“Hmmm,” Marie said, sitting back with her arms crossed.
“Hmm, what?”
“Nothing. Ugh, look, I guess I just think that’s a bit lame. Don’t you think Angie could have found a way to tell you that? It’s been, what, ten years? And she only tells you this now? I don’t like it. No. I don’t like it at all.”
“What do you mean you don’t like it? Don’t you see that I’ve been waiting for all this time to find out what actually happened and now I know?”
“Right, I’m sorry, girl. But what am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said, sinking down in her chair. “Some support would be nice.”
Marie grabbed her hand. “Babe. You lost a gold medal because of her. This is the worst possible timing for you to get interested in her again. Do you really want to blow your big comeback on your high school girlfriend?”
“I didn’t lose because of her. I know I threw everything I could at that race. She was faster than me that day. Sometimes, you just don’t make it. I can’t hold her responsible for that.”
“With respect, that’s bullshit. Maybe you didn’t consciously let her win, but it affected you. I saw how sad you were back then even if I was in the dark about a lot of stuff. I knew she’d ditched you, but I had no idea you were in love with her. God, I still remember when you told me. I wanted to fly over there and punch her in her face.”
“Aw, you’re such a good friend, threatening violence like that. I know, I was super sad. But I was a teenager, dramatic like only kids can be. I’m okay now, and I’m okay with her.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit weak, though?”
She used her hands to cradle one of Marie’s. “I thought so at first, but then I remembered a few things about my own stuff. You’ve always been so supportive of me, so I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But you don’t know what it’s like to be that young and to know that you like girls.”
“So?”
“So, her parents did a number on her. They would have planted the seed that she was sick and wrong, and all the other things people say. I think they started the job, but she finished it herself. She was ashamed. And that’s not her fault. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she ended up in a marriage with a man, when she didn’t want it. That’s like a prison.”
Marie withdrew her hand, patting Hannah’s. “All right. I’ll get out of your hair. You make a decent case. But if she does anything to hurt you, I really will punch her this time. Right in the boobs.”
“Thanks. I love you. Now get out,” Hannah said, waving toward the door.
She walked Marie to her car, giving her a quick hug before playfully pushing her into it. As soon as Marie’s hatchback pulled out of the driveway, a silver top taxi pulled into it. Hannah bounced on the balls of her bare feet while Angie paid the driver.
“Did you just have a guest? I hope they didn’t leave on my account!” Angie said, slamming the taxi door shut behind her. She walked up, and they stood, open smiles reflecting one another’s.
“It was Marie, she just dropped by. Come on inside.”
“Have I said how much I love your house? It’s so light and lovely. You’ve decorated it so beautifully too. It must be great to come home to this every day.”
She looked around, trying to see the apartment through Angie’s eyes. The newest item she’d bought was a blue and red striped rug laid over the polished wooden floorboards, and it gave the room just the right amount of color.
“I am happy here. It’s nice to be reminded to appreciate it. So, what delightful dish will I be served tonight?” she asked, draping herself over the island counter.
Angie put her elbows on the counter. “Tonight, I’ll be cooking black bean and squash enchiladas. I hope you like Mexican food?”
“Are you kidding, I love it. But let me help you this time.”
“All right. You can be my sous chef. You start by cutting up the squash, that’s my least favorite part.”
“Sure. I can do your dirty work.”
“Thanks,” Angie said, unloading vegetables and tins from a bag.
Hannah wrestled with peeling the skin from the squash, gripping the handle of the knife and pushing it down as hard as she could. “Jesus, I see why you hate this.”
“Well, thanks for doing it. Should we listen to some music, do you think?”
“Sorry, I don’t have any Debbie Gibson.”
“I have never liked Debbie Gibson.”
Hannah smirked. “Whatever you say.”
Once upon a time, she’d been partial to the cheesy eighties’ pop star, but she’d never tell Angie that. She pointed toward the CD player and disc collection with the tip of her knife. “Help yourself.”
Angie crouched, rifling through the plastic cases. While her back was turned, Hannah admired the way her muscles stood out on her calves, her skirt revealing the lovely shape of her thigh.
Eventually, she settled on a blues collection Hannah had found years ago in a dollar bin at a chain store. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever listened to it, but when the opening notes of a Motown song played, she bopped her head to the beat.
“Good choice,” Hannah said. “I like the old stuff.”
“See, I can have good taste, Miss Cool. I bet you were one of those people who liked Nirvana before anyone knew who they were. Weren’t you?”
When she was in her late teens, Hannah introduced her little brothers to grunge music, and they’d all flipped over it. “There might have been a few flannel shirts in my closet. Hey, I’m done with this. What’s my next task, boss?”
“Can you please fry up this onion and garlic? Then I’ll pass you stuff. We’re making the sauce.”
She took the box she kept by the oven and struck a match to light the gas hotplate, then shook some oil into a pan. She waited for it to heat up, periodically putting her palm over the top to check. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked with someone like this. Angie passed her a bowl of chopped onion, then bustled around behind her.
Angie put a hand on her arm, leaning to peer over her shoulder. “I think that’s soft enough. Garlic time, here.”
Hannah stirred it into the pan, leaning over and inhaling deeply. “I love the smell of garlic. So, when do you head back to Brisbane exactly? I can’t remember if you said tomorrow or the next day?”
It was so quiet that Hannah repeated the question, glancing back to see Angie near her again. She passed her a small bowl of ground spices, gesturing that Hannah should tip it into the pan.
“I fly out in the morning.”
“Oh. But who’s going to cook my dinner?” Hannah cracked.
Angie didn’t reply. A moment later she was next to Hannah, a hand on her as she reached around to pass her a can of pureed tomato. “Are you supposed to be a comedienne or a sous chef? I can’t tell.”
The voice close to her ear, low and soft, made Hannah shiver. She poured the tomato into the pan, then worked it around, Angie’s hand lingering at her hip for a moment longer.
“I’d like to think that I can be both,” she said, fighting the urge to turn in Angie’s arms. She forced her attention back to the pan.
When they were ready to eat, Angie placed small bowls of cilantro and toasted pepitas on the table. She added a bottle of hot sauce and salsa and then fussed with the placement of everything before she sat down.
“We made a good team, sous chef,” Angie said.
“We did,” Hannah agreed. Under the table, she pulled her foot back from where it brushed against Angie’s.
After dinner, Hannah washed the dishes and Angie insisted on drying them.
“So, do you remember a guy called Tony from my team?” Hannah asked, plunging a plate into the water.
“I think so? The red-haired guy, right? Why do you ask?”
“He’s huge here now. He hosts this cheesy gameshow called Not That Door, and he has this advice talk show thing too.”
“That�
��s so funny. If only we’d managed to parlay our swimming careers into B-grade celebrity shows, right?”
Angie hung her red dishtowel on the bar over the stove, glancing around the kitchen to check that there was nothing else to do.
“I feel bad about all the stuff you bought. You can’t exactly take the condiments with you on the plane.”
“No problem, I wanted to do it. You can have it with the leftovers.”
“I’ll ration out those leftovers like nobody’s business. Those and the curry from the other night will keep me going for days.”
“Good. So, I guess I’ll see you in Brisbane?” Angie asked brightly, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“If you’re not too tired, I can make us some herbal tea? I’m still feeling pretty wired.”
“Sure!”
They sat on opposite ends of the sofa facing one another, holding mugs of tea with their legs bent, feet almost touching.
“So. I’ve told you a thing or two about me, and my ex-husband and parents and all. Now it’s your turn to spill the beans,” Angie said, blowing on the top of her tea.
“An interrogation wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested tea!”
Angie extended her leg, her foot bumping Hannah’s shin. “Nothing to be scared about. I just want to know more about what it was like after we…after I stopped talking to you. You were still swimming for a while after that, but then your retirement seemed kind of abrupt. So, there’s a lot I don’t know about what was happening with you. From the outside it seemed like you were at the top of your game.”
“It might have looked like that from the outside, sure.”
“I thought I was going to see you at Barcelona. I was so upset when I found out you’d retired.”
“I was planning on going. I quit during training.”
Angie hadn’t moved her foot. She pressed it more firmly against Hannah’s jeans, their eyes locking. “Tell me?”
Chapter Seventeen
1991 - Melbourne
Training for Barcelona was all-consuming, giving shape to the aimlessness of her life since she’d graduated high school.
As much as she wanted to support her friends, most of whom had gone on to university, she was stuck with this feeling. Left behind. The transition out of high school was confusing; she hadn’t known how much she would miss it. Nothing replaced school when she graduated except for the mounting swimming commitments. Now it felt like the sport was all that she was.
She went through the preparation just as she had for every other significant event. Tim tailored their sessions toward competition, becoming more rigid and short-tempered by the day.
She trained at the same aquatic center as Tony, and they often met for breakfast after their morning laps. He could be obnoxious sometimes, but it helped to hang out with someone who was a similar age. It gave her something to do while the rest of her friends went to class, partied and slept late.
This morning they dined in a café across the street from the pool; sparsely decorated, with a Russian waiter who was always smiling. He loved talking to them about swimming.
Hannah attacked her three-egg omelet with salmon on the side. She sipped black coffee, savoring the bitterness.
“I don’t know how you can drink that shit,” Tony said, shoveling buttered toast into his mouth. He could consume a slice in a couple of bites.
“Lucky it’s mine and not yours then.”
“Very lucky. So. My times were excellent this morning. I can’t wait for Barcelona. I look forward to adding new medals to my trophy case.”
“You’re such a wanker. Is that how you get girls to have sex with you? You show them your trophy case?”
He slanted his eyes. “Woman, look me in the eye and tell me that you’re doing this for the love of it and no other reason. Tell me you don’t care about medals. Tell me you don’t want to scoop up a gold.”
She held up her forefinger and thumb. “All right, maybe just a bit.”
“Hey. Can I ask you something?”
“You can try. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer,” she said. It wasn’t like him to ask for permission for anything. If it was about her love life, she might throw her fork at him.
“Do you ever get sick of the way Tim talks to you? He can be pretty harsh.”
This morning Tim had lectured her poolside about her performance. What bothered her about it the most was that her times were just as good as they’d ever been. Better. But it was never good enough. Nothing would stop him from pushing her to be faster and more efficient. Over the years she’d grasped the core of his coaching technique. He withheld his approval until he was sure that he’d squeezed every drop from her.
In recent months, especially since she was swimming full-time, they’d butted heads more often. She was no longer the passive twelve year old she’d been when they met.
Somewhere along the line, she came to understand that he got his kicks out of chastising her because his days as a competitor were long behind him. And somewhere along the road, his drill sergeant manner grated on her so much that she was always just a little bit angry.
She took a gulp of coffee, burning her tongue. Many coaches could be hard on their charges, but if Tony was commenting on it, Tim was particularly severe. Did putting up with it make her look weak? She made a snap decision to trust Tony.
“Of course. I feel like Tim’s getting worse. Have you noticed?”
“Yep. That’s why I thought I should say something. You know, you shouldn’t have to deal with his shit. He’s taken you this far, but at the end of the day, this is your career. He needs you more than you need him.”
“I never thought of it like that. What do you think I should do? I’ve tried talking to him about it a million times, but he never changes. Sometimes lately we’ll have a big fight, and he’ll soften up for a day or two, then he’ll be even more of an asshole after that. Like he’s taking it out on me for standing up for myself. I try to just get on with it, but he’s kind of ruining this for me.”
“Fire his ass! So many coaches would want to take you on.”
“Wow. You’re so nice, Tony! I didn’t know you had it in you.”
He pointed a warning at her. “Don’t tell anyone. And I really think you should. Honestly, he deserves it. I’ve thought that for months. You don’t know how many times I’ve felt like stepping in. He’s a bully.”
He was right. She’d allowed herself to be bullied, but the important thing was that she could do something about it now if she wanted to.
She promised herself that she’d talk to her folks about Tim tonight.
“Thanks, Tony. I need to give it some thought.”
That afternoon when Hannah returned to the aquatic center, the conversation with Tony was fresh in her mind. When she left the changing room, Tim was standing by the pool with a hand on his waist, the other fiddling with his beard.
“You’re here! Sorry if I’m keeping you from something more important.”
She checked the clock on the wall behind him. Five minutes late. She passed him and stood in position. Tony was looking at her from a couple lanes away.
“All right, let’s see if you can do better than this morning,” Tim said, weighted vest hanging from the hook of his index finger. “Give me twenty laps in this, and I’m going to clock each one. I want to see even pacing if you can manage it.”
Wordlessly she threaded her arms through the sleeves then snapped the belt shut around her waist. She scanned for the nod to signal it was time to go, Tim’s finger poised on the button of his stopwatch. The corners of his mouth twisted downward like he’d tasted something sour. He was already disappointed in her.
With each lap, her resentment grew. Why didn’t he want to inspire her? Why couldn’t they work together and act as a team?
After she’d counted to twenty, she paused breathlessly at the end of the lane. She could barely look at Tim, knowing that he was about to rake her over the coals.
“Get
out,” he said, eyes on the clock in his hand. Reaching down to the gym bag by his feet, he unzipped it and pulled out a pair of brand-new white sneakers. “Pretty sure these are your size.”
“What are they for?”
“What are they for?” he mocked. “What do you think? Put them on and keep the vest on too. I want another twenty, and I’d like to see you maintain the same time you just did per lap.”
She stared at the shoes. “Okay. What was my time per lap?”
“You should have a sense by now of what your times are like. What did it feel like?”
“What did it feel like? I don’t…”
The shoes landed with a thud. He marched forward to get in her face, but his voice was so quiet that nobody would hear it. “You’re bloody useless today. Just pick those up, put them on, and do what I tell you. Then maybe you’ll get a gold this time instead of choking.”
Flecks of spit had hit her skin as he spoke, and she pointedly used the back of a hand to wipe them off.
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“No. You know what? You’re not my coach anymore,” she said, blood rushing to her face.
“Stop being such a silly girl. Cool off, would you?”
She unfastened the belt, ripping it from her body. She scooped up the shoes and threw them as hard as she could until they slapped into the water, then followed them with the vest. He was watching her with his hands clenched into fists. His face was red, chest puffing.
“Get in there and fish those out right now! And put those shoes on like I told you.”
She cut her eyes toward Tony, who stood next to his coach Phil. They were watching with wide eyes, and Tony was smirking like it was the best show he’d seen all year. She nodded to him then stomped away, answering Tim without looking back.
“Get them yourself!”
That night Hannah sat at the dining table with tears wetting her face, her head resting in the crook of an elbow. The adrenaline that coursed through her during the argument had left her depleted. Viv rubbed light circles on her back.
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