The Slow Burn

by Caro Carson

  “Coach Nicholls has no idea yet, does he?”

  The knots in Tana’s stomach were familiar. They were nothing like the odd queasiness of those first few weeks of pregnancy. These knots were an old and too-common sensation.

  She picked up her fork to take another stab at the turkey, anyway. “Why would I have told him before you?”

  She chewed. She waited.

  Please act like normal parents.

  But they never had, not since it had become clear that she was a prodigy in the pool. She’d been fourteen, a freshman in high school, but she’d broken every school record for girls’ swimming in every event: butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle sprints, freestyle distance. She’d broken the boys’ record in three of those races, too, but the school hadn’t put her name on the wall for that.

  When Tana had broken the entire state of Texas’s high school records for backstroke and freestyle events the next year, a renowned coach, Bob Nicholls, had shown up on their doorstep. With her parents’ blessing, he’d taken her to Colorado, to see if she could compete on a national level with the right training. Her high school education had been completed with tutors while Tana added weight training and dryland exercises, physical therapy and nutrition classes to her life. Nicholls and his staff had wanted to see if she had what it took—that fierce determination that Caden Sterling had told his class they needed—to make the sacrifices necessary to become world-class in her sport.

  Sacrifices? Her life had become enchanted. She’d spent all day, every day, in a pool full of her heroes: Olympic medalists, world-record holders. When she was twenty, she’d set one of those world records herself. She’d loved Coach Nicholls for making her dreams come true. She would always love him, but he was not her parent.

  She swallowed. She broke the silence.

  “Of course, I told you first. You’re going to be grandparents. Coach Nicholls is not going to be any relation to this baby at all.”

  Her parents’ voices erupted in a cacophony of exclamations. “The man put his neck on the line for you—”

  “His reputation already took a blow from you once before—”

  “—to help Shippers and Appelan make the Olympic team, but now—”

  “—it would have been better if you’d stayed in Houston, under the radar—”

  “—you’ll leave his swimmers in a lurch when they need you most.”

  “—rather than get knocked up right when the swimming world was noticing you again.”

  “Oh, Tana.”

  In all of that, the most chilling thing was that her parents knew the names of the two Masterson swimmers who were the most likely to qualify for Team USA, Shippers and Appelan. Tana’s father was a bus driver, and her mother was a teacher’s assistant at the local public middle school. There was no reason they should know the names of the nineteen-year-old intercollegiate swimmers whom Coach Nicholls was scouting.

  Her parents had been checking up on her. They must have called Coach Nicholls themselves to ask if her performance was meeting his standards. They’d done that often enough during the years she’d swum for him, until she’d fallen in love with one of the team’s trainers and eloped just before her twenty-first birthday.

  Just before the Olympics.

  That had been more than ten years ago. They had no reason to call Coach Nicholls and check up on her now.

  “How do you know who Shippers and Appelan are, Dad?”

  Her father maintained determined eye contact with his roll as he buttered it fiercely. “Since Nicholls recommended you for this position, we thought maybe he had forgiven you for the way you ran out on the team. Dara Torres returned to the Olympic stage at age forty-one. She pulled in three silver medals. You’re only thirty-one.”

  “A single gold medal would set you up for life,” her mother said. “We had that soup commercial lined up for you. A million dollars you could have had, if you’d only won a gold medal.”

  “Now that you’re back at Masterson, you could train up and start competing again. Thanks to Coach Nicholls, you’re at the same pool where you set your NCAA records. Naturally, we suspected that he had this in mind for you. You must have been thinking it, too. You’ve been keeping yourself in shape for years now. You must have some reason.”

  For my sanity. Every twelfth stroke, every tenth, head down, moving forward.

  “So, we called. Coach agreed that if anyone could stage a comeback after ten years, it would be you.”

  Tana heard the note of hope in her mother’s voice. Not scorn; hope.

  It crushed her.

  “Oh, Mom. Dad. I’m not in that kind of shape. I don’t have the time to get into that kind of shape again. Not while I’m coaching.”

  They all fell silent for a moment, all three of them holding forks in their right hands, all three of them not eating. She looked at their faces, at their genuine misery, their dashed hopes.

  Tana had failed them, then and now. But even when Tana had screwed up, she’d always had another goal to strive for, and she did have another goal. She hadn’t voiced it to anyone yet, but she offered it to her parents now.

  “I can see myself at the Olympics as a coach. Coach Nicholls didn’t say anything to me about training myself to compete. I really think he wants me at Masterson to train others, because I’m—I’m a good coach. I love coaching.”

  “There are no soup commercials for coaches,” her father said.

  Her mother set her fork and knife down, precisely parallel to each other on the top of her plate. “That doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now, not even this coaching thing she’s been doing. She can’t run a college program when she’s due to give birth in March.”

  I can so. You’ll see. I’ll show you.

  “April twenty-third. I’m due April twenty-third.”

  “Pregnant.” The way her father spat the single word, there was no doubt it meant failure. “You have a God-given talent, Tana, but you keep squandering it on all these idiot men you think are Prince Charming.”

  All these men? There’d been only one. Her Prince Charming had been a trainer, one of the physical therapists who kept the bodies of the elite athletes working at their peak. He’d soaked Tana’s aching muscles in ice water. He’d taped up her tender triceps on the pool deck, minutes before she’d set the world record in the 100-meter backstroke. He’d sneaked her away from the training facility in Colorado and married her.

  Whither thou goest, I will go, they’d vowed. He’d added that to their vows himself. So romantic.

  Days after their clandestine wedding, he’d told her he was quitting, leaving Colorado, leaving the whole country, to serve as a physical therapist on a medical mission with a group of orthopedic surgeons.

  He expected his wife to come with him. She’d set a world record, so what else did she have to prove? To continue focusing on medals would be selfish, he’d said. He’d seen a lot of Olympians come and go, a lot of records set and broken. Her kind of achievement was always temporary. Someone would come along who was better than she was. She ought to believe him, he’d said. After all, he was thirteen years older than she was.

  Whither thou goest, I will go, he’d reminded her. Vows were unbreakable.

  He’d taken her with him, far, far from any pool. Tana had kept her head down and moved forward in this new lane. She’d done the best she could, for as long as she could. It hadn’t been long, only a year, but it had been an Olympic year.

  “You’re letting yet another man take everything away from you,” her mother said. “Again and again and again. When will you learn? Why couldn’t once be enough?”

  “Once was enough.” Tana forced the words out as if each one caused her pain. The memory of that year couldn’t possibly be as devastating as the actual year had been, but pain was a tricky thing. Even the memory of pain could be painful. Athletes woul
d favor a knee or a shoulder long after an injury healed, because the memory of the pain made them fearful.

  For the past decade, her parents’ scorn was something she’d avoided at all costs. After the divorce, she’d been determined to finish the college degree she’d started prior to her ill-fated marriage. She’d still had a year’s eligibility left to compete at the collegiate level. Masterson University had given her a full scholarship to swim for them, and she’d given them four NCAA records in return. With her bachelor’s degree in sports management, she’d dedicated herself to coaching, even running swimming clinics around the country when she had summers off from Houston City College.

  In other words, she’d worked hard for her chance at redemption in the eyes of the competitive swimming world. She might have been a flighty swimmer for one summer, but she’d been a reliable coach for a decade. She wasn’t the director of aquatics at her alma mater because Bob Nicholls had made a phone call. At least, she wasn’t the director only because of that.

  “I haven’t fallen for another Prince Charming. Not in ten years.”

  “You fell for Jerry. We told you that he was not really in love with you. We could see it. Why couldn’t you?”

  I didn’t go to Peru with him, she might have pointed out. She hadn’t given up the opportunity to coach at Masterson to follow Jerry. She’d learned that much from her brief marriage.

  “He’s kept you dangling on a string for more than a year. You’ve gotten knocked up by a man who has accomplished nothing in his life, which now prevents you from accomplishing anything in your life. Again.”

  Tana could have defended Jerry. He’d earned a doctorate, after all, but why bother? Her parents were right about the only thing that mattered: Jerry did not love her, not enough to use birth control correctly. Not enough to change his travel plans. Because he didn’t love her, she was going to have a baby—by herself.

  A baby is a good thing. Congratulations. One person, and only one person, had said that to her, a fireman she barely knew.

  She wished that memory wouldn’t pop into her head so frequently. It made her ache for what she did not have. She had her ex’s indifference, Ruby’s pity, and now, her parents’ scorn. She wanted more Caden Sterling—or rather, more people like Caden, people who would smile at her warmly and say Congratulations.

  Her father finished the last bite of his Thanksgiving feast and tossed his napkin onto the table. “You haven’t mentioned an offer of marriage. I suppose I have to get out my shotgun and make that selfish bastard do the right thing.”

  There was no way Tana could tell them what Jerry had said. You’re the one who’s pregnant, not me. But there was no way she’d ever tie herself to a man who thought his wants and needs were all that mattered in the world, either. She’d already done that at twenty, and as she’d just assured her mother, once was enough.

  “I’m not going to marry Jerry. He is not part of this pregnancy.”

  Her father slammed his palms on the table. “Do I need to prod you with the shotgun, Montana Dawn McKenna?”

  “You have to marry the father, so that the baby isn’t illegitimate.” Her mother threw her napkin onto the table, too. “It still matters. Times haven’t changed that much.”

  Her dad piled on. “You can divorce your boyfriend later. Maybe this time you’ll make it to your first anniversary.”

  Pain was a tricky thing. When it couldn’t be avoided, it made people desperate. Tana threw caution to the wind. “Boyfriend? You mean sperm donor.”

  “Don’t be crude,” her mother said.

  “It’s a medical term.”

  “You do not mean you got pregnant by a sperm donor.”

  Tana’s laughter might have been a little manic, a little frantic, but it was better than crying. “Whether you like the term or not, I am pregnant by nothing more than a sperm donor.” God knew Jerry had decided to be just that. “It’s just me and this baby. No father.”

  But her parents exchanged a serious look. Her father sat up straighter. Her mother folded her hands on the table. “You decided to have a baby by yourself? On purpose?”

  They looked almost like Ruby had at the suggestion that Tana had not gotten accidentally knocked up by an uncaring boyfriend. If Tana had intentionally chosen to be pregnant...

  No pity from Ruby. No scorn from her parents. Maybe.

  “Why would you choose such a drastic way to get pregnant?” her mother asked. “Is it because you’re over thirty?”

  Her parents had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Couldn’t Tana just let them? It wasn’t lying, not really.

  “I chose to have this baby because—because—a baby is a good thing.”

  Her parents looked uncomfortable. “Well, of course, but...”

  “This is good news.”

  “But, Tana, a sperm donor?”

  She tried to remember what else she’d said to Ruby on Halloween. She’d never outright lied and said she went through artificial insemination, but Ruby had jumped to that conclusion...if her parents did, too, then...

  “Why do I have to wait for a man to decide I’m good enough to marry and good enough to produce children for him? I was married. My husband wasn’t a good man. You made it clear you don’t think Jerry is, either, and I agree with you. We broke up months ago. I don’t need a man’s permission if I want to be a mother.” She raised her chin. “The bottom line is that I’m not knocked up. I’m expecting. There’s a difference.”

  Her father jerked his head back as if she’d taken a swing at him. “You know nothing about its father? You have no idea whose DNA is...” he waved his hand in the general direction of her stomach “...combining with yours, right this second? This is—”

  “It wasn’t sperm roulette, Dad.”

  “Do they give you a catalog? You just leaf through it until you see something interesting?”

  Tana supposed that was how it was done, actually. Certainly, prospective parents were given basic information about the sperm donor.

  “I know he’s healthy.” Jerry had been through a rigorous medical evaluation before being approved for his high-altitude jungle adventure. “He’s six feet tall. He has brown hair and brown eyes, like I do. Primarily, a Mediterranean ancestry. Plays some sports. His level of education is a doctorate.”

  Her parents were silent. They were too shocked to realize she was describing Jerry. Shocked—but not scornful.

  “The important thing here is that my pregnancy is going fine. The doctor says I’m healthy. It would be lovely if you said something nice now, like congratulations.”

  They were silent.

  Please act like normal parents.

  Her mother spoke. “You must tell Coach Nicholls immediately.”

  “For now, this is a secret. I care about my coaching career, and I especially care about my team. They’re doing fantastically well right now, and it would be unfair to everyone to rock the boat before I must. I’ll announce my pregnancy to my team, to my employers and to Coach Nicholls in my way.”

  Her father dismissed his only child’s pregnancy with a single word. “Fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” her mother objected. “Have you even thought about how you’ll manage after the baby is born?”

  “Millions of women manage being single mothers. If they can do it, I can do it. I’ve always had a fierce determination to be the best at what I do. Coach Nicholls would back me up on that.”

  “Being the best unwed mother isn’t something to brag about.”

  Her mother’s disapproval, her father’s dismissal, it all hurt. It would always hurt, always put these knots in her stomach and kill her appetite. But until April twenty-third, not eating was not an option.

  You take care of yourself, her fireman had said. Staying at this table with her stomach full of knots did not feel like she was taking good care of herself.


  Tana threw in the towel—or her napkin. It landed on the table next to her parents’ napkins. “If you’ll excuse me, I think it would be best if I headed home now.”

  Her parents did not object.

  Tana picked up her plate and, out of habit, her parents’ plates, too, and carried them into the kitchen. She kept moving, knowing from experience the pain would fade into numbness. She got her car keys and put on her jacket. Everything is okay. I’ll manage on my own.

  Her phone chirped in her jacket pocket. Ruby had texted her an hour ago. Hope your T-giving in Houston is good. Everyone’s hitting the Tipsy Musketeer later. Will be fun.

  Tana released the breath she’d been holding for who knew how long. Twelve strokes? Ten?

  At the front door, her mother offered her a little plastic container. “I thought you would like to take your slice of pumpkin pie with you.”

  It was something of a peace offering. Tana had to bow her head to receive her mother’s kiss. Tana had gotten taller than her mother at fourteen, the same year she’d gotten so alarmingly fast in the pool, but her mother still kissed her on the forehead, as she always had and always would. Her parents were so often unhappy with her, but they would never pretend she’d never existed. They’d never move to another continent and cut off all communication. That was something.

  Tana raised her head. “I love you both. Good night.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.” Caden smiled at the prettiest girl in Texas, who was cozied up beside him in their booth at the pub.

  “High five!” she demanded, and Caden obligingly held up his hand so she could slap his palm with all the mighty force of a three-year-old.

  Her momentum toppled her right into Caden’s lap, where her little brother had been peacefully sitting. The baby wailed in protest.

  “Whoa, there.” Caden caught his niece under her arm, lifted her in the air and deposited her back onto the plastic booster seat, next to him in the booth. He bounced his knee a little to jostle his nephew. “It’s okay, Max.”