The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  When I entered the enormous room that was a sea of round tables and floral centerpieces, I was immediately surrounded by fellow divers. Kisses and hugs flew. I was aware of their lean bodies and unworried faces. I could have been an old teammate who’d retired and come back to say hi.

  “You look so hot,” Alix, one of my better friends on the team, commented. I waved it away.

  “No, seriously,” Annie, our other friend, said. “Come sit with us. Mike said he wanted you up front when you arrived. You’re late, by the way.” I noticed all of their dinner plates being cleared away. I hadn’t realized how late I was. It was the little details that were falling from my grasp. I honestly couldn’t remember what time the invitation had said and I couldn’t recall even checking it. Somehow, I had gotten myself here.

  “How are you feeling?” Alix asked. “I’ve been waiting for you to text me back.”

  “It’s all good. I’m fine,” I lied. “I scared my mom more than anything else.”

  Walking into the ballroom was like being thrust from one bubble directly into another. I squeezed in between the girls and politely greeted Annie and Alix’s parents, who sat across the round table and stared at me for a moment longer than I would have liked. I was sure it looked weird that I came without a parent. My mother felt bad about not being able to make it but she couldn’t find anyone to trade shifts with her. The awards dinner was a glorified fundraiser for the aquatics center and a nice night for the team. Usually the swimmers got all the attention—translation: money—so it was a big deal that Mike was being recognized. It was also the unveiling of the plans for Mike’s new diving facility. Obviously, it belonged to the aquatics center, but it was being built because of Mike.

  “Look at him,” Alix whispered, gesturing with her chin to a table up front where our coach sat with his young wife, Laura.

  I guessed that Mike was around thirty-four now, though he looked younger. Sun-kissed, wearing a dark sport jacket and tie, Mike looked like someone who had grown up poolside at a country club and was totally at ease in a crowd of wealthy donors. But I knew he preferred to be surrounded by kids. He loved coaching and it showed.

  Coach Mike was intense when we were diving but when we weren’t, he was fun and funny. The little kids clung to his legs and he had silly nicknames for each of them: Charlie Tuna, Squirrel, Jack-a-Mole. With the older kids, he was firm when he needed to be but he also joked and made practice fun. When girls—Alix, for one—relentlessly flirted with him, he either ignored it or sent them off to go do burpees.

  But what made him great? Coach Mike instinctively knew what would inspire us individually and how to draw out our best performance. We were always so proud he was our coach—of how young, smart, and cool he was—especially compared to the militant coach who barked at his swimmers at the next pool over.

  “He looks so gorgeous, all fancy in his dress clothes. Like a hotter Roger Federer,” Alix said.

  “It’s like Aquatics finally realized he can make them some money,” Annie said. Then she suddenly grabbed my arm. “Laura’s pregnant.”

  “I’m so excited for them!” I said enthusiastically, trying not to give away that I’d known for months.

  “Laura told us a few minutes ago! And you’ll see her. It’s obvious. Mike’s having a baby,” Alix said, singsong.

  “Shhhh.” Alix’s mom held a finger to her lips and pointed to a giant screen as a slideshow presentation began.

  Over a medley of pop music that gave way to a more nostalgic song, I watched Mike’s career play out in photos. The first slide showed Mike at the high school where he’d first coached. A much younger Mike stood next to two rows of thrilled kids who excitedly brandished their impressive array of medals for the camera.

  My eyes had left Mike in the photo and I was studying these kids who’d been his first team. The slide changed. Go back. I thought I recognized someone. I half stood and actually murmured, “wait,” out loud. Our table snapped their heads to look at me. Alix gently pushed me down.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” I pretended something was caught under my chair and scooted closer to the table.

  Oh my god, I was becoming unhinged and forgetting myself in public. A trickle of sweat dashed the length of my neck. I drew a long breath and tried to concentrate on the photos now showing Mike when he first came to Texas, ten years before, to take the head coach position at the diving club.

  Then I was front and center in 90 percent of the slides. If Mike was the star, I was his star pupil. Me with my trophies, me at regional, state, and national competitions with Mike standing right beside me. It was made clear that coaching a nationally competitive diver was a big deal for Mike.

  Accompanied by a chorus of awwws and good-natured laughter, I saw a photo of myself as a little girl, standing next to Mike, tiny but looking up at him with an expression of total determination and focus.

  That had been right after my parents divorced—within the year. Mike took over my coaching but more than that, he’d told me he would make me a champion.

  It was like we had made a pact to save each other. He had blown it once again at Olympic trials and was retiring, giving up on his gold medal dreams and putting all his energy into a coaching career. I could tell my mom wasn’t going to go out of her way to find me a coach since I was just at the beginning—mainly I’d been fooling around at the pool with my dad. I was on the verge of losing something I loved. Another thing I loved. When I dove, it was the last place I could still hear my dad’s voice.

  By the time this photo had been taken, I had already thrown everything behind Mike.

  I shook my head to clear it. In my mind, I hadn’t realized how little I had been when my dad left. For the first time, I felt a little empathy for that young girl in the American flag bathing suit.

  More photos played out and I watched myself grow to ten, eleven, twelve, and my face get thinner and longer and my body lengthen and get more definition. Then the awkward years: thirteen, fourteen. At fifteen, I started to resemble myself. Mike still looked like a swim Adonis but he didn’t look fresh-faced anymore.

  Everyone was clapping, and Annie put her arm around me and her head on my shoulder. “Your mom should have seen that,” she said.

  Even I felt the weight of what Coach Mike and I had accomplished together and built bit by bit over the years. My dad once said, “You can go the distance and I’m the one who will get you there.” Unprompted, Mike had said those exact words to me when he met me, almost verbatim. And then he’d repeated them again and again over the past several years.

  I clapped along and kept my face pleased but neutral while heads craned between me and Mike when the overhead lights gradually brightened. Heat radiated off the back of my neck from being the center of attention. I focused on my folded hands resting on the red tablecloth strewn with used napkins and a butter dish nestled in a bed of melting ice.

  When he was presented with Coach of the Year by the Aquatics Association, Mike dragged his chair back and took his place standing behind a small podium, our team logo projected on the screen behind him.

  My mind drifted while Mike thanked many people, including his wife, who herself had been a diver at the University of Florida. Mike spoke about finding his calling as a coach. About his divers: “I wouldn’t be up here if I didn’t have amazing athletes.” Then he said my name.

  “Ingrid is the athlete. She has nerves of steel in competition. Focused, flawless. The one who comes along once in a coach’s career if you’re lucky. She has taught me how to coach just as much as I’ve taught her how to dive. I never stop learning from her. You are special, Ingrid, and I never want you to forget that. I don’t say it enough, but I am very, very proud of you.” He looked at me pointedly.

  My face was bright red but I nodded and smiled. What he said meant everything. I hoped he still meant it.

  “What a shitshow,” Annie said.

  “What?” I snapped my head to look at her.r />
  “I said, what a great show,” she said, looking at me curiously.

  Mike made a closing remark I missed and then suddenly, the entire ballroom rose for a standing ovation.

  I turned my head to scratch my bare shoulder with my chin. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar cascade of tawny hair. I lifted my eyes. Immediately, I lowered them and turned face forward again.

  “Oh my god, she missed the whole thing,” Alix leaned over to say to Annie and me.

  “Oh,” Annie said with understanding. Then, “Well, if he was my date, I’d be showing up late, too.”

  “Do you think Mike saw her come in late?”

  “No, but he doesn’t care. She does whatever she wants and he knows he’s not going to change her. If she were going to USC on a diving scholarship, it would be a different story. But she’s not serious. She’s just another former gymnast they recruited and she’s almost out of here anyway.”

  I involuntarily looked back at Caroline. She was wearing a white lace baby-doll dress and black cat-eye makeup and looked like a French movie star. I accidentally met Van’s eyes. He seemed to take note of my dress and I resisted the urge to run a hand through my hair. I quickly turned away.

  “What’s his name again?”

  “Van. Right, Ingrid? Doesn’t he go to your school?”

  I heard myself say, “Yeah. He’s a junior.”

  “I’m surprised she even has a boyfriend. She’s so ready to move on from high school,” Annie said. “She tells me that every day.”

  “He’s a junior.”

  Annie gave me a look. “You just said that.” Had I?

  Alix blatantly stared over my shoulder. “But look at him. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, but he’s not cookie cutter. You know?”

  “He has really nice eyes,” I said.

  Both girls looked at me.

  I scooted the heavy banquet chair back from the table. “I’m going to congratulate Mike.”

  “Yeah. He’s going to want to introduce you around. Fundraising.”

  I gave them both a hug and then picked my way through the ballroom, smiling politely at people, seeing myself through Van’s eyes as I made progress toward Mike who was still only feet from the podium, the screen blank behind him, caterers swiftly clearing dessert plates.

  Mike was chitchatting with the dad who ran our booster group and a silver-haired gentleman wearing a University of Texas longhorn tie. For the flash of an instant, I saw the younger Mike with his man-bun, telling my mom he planned to be there when I signed my letter of intent to the university with the best diving program in the US. That had been so many years ago.

  I hesitated, deciding to melt back into the crowd, when Mike saw me and excused himself from the small group. I hadn’t seen him since the hospital and now it felt like finding my best friend among a crush of strangers.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Coach Mike said, smiling. He had a glow from just being in front of the large audience. He gave me our usual big, arcing high five. He seemed relieved to see me, too.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt. Hey, congratulations,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t be here without you. You know that, right?” he said.

  I smiled and shook my head, brushing it off, but it felt good to hear. Especially one-on-one and not just for the benefit of an audience.

  Someone asked if they could take our photo together. Mike put an arm around my shoulder and, for two people who were rarely expressive with one another, we posed awkwardly for five seconds, then broke apart.

  “I would have hit my head sooner if I knew you were going to start being so nice to me,” I said.

  “Don’t even joke,” Mike said. “I’m still recovering from my heart attack.” Then, more seriously, “I’m so sorry this happened.”

  “Stop apologizing. It’s my fault, not yours!” I’m sorry had been Mike’s mantra when we got to the hospital, as though if he said it enough times, it would hit the rewind button. It was the only time I’d seen him rattled in all the years I’d known him.

  I wished I hadn’t brought up the accident and ruined the moment with Mike. Especially on his big night. Beads of sweat formed at my hairline, like I’d summoned my symptoms with mention of the accident. To change the subject, I was about to tease him about his fashion in the old photos when Mike put a hand on my shoulder. He made sure I met his eyes before he said, “Everything’s going to go back to how it was.”

  The way he said it, his tone, gave me pause. Mike sounded like he wanted it to be true, not that he believed it. His eyes were serious and maybe even a little unsure, like he was reassuring us both. As my mom had said, and as he had just showed in his presentation, we were tied together. My success was his success.

  “Of course. Everything’s going to work out,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “Mike!” A meaty hand clasped his shoulder. While Mike was occupied with greetings, I called out, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” and beelined for the exit, my mind churning with an even deeper understanding of my responsibility to Mike.

  “Ingrid!” I ran smack into Laura, Mike’s wife. “How are you?” Laura smiled, showing off the small, sexy gap between her front teeth. I loved her natural beauty mark just above her top lip.

  “I’m great. Thank you for the sweet get-well card. I just got it today. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back,” I said.

  Laura wrapped me up in her arms. I was surprised to see how far along she was already. It seemed like only recently that Laura and Mike had me over to their apartment for dinner and told me the news. Over Laura’s sun-streaked brown head, I caught sight of Caroline gazing off into a corner of the room with a thousand-yard stare. She was already bored.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Laura murmured. “Wow. Look at you.” She held my hands away from my body and checked me out. “How can you be even taller than when I last saw you? And I’m obviously fatter!” Laura dropped my hands and cradled her arm beneath her belly encased in a stretchy purple dress and laughed.

  It was true—they used to invite me over regularly on Friday nights but it had been a few months. I’d finally been free to accept Izzie’s invitation to Shabbat dinner at her house instead. I’d hoped it wasn’t because Laura and Mike were embarrassed; they’d fought in front of me the last time I’d been over. Mike had missed Laura’s doctor’s appointment that day. Even to me, it was clear he was in denial that his life was about to change.

  “I’m so excited for you guys,” I said, genuinely. “Did you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “Mike didn’t tell you? Girl.”

  “That is awesome. Mike will be the best dad.”

  “He will be. Tough, but a good dad.”

  “Mike will be the best dad.”

  Laura gave me a concerned look. Had I just said that again? The fogginess seemed to worsen at night and the noise of the crowd wasn’t helping.

  “He will be for sure!” I laughed, trying to cover but sounding a little manic. I dried my clammy palms on the skirt of my dress.

  I glimpsed Van scanning the crowd.

  Suddenly, I needed to leave. I had to get out of that ballroom, immediately. “Laura, will you tell Mike I had to run?”

  “Of course! But are you sure you have to leave?”

  I pretended I couldn’t hear her. I gave Laura’s hand a squeeze, backed away, and made it through the ballroom doors.

  When I got in my car, in the dark corner of the surface lot next to a trio of scrawny trees, I made sure my doors were locked. I made sure no one could see me. Then I replayed my conversation with Coach Mike. I didn’t see how I could tell him about my stage fright unless I had to. Then I thought of my surprise at seeing Van tonight. Compared to my fear of disappointing Mike, why would the sight of Van and Caroline, of all things, make me feel like I was about to hyperventilate?

  I pounded the steering wheel one time. Hard. For a long while, I sat quietly in my car and mindlessly watched the le
afless trees shiver in the wind.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TUESDAY, APRIL 5

  After my embarrassing, erratic departure from the awards dinner, I paced my bedroom. I listened to trance music and reminded myself over and over again, I’m still the same. Nothing has changed. I hoped I would eventually wear myself out and stagger to bed.

  It wasn’t working. I was wired and the full moon seemed obnoxiously bright. It flooded my bedroom through the curtain-less window.

  Frustrated, I yanked out my earbuds. I sagged against the window frame and stared out into the night.

  I was preoccupied, observing a slice of the neighbors’ backyard through the window but not really seeing it. I listened to the soothing sound of crickets. I was thinking how I loved that sound when, uncannily, something in my eye line stirred. I straightened.

  First, I heard a fragment of a scream. Then, there was movement close to the house. Through the trees, I thought I saw a petite back and streaming hair. It was a girl frantically sprinting away from the house toward the greenbelt. And then she disappeared from sight.

  * * *

  Where were the police? I’d waited for thirty minutes, unmoving under the covers with my phone tucked close to my body. First, I’d called 911. Then I’d repeatedly called my mom. It rang and rang.

  Finally, there was a pounding on the front door that traveled through the floorboards.

  I scissor-kicked the sheets off the bed, freeing myself from my hiding place. At the street-facing window, I glanced down to the walkway where two police officers lingered impatiently at my front door.

  One officer was male, blond with thinning hair on the crown that I could see from my vantage point. He walked back a few feet and then looked up at the second story to determine whether someone was inside. Backing away from the window, I snatched my sweatshirt off the desk chair. The clock said 4:36 A.M. There was temporary relief that it was morning.

  A carpet tack punctured my bare foot as I ran down the stairs. My head pulsed. Between the exertion and the cortisol coursing through my veins, I’d undone any healthy convalescing.