A Matter of Heart

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  As he pulls himself out, I do not notice the flex of his triceps. “Just so you know,” I snap, “I take teaching seriously. No games.”

  “I take it seriously too,” he snaps back. “That’s why you need games.”

  “Kids are motivated by improvement.”

  “And they improve more when they’re having fun.”

  “As if you know so much about teaching.”

  He looks me in the eye and surprises me by saying, “Yeah, I do.” Not cocky, just confident. I’m still trying to process that when he turns back to the class.

  We go from drills to swim sets and I have to admit, it’s okay working with Alec. He’s good with the kids. I still think he’s too easy, but he really likes them, and it’s obvious they want to swim hard for him. Plus, he’s careful not to try and take over. Maybe that’s why I play along when we end up with a spontaneous game of good-cop/bad-cop. Alec says the kids ought to get a break to play Sharks and Minnows—a game they all love. I check my watch and shake my head. “They’ve got to swim one more hundred and there just isn’t time,” I say. Next thing I know, we’ve spread out into more lanes and the kids are ready for an all-out sprint. Not even Katie is whining.

  “Remember,” I tell Miley, “long and lean.”

  The first time I told her that, her face whitened as if I’d slapped her. But I didn’t apologize. In the water, she was long and lean. Now she just nods, flips her goggles down with determination, and sets her chin in that way that makes my heart squeeze.

  “On your mark,” Alec says. “Get set!”

  “And…hup!” I cry.

  An instant later, the water is a hot tub of frothy bubbles. Heads are down, and arms and legs are churning. The kids are working hard. Miley is out front and moving smoothly through the water. Most of the parents are watching by now since class is nearly over. I’m glad. The kids look good.

  Alec holds up a stopwatch and high-fives every kid as they come up gasping and grinning.

  “You been holding out on me?” he asks Benji. “I’ve never seen you move so fast except when class is over.”

  Then Alec jumps back in the pool and joins the kids for a game of Sharks and Minnows. He’s the first shark, keeping his eyes closed and searching for a minnow. He catches Mike, and Mike takes his turn as the shark. I’m laughing with the parents as the kids dive and scramble for each other until everyone’s had a chance as the shark.

  Afterward, the kids knock my knuckles, tell me thanks as they grab their towels, and head into the lockers. For a second, I just stand there as a smile warms through me, inside and out. I started teaching for extra money, but it hits me now that I’d do it for free. For how good this feels. When I turn back to grab the kickboards, Alec already has them stacked and is taking them to the equipment hold.

  Alec.

  I see why he gets so many privates—kids must ask for him. Hell, I would. Another blush sears my cheeks, because that doesn’t sound right in my head either. I take a deep breath and when I hear my own sigh, I realize it’s way too quiet in here. I can pick up the music from the aerobics class going on in the other pool. I look around, realizing that it’s just him and me. I wish everyone hadn’t left so quickly.

  I wish he’d put his shirt back on.

  27

  “Thanks,” I say, managing to keep my voice cool. There’s a pool buoy floating in lane 6, and I make a big job of pulling it in, hoping he’ll leave. Instead, he comes over, drops to the deck, and stretches for it. Damn. What is it about a guy’s back that is so sexy?

  “It was good for Benji,” Alec is saying, and I pull my thoughts out of the gutter, forcing a smile when he hands me the dripping buoy.

  “Thanks.”

  He stands there, resting his hands on his hip bones. “Miley’s improved a lot in the past couple months.”

  I want to ignore him, but his comment about Miley reminds me of what he said earlier. “What’d you mean?” I ask. “When you said she gave me an Abby look?”

  His lips twitch in a smile. “You have this way of looking at Coach during practices. Right before he sends us off, you flip down your goggles like you’re putting on a helmet and going off into battle.”

  I swallow, a little embarrassed. Partly because he’s right. And partly because it’s obvious that he’s been watching me.

  “Miley’s come a long way this year,” I say. “Her parents say she’s more confident at school now, and they think it’s the swimming. I guess I was the same way at her age.”

  “Can’t picture you in a Shamu swim cap.”

  “Ha!” I make a face. “I mean how much I loved it.”

  I think he’s going to make another joke, but he doesn’t. He looks off toward the locker room and his smile has widened into something kind of…well, irresistible. “Yeah,” he says. “I know what you mean. These kids, they’re having a good time. It’s nice to see.” His smile fades. “Sometimes I wish I could go back to this.”

  I pull off my whistle and slide it into my shorts. “Back to what?”

  He waves a hand at the pool. “Swimming wasn’t always about winning. When I was a kid, I swam because it was fun and not because I was trying to get somewhere.”

  I have to smile because that reminds me of Coach’s favorite mantra. “You’re not swimming to the wall,” I say in my deep Coach’s voice. “You’re swimming to your future.”

  He slants me a look. “Yeah.” But he’s not smiling along.

  “Come on,” I say. “Racing is fun.”

  “It used to be. Now it’s only about the stopwatch.”

  The men’s locker-room door opens and a couple of guys shuffle out in pool shoes. I smile politely, but I don’t really see them. It occurs to me that Alec and I are…talking. And something about what he’s saying, and how he’s saying it, is getting to me. I hesitate. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help asking. “Because of the scholarship, you mean?”

  His eyebrows draw together. “That interview was humiliating. Coach told me it would help. Local interest story and all that, but I’m pretty sure I sounded pathetic.”

  “No one who knows you would think you’re pathetic.”

  His eyes flash to mine. I blush.

  He smiles. “What would they think?” he asks in a low voice that I think is meant to be suggestive. And it is.

  Heat climbs up the back of my neck. I’ve never seen Alec with a girlfriend, but I’m guessing he must have one. Or more.

  “They’d think you work hard,” I say in a matter-of-fact voice. “And that Stanford is an impressive goal.” Then to shift the conversation back to safer ground, I add, “Congrats on your meet yesterday.”

  The smile disappears. He grabs a wet towel off the deck. “You like to be congratulated on a second place?”

  Crap. I wasn’t thinking about his 100 free, or I wouldn’t have said that. But he’s right. I wouldn’t celebrate a second place. A lot of kids would, and they should. But when you need to be the best…I pick up the last of the pull buoys but all I’m seeing is his face when the scoreboard flashed his time. It could have been my face.

  I follow him to the equipment closet. I edge my way around a basket of fins and dump the pull buoys in their spot while he dumps the towels in a bin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean the hundred. I was thinking of the relay. You guys are going to break the record at State.”

  If anything, the scowl deepens. He stomps back toward the pool.

  Following him out, I throw up my hands. “What did I say this time?”

  “Relay doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “It’s just a relay.” He picks up an empty water bottle, crushes it in his hand.

  “That’s not what Connor thinks.”

  He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “Oh, right. Connor.”

  I plant my hands on my hips. “Is that what you’re pissed about? That you have to swim with Connor?” My eyes widen with a thought. “Or is it that you need Connor to win?
”

  “Maybe Connor needs me to win.” He throws the bottle at the open trash can stationed at the end of lane 6. It bounces against the rubber side and falls in.

  “He does need you to win,” I agree. “That’s the whole concept behind a team. You need each other.”

  “And what else does Connor need to win?”

  “Would you give me a freaking break?” I snap. “Connor is not taking anything and neither am I.” I hold out an arm. “You want a blood sample?”

  “Would you really give one?”

  “Yeah, Alec, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  I’m surprised, but he looks almost embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said that about you. I never really thought you were cheating. At least”—his eyes flash to mine—“I didn’t want to. But if he’s cheating and you don’t say anything, then you’re cheating too.”

  “He’s not taking anything.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Then you’re wrong.”

  “No, you’re wrong, Alec. Do you even hear yourself?” My hands fly up, shaking with the need to get through to him. “You just accused me of doping for no other reason than because I’m dating him.”

  He shakes his head, but then he sighs as if he’s suddenly tired. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he tells the deck. “It pissed me off, though, thinking he would drag down someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  He walks over to his T-shirt and swipes it off the ground. “You’ve got it, Abby. The whole package. You’re talented, you work hard, and you have heart.”

  I ignore the way his words make my stomach flutter. “But you still thought I was cheating,” I say. “Guess that explains why you’ve been staring at me for the past month.”

  He pulls the shirt on, shrugging it over his wide shoulders. His hair is ruffled and sticking up over his ears. “I don’t get how you could be with a cheat like Connor.”

  “He isn’t a cheat.” Alec is looking at me, but I wonder if he hears a thing I’m saying.

  “Then what’s he doing out in his car before the meet starts?”

  I draw in a breath so deep the chlorine in the air stings my throat. “He’s getting his mind focused.”

  “He doesn’t have to go to his car to do that.”

  “He’s not taking anything stronger than power gels. I’ve seen him.” Except, my inner voice adds, you didn’t actually see what he swallowed.

  I’m telling my inner voice to shut up when Alec says, “Then if he’s not taking anything, how did he do it? How did he recover from pneumonia so quickly?”

  “He’s good,” I say. “Plain and simple.”

  He steps closer. “But is he that good, Abby? Because he’s also lazy, and you know it. He does only as much as he has to.”

  And because Alec is right, I feel a surge of anger. Connor is lazy. But he can afford to be, I remind myself. When he has to, he can swim fast because he’s naturally good. A need to defend my boyfriend grips me, and I shake my head, hard. “That doesn’t mean he’s cheating. Connor is right,” I add. “You’re a bad loser and you’ll do anything to get him out of the pool because it’s the only way you can win.”

  His dark complexion is suddenly bleached white, as if I slapped him. “Nice one,” he says, his voice like sandpaper. “But you’re wrong about that. You’re wrong about a lot of things.” He shoots me one last intense gaze. “For one thing, I’ve been staring at you for a lot longer than a month.”

  28

  When I head back to the pool ten minutes later, it’s a new crowd. I look around—twice—just to be sure Alec is gone. I’m still flustered by what he said. What did that even mean? Am I supposed to think he likes me—like that?

  Okay. I’m not even going to go there. I’m not interested, for one thing. For another, I’m dating Connor, who is like top prize in the Boyfriend Championships.

  I set my swim bag down at lane 6. There’s a heavyset woman in lane 1 bobbing from one end of the pool to the other. Two women are swimming laps in lanes 2 and 3, and there’s a couple in lane 4 who appear to be doing a synchronized dog paddle. None of them spares me more than a glance. Perfect. For this swim, I don’t want an audience.

  Settling myself on the edge of the pool, I dip my goggles in the water. As I lick a finger and wipe out the inside of the plastic, a breath catches in my throat. I’m facing a lane of open water and I’m nervous. Stupid.

  The water is cool on my feet and I wiggle my toes, watching ripples break the surface. I’m still me. I’m still the same person who loves the water, who’s had a natural feel for it ever since I was four years old. A tiny white pill can’t change all of that.

  No more thinking.

  I jump in and immediately push off, finding an easy rhythm. I swim with alternate breathing—every three strokes. The water holds me and I rotate with long, even pulls. I’m not thinking about anything except my breathing. One, two, breathe. One, two, breathe.

  After a 300 warm-up, I coast to the wall, a little tired but not bad. I flip up my goggles and reach for my water bottle as a voice calls my name.

  “Abby?”

  Bree waves and comes over. She’s wearing a TYR racing bikini and carrying her swim bag. She drops it at the edge of the lane next to me. “You’re back in the pool, huh?”

  “Yep, feeling fine.”

  “Great!”

  Only it sounds suspiciously like “Crap.” I’m sure Bree was happy to eliminate some of the competition.

  I squirt a shot of water in my mouth. I do feel fine. A little sluggish, maybe, but I’ve had a week off. I pull my right arm across my body and stretch out my shoulder and back. I’m kind of glad that Bree is here, now that I think of it. I’m already feeling the competitive itch work its way up my spine, and Bree will be a test—though not a true one. She hasn’t beaten me since we were ten years old. But I can pace myself against her, get a feel for what this medicine might do.

  “You running drills?” she asks.

  I shake my head and adjust my goggles. “Just getting in some yards today.”

  “Me too.” She hops in. “It was not a good meet yesterday.”

  I can’t argue there—a sixth-place finish won’t cut it, not if she wants to compete at State. “Looked like you had a slow start.”

  “Yeah.” She shrugs. Bree and I have been competing for too long for her to want to hear advice from me. She’s adjusting her goggles when I take off.

  This time, I push it a little, working toward a faster turnover. But my shoulders feel tight and my arms slow through the pull. Water churns as Bree comes up in the next lane, and I kick harder—grabbing the water, fighting the weakness in my arms. Bree is even with me, her suit flashing like black spots at the edge of my eye.

  She’s not going to pass me; I won’t let her.

  I kick harder, pull faster.

  Churn and burn. Churn and burn.

  Even as I chant the words, she surges ahead. Bubbles burst around my face as her feet flutter by. My arms slow and my feet lose the rhythm. My throat fills and I come up for a breath that turns into a sob. Oh God. I dive down, burying the sound underneath the water. The wall is there, a green triangle of tile glimmering against the plaster. I flip, my feet landing perfectly on the tile, pushing off the way I’ve done a million times before.

  Even with tears blinding me.

  It’s okay. No big deal.

  I force myself into an easy rhythm as if I never meant to go beyond first gear. But when I reach the wall, fear has such a tight hold on my lungs that I’m gasping as if I’ve just gone all out. This can’t be it. This can’t be all I’ve got. I dunk my head, wanting to drown the doubts, lose them in the water. But when I come up a few seconds later, I’m still weighed down with panic. Bree glides into the wall, flips, and sprints back down the lane.

  How can this be happening? My stupid screwed-up heart is beating calmly like nothing’s wrong, but everything is wrong. Tears bu
ild up behind my goggles until I have to yank them off and drop them on the deck. No way can I be slow. I don’t know how. This medicine…I can’t keep taking it. Not if this is what it does to me.

  I blink my eyes clear of tears and a figure swims into sight.

  Alec. He’s standing on the cool deck by the door to the men’s locker room. He’s watching me, and I don’t know if the tears on my cheeks show or if it just looks like pool water. I spin away. To hell with his pity. I don’t need it. I just need that second opinion from the doctor because I’m fine. Fine.

  Next to me, Bree is a blur as she flips and is gone again.

  It’s all I can do to keep my shoulders from shaking.

  29

  It’s nearly noon when I get home, but at least I’m calm. Which is good. Because when I walk in, Dad is at the kitchen sink filling a glass of water.

  “Hey.” He half turns to face me. He’s wearing his usual Sunday ratty gray T-shirt, sweats, and tennis shoes. “How was class?”

  “Good. No one threw up today.”

  “That’s always a bonus.” He pauses. “So…everything else okay?”

  Which is code for You didn’t drop dead while swimming?

  “Yeah.”

  “How did it feel?”

  Again code. Could you swim with heart-numbing pills infecting your body?

  “It’s was…good,” I say haltingly. “Not exactly like I expected.”

  “I wondered.” He nods as if I’ve just confirmed that I’m a loser.

  A lump rises in my throat, but I work it back down.

  He stands there a long moment, looking at his glass of water. Then he points to the backyard. “Guess I’d better get back out there. I’m finally tackling that dead tree.”

  “I figured. You have twigs in your hair.”

  He smiles and rubs a hand through his hair until a leaf and a twig flutter into the sink. “Well. That’s it, then.”