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  As the boys began to clear the table, Devin issued an order. “I want all of you to stay away from the Lockharts. Especially you, Finn. I don’t want you to even make eye contact. You hear me? And stay out of their pool, for God’s sake. Give me your word right this minute.”

  Finn wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t dare because it would be disrespectful, and he was really sick and tired of being grounded. “Okay,” he answered resignedly.

  ______

  Exactly one hour later, Finn had to break his promise.

  His brothers had gone with their parents to Burton’s appliance store to buy a new television, and Finn had gone up to his bedroom, which was on the third floor in the back of the house. He was looking out the window at the Lockhart pool, remembering how much fun he and his brothers had had swimming laps last summer. It really was a great pool. The Lockharts’ huge deck was about ten, maybe twelve, feet off the ground with a thick wood railing surrounding it. It overlooked a concrete patio and the pool beyond. When Justin’s parents weren’t around, he and Finn would jump up on the railing and, soaring out over the lounge chairs on the patio below, dive into the deep end of the pool and race each other to the steps. Finn always won.

  The pool looked especially inviting today. It was really hot, and his T-shirt stuck to his back. The central air wasn’t equipped to cool the attic bedroom, so he turned on the fan he’d dragged up from the basement and opened the window.

  Laughter from below caught his attention, and he looked to see where it was coming from. The Lockharts were having a big party. Finn then remembered his mom calling it a housewarming. Cars lined Concord Street. From what he could hear, there were quite a few guests, and all seemed to be enjoying themselves. A couple of people stepped out on the deck, drinks in hand, then strolled back inside, no doubt because of the heat and humidity.

  He really wanted to get in that pool. The clear blue water sparkled and beckoned. He loved swimming. He forgot his worries, and his mind seemed to clear of all thoughts as he sliced through the water with long, smooth strokes. The faster he swam, the more relaxed he became. His body took over. One of his friends told him he turned into a dolphin in the water. While he was swimming, he felt completely at peace, and at the same time he felt energized. It didn’t make sense, he knew, yet that’s how he felt. The more he relaxed, the faster he swam.

  He sure couldn’t swim tonight, though. He’d given his word to his father, and he wasn’t about to break it. Besides, he figured Mr. Lockhart would call the police and have him hauled away for trespassing if he tried to sneak over the fence. No sense tormenting himself by looking at that beautiful pool, he decided.

  He shut the window and was just starting to turn away when he noticed her. Man, she was little. She couldn’t be more than five or six, he guessed—way too young to be out by the pool without supervision. Maybe one of the Lockhart daughters was babysitting the little girl, but if that were the case, where was she?

  Finn was getting a real bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The child slowly walked to the side of the pool, but she kept looking over her shoulder. Was she waiting for someone, or was she checking to make sure she wouldn’t get into trouble? Maybe she knew how to swim, he reasoned. Still, she shouldn’t be out there alone.

  The child sat down, scooted to the edge of the pool, and put her feet in the water. Finn kept waiting for someone to grab her, but no one came forward. She splashed her feet for a minute or two, inching closer and closer until the water covered her knees. She stayed that way for another minute, then tilted forward and began to splash the water with her hands, smiling as she created waves that lapped over the lip of the pool. When she leaned over farther to dip her hands deeper, she lost her balance and plunged headfirst into the water. She was gone without making a sound.

  Thirty seconds. That’s all the time he had, he thought, to get to her. He shouted to his father as he raced down the stairs. “Call nine-one-one.”

  No one answered him, and he remembered they’d all gone to Burton’s.

  He ran out the front door, nearly tearing it off its hinges, crossed his and the Lockharts’ yards at a dead run, then sprinted up the steps to their front porch. Mr. Lockhart was standing in the doorway greeting a couple, blocking the entrance. No time to explain, Finn decided. He shoved the big man out of his way, and while Mr. Lockhart was bellowing his outrage, Finn shouted, “Call nine-one-one,” though he doubted anyone heard him over Mr. Lockhart’s roar.

  Finn pushed people aside, knocked over a cheese tray and a dining room chair, then slammed through the barely open French doors. He leaped up on the railing and, using it as a springboard, made a clean dive into the pool.

  He had the child in his arms less than five seconds later. She was limp and lifeless, and he knew she had water in her lungs. God, he was scared. He had to get her breathing again, and fast. Her lips were already turning blue. He held her against his chest as he got out of the pool, then gently placed her on the ground and began CPR.

  Finn could hear the CPR instructor in his mind telling him how much pressure to exert. Airway free . . . don’t forget to count . . .

  He could hear screaming in the background, but he ignored it. Suddenly John Lockhart was dropping to his knees next to his daughter. He tried to pick her up. Finn knocked him back.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” the desperate father panted.

  Finn nodded. His full attention was on the little girl. He kept up his compressions, silently counting as he worked on her.

  A woman let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Peyton,” she called. “What’s happened to her? Peyton . . .”

  Mrs. Lockhart knelt beside her husband. Sobbing, she whispered, “Take a breath, baby . . . come on. Please, breathe . . .”

  “They’re coming. The ambulance is on the way,” a woman shouted from the deck.

  Suddenly, Peyton opened her eyes and began throwing up a fair amount of water. Finn turned her and held her head until she was able to take a deep breath. She was back with them.

  Finn had yet to say a word. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Peyton tried to sit up and reached for him. He stood, cradling her in his arms, and only then noticed the crowd surrounding him, all silently watching. Several women had their hands over their mouths. They looked frightened, but as soon as Peyton lifted her head and they saw that she was going to be all right, everyone began to talk at once.

  Peyton’s mother held out her arms for her little girl, and Finn gently handed her over. Holding the little girl tightly, she whispered, “You’re all right now. You’re all right,” as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  All of a sudden, Peyton’s father grabbed Finn. He hugged him and pounded his back. “Thank God for you,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

  Finn thought the man was going to cry, too. When he finally let go of him and stepped back, Mr. Lockhart’s light blue shirt was soaked.

  “How did you know . . .”

  “I saw her go under,” he explained. “Sir, your daughter needs to learn how to swim. . . . and right away.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “Peyton was supposed to be upstairs with the babysitter . . . I don’t know how she got outside . . . I don’t understand how this could have happened.” He sounded bewildered as he added, “All these people here, and none of us saw her go outside.”

  Peyton reached for her father, and he immediately took her into his arms. She put her head down on his shoulder, but she was staring at Finn.

  Peyton’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a wrinkled tissue as she rushed over to Finn and hugged him.

  He was trying to back away so he could go home, but the crowd was squeezing in on him now. They patted and pounded his back, and several women kissed him on his cheek. He was mortified by all the attention. Getting away quietly was out of the question. They were holding on to him, making escape impossible.


  The paramedics arrived and quickly checked Peyton. “This child is lucky someone saw her in the water,” one of them remarked.

  “Finn . . . our neighbor, Finn, saw her, thank God. He dove off the deck to get to her, and then he did CPR. He knew CPR.”

  They asked Finn several questions, wanting to know how long Peyton had been in the water and how long it had taken him to revive her. Everyone was quiet and hung on Finn’s every word, but as soon as the paramedics left, they all started talking, and Finn once again was grabbed, patted, petted, and kissed. Mr. Lockhart finally noticed how uncomfortable Finn looked and let him go home. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  After changing his clothes, he made himself a couple of sandwiches—it had been almost two hours since he’d finished dinner—grabbed a bag of chips and a root beer, and headed into the den. He turned the television on, sat back, and tried to watch a movie. Only one half of the screen had a picture, and it no longer was in color, just a blurry black and white. It didn’t really matter, though, because he wasn’t paying any attention. His mind kept replaying what had happened. He had been so scared that Peyton wouldn’t come back, and he thought about that moment when she began coughing. Holding her lifeless body in his arms and helping her breathe again . . . it seemed a miracle to him. The feeling was overwhelming. What if he hadn’t seen her? From his window he couldn’t see the bottom of the pool. What if he’d been too late to bring her back?

  Finn buried his head in his hands while he thought about how close to death she’d been. It had happened so fast. Going under without even a splash or a scream, her short life could have been over in a matter of minutes. What a piece of luck that he had noticed her.

  He reached for the sandwiches, saw the empty plate, and only then realized he’d already eaten them. He heard the garage doors open. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he went into the kitchen and found Beck and Tristan carrying in a huge box with the new television.

  “Wait until you see it, Finn,” Beck said. “The screen’s twice the size of our old one, and the color is awesome.”

  “I can’t watch television until Sunday,” Finn reminded. “I’m grounded, remember?”

  His father pulled the door closed. “Help your brothers, Finn. I don’t want the television dropped. Put it on the table in the den. Tristan, you figure out the cable hookup for the VCR. Put the old television in the garage.”

  “Listen, Dad, something happened,” Finn began.

  “Oh, before I forget, I ordered an air conditioner for your bedroom,” Devin said. “It will be in next week.”

  “Thanks,” Finn said. “But listen, while you were gone—” he began again.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting. “Let me get the door,” his father called over his shoulder. “Then you can tell me.”

  The Lockharts were waiting on the porch. Their daughter Peyton was standing between them, holding her mother’s hand. Mrs. Lockhart had tears in her eyes.

  Devin’s shoulders slumped. “What’d he do?” he asked, his voice deflating as he opened the door wider and beckoned them inside. Before either of the Lockharts could explain, Devin turned and shouted, “Finn, get in here.”

  Laura saw who was in the foyer and whispered, “Finn, did you leave this house while we were gone? You didn’t, did you?”

  Not waiting for his answer, she hurried to greet the distraught neighbors.

  “Did you?” Beck asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. He couldn’t resist adding, “I dove into the Lockharts’ pool.”

  Beck burst into laughter. “You did not. Did you? Oh, man, you’re going to be grounded the rest of your life.”

  “While they were having a party?” Tristan sounded incredulous. “You went swimming while they were having a party?”

  “Yes.”

  Tristan smiled and shook his head. “Why’d you do such a dumb thing? You only had until Sunday.”

  “You better get in there,” Beck said when he heard his father shout Finn’s name again.

  Laura was trying to soothe the Lockharts. She insisted they come into the living room and sit, hoping they would remain calm while they discussed Finn’s latest infraction.

  “It’s certainly warm tonight, isn’t it? Would you like some lemonade?” she asked nervously. She prayed Finn hadn’t broken anything valuable.

  She noticed Peyton watching her. She was such a pretty little girl, with big blue eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing. Laura couldn’t help but appreciate how quietly she sat between her parents, looking so serene. None of Laura’s boys had ever been able to sit for more than a minute without squirming. When they were little, they were always in motion. Now, as teenagers, they still were.

  “I assure you that Finn will pay for any damage,” Laura began.

  Finn laughed. That didn’t sit well with his parents. His father glared at him.

  “Yes, he most certainly will,” Devin assured the Lockharts.

  “Your son saved our daughter’s life tonight,” Mr. Lockhart announced.

  “He . . . what did you say?” Devin asked.

  Mr. Lockhart explained, and by the time he was finished, Mrs. Lockhart was hugging her daughter and crying again.

  While Beck and Tristan were elbowing their brother and smiling, their parents sat motionless, looking dumbfounded.

  “Over forty people in our house while she was drowning,” Mrs. Lockhart told them. “She wasn’t breathing . . . Finn did CPR . . . got the water out of her lungs . . .”

  They talked about how terrifying it had been and how blessed they were that Finn had seen Peyton go under the water. As they were giving their account of how heroic Finn had been, he stood looking at the floor. He wasn’t used to such praise.

  When there was a pause in their flattering testimonial, Finn spoke up. “Mr. Lockhart, aren’t you having a party?” he reminded.

  “Yes,” he answered and turned to his wife. “We should get Peyton to bed.”

  Mrs. Lockhart headed to Finn. He braced himself, knowing she was going to grab him again.

  As the neighbors were leaving, Laura and Devin followed them out onto the front porch. Beck and Tristan followed.

  “Mr. Lockhart, how old are your other daughters?” Beck asked.

  “Lucy is seven and Ivy is going to turn four soon.”

  Beck shot a quick accusing glance at his parents, who were trying to hide their grins. While his mother continued to chat with the Lockharts, Beck moved close to his father’s side. “You knew they were little, didn’t you?”

  “Yep,” he answered with a chuckle.

  “Not funny, Dad.”

  His father’s laughter indicated he disagreed.

  Finn stayed behind in the living room while the two families were saying good-bye. He was about to go upstairs when the door opened and Peyton came running back inside. She stopped a foot away from him, cranked her head back, and stared at him for a long minute.

  “I was scared,” she whispered.

  He barely heard her. He squatted down until they were eye to eye. “I was scared, too.”

  She smiled. Her mother called to her, but she didn’t leave. She stared at Finn another minute while she made up her mind. Then she leaned close and whispered, “Thank you.” Spinning around, she ran back to her parents.

  Finn watched from the window as the parents took Peyton’s hands and walked toward their house. He didn’t think he would ever forget that moment when he lifted her out of the water. What made him turn back and look down at the pool again?

  Maybe something bigger was at play here. Maybe Peyton Lockhart was supposed to do something important with her life.

  ONE

  Every year on January 4, the very first thing Peyton Lockhart did as soon as she opened her eyes and rolled out of bed was to go to her laptop and e-mail her guardian angel to say tha
nk you for saving her life. Today was January 4. It was her birthday, and if it weren’t for Finn MacBain, she wouldn’t be celebrating it.

  Her mother had started the tradition of sending a thank-you card to Finn on Peyton’s birthday, but once Peyton learned how to print, she took over the task. In high school she started e-mailing Finn instead of sending a card, much to her mother’s disapproval. Sometimes Peyton heard back from Finn; most times she didn’t.

  She understood. Finn was busy accomplishing the most incredible feats. Even before graduating from Oakhurst High School, he was competing in the Olympics. She watched on television as he won three gold medals in swimming: one for the 200-meter freestyle, one for the 400-meter freestyle, and one for the 4 x 100-meter freestyle relay. In the process of winning all those medals he set new records.

  Peyton was in the third grade at the time. While Finn was swimming his heart out for all the world to see, she was learning how to keep her hands to herself. She had shoved Ashton Lymon because he was making fun of her friend Hillary. Their summer school teacher, Sister Victoria Marie, made Peyton sit in the “thinking” chair a good long while. Come to think of it, she remembered spending an awful lot of time in the chair that summer.

  Peyton didn’t believe in comparing people’s lives, but when it came to Finn MacBain it was simply too hard not to. After his incredible performance at the Olympics, he enrolled at Stanford—on a full scholarship, of course. Four years later, after graduating at the top of his class, he had his pick of law schools. He chose to remain at Stanford because it allowed him to stay involved in the fitness competitions he loved. After winning several triathlons, he helped develop an athletic program for at-risk youth. Peyton knew all about this because the program was so successful it was featured on 60 Minutes. That’s when she started addressing her e-mails to “Hotshot,” which, Finn immediately let her know, he didn’t like at all. He was recruited into the FBI after law school and was now a special agent on the West Coast. He was too well-known to do undercover work, and she wondered how often he was recognized for winning the gold. Though his current accomplishments weren’t publicized, Peyton had no doubts that even in the FBI he had made his mark. He’d probably saved dozens of lives already. She speculated that, by the time she would be earning more than minimum wage, Finn would be president of the United States, or at least director of the FBI.