulance. We walked about ten yards away from the rig, and he said, “We’re gonna take her to the hospital and have her checked out, just as a precaution. Did she mention anything to you about ice fishing?”

            “No,” I said.

            “That’s what I thought. I’m not convinced that this wasn’t a suicide attempt. Did that cross your mind?”

            “Yes,” I said, “but not until it was too late. I had no idea what she was doing. She just started pounding the ice with the ax and then it broke.”

            “We’ll tell the doctors that. They’ll probably want to get a psych evaluation. But let’s not mention that to her. She seems to be calming down.”

            We went back inside the ambulance. Rebecca was now lying down on the stretcher with the blanket pulled up to her neck. Her eyes were closed.

            “Rebecca, we’re gonna transport you to the hospital, just as a precaution,” Sanders said.

            “No, it’s not necessary,” she said in a low voice.

            “Yes it is,” Sanders said. “They’ll check you out and make sure you’re OK. We want to make sure your body temperature returns to normal.”

            “All right, if you say so. Can Robert come with me?”

            “Yes, of course.”

            I climbed into the ambulance and sat close to Rebecca on the edge of the stretcher. Then the paramedics went around to the front of the rig and we drove away. Rebecca’s eyes were still closed, and I stroked her hair as we exited the park. The emergency lights were flashing, but the siren was off and the ambulance ran a red light at the first intersection we hit.

            “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” Rebecca whispered. “You know that right?”

            “Yeah,” I said.

            She let out a sigh and said, “You know, I wouldn’t have dived in after you either.”

            “I understand,” I said. “Try to rest now.”

– Francis DiClemente