A Matter of Heart

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  My skin tingles as I watch him go. Well, why not. No regrets, right? I rub a hand over my stomach, where things are feeling a little fluttery. It’s not a bad fluttery, though—it’s more like the feeling I get just before I climb up on the blocks before a big race. Nervous, but also controlled, my mind full of what’s coming. As I think about it, that’s where I am in the grand plan. Gathering myself, nearly ready to climb the blocks.

  It’s all coming together. I’ll need to talk to Jen, tell her not to repeat what I told her last night about making up my new swim times. I’ll tell her Dad wants me to swim the 50-meter free and so I’m going to. On beta-blockers, of course. I don’t want to lie to Jen, but I have to. And she’ll say she understands, even if she doesn’t. That’s what you do when your best friend has a fatal heart condition.

  I can’t swim at the gym or the school—can’t take the chance that Coach or Alec will see me. The community pool ought to be perfect. J.D. won’t even be there in the late afternoons. I run through it all in my mind. There’s just one more thing I’ve got to do today and one thing to do tomorrow. Then I wait for the gun to go off.

  When it does, I’ll be ready. Whatever happens.

  52

  I walk through Walgreens the way I have a hundred times before. But today I’m not here for more sunscreen or a tube of mascara. I pass by people and imagine how they’d watch me if they knew. How they’d tell their families, “I saw her that day…. She looked so calm.”

  I hit the section with medicines and turn down the first aisle. I had no idea there were so many types. Eyedrops, arthritis creams, sinus medicines, antifungals. Something for everything. Except hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. I haven’t found that aisle yet.

  I round another corner and stop. There they are. Stacked four rows deep under the sign HEADACHE RELIEF. I skip over the bottles of Advil and Tylenol. Ignore the stack of orange aspirin. Bending down, I pull out a bottle of generic baby aspirin. I shake the bottle and study the pills through the see-through label.

  Tiny, white, round.

  Just like my beta-blockers.

  My damaged heart pulses in my throat as I carry the bottle to the checkout counter.

  53

  Alec is leaning on his blue beater when I pull in beside him at the gym parking lot. He’s wearing a black tee, faded jeans, and scuffed sneakers, and he’s got the angle of his lean perfected like he’s a model in a car ad. All he needs is a pair of sunglasses to make the picture complete, but I’m kind of glad he’s not wearing any. I like his eyes. I like how he watches me as I get out of the van, lock the door, and drop the keys in my purse. I’m wearing a plain Henley over my jeans, but it’s red and I know it looks good against my tan. I blew out my hair and took time with my eye makeup, and I can still taste the berry gloss on my bottom lip. I feel beautiful tonight, and I’m not sure if it’s me or just the way he’s looking at me.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “Always.” I open the door of his Honda, trying not to compare it to Connor’s BMW. I slide into the seat beside him. The fabric is wearing thin and the dash has some cracks from age and sun, but the car is spotless. Dad once told me a guy’s car is his first girlfriend and I should pay attention to how he takes care of it. If I go by this, I’m in good hands. A warm shiver runs through me at the thought of being in Alec’s hands. Life has been stressful the last few days. Now I just want to feel something good.

  “Where are we going to watch?”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me as he pulls on his seat belt.

  “The sunset?” I say, reminding him. “Isn’t that the plan?”

  He gets this sloppy grin on his face. “Fiery Blood Sunset.”

  He shifts the car into gear and I buckle up. I’m guessing we’ll head back to the trail where we were the other night. I sneak a glance at the backseat, expecting to see a blanket or a cooler, but it’s empty. In the trunk, maybe?

  But Alec doesn’t take the turn toward the mountains. Instead, he drives us through the town of Guadalupe, where Jen and I come for the best carne asada tacos around. Alec pulls in at the farmers’ market. “Stocking up on supplies?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, only leans across my body, brushing my stomach with his arm, and pops open my door. Oh my. Every nerve in my body is suddenly humming.

  “Come on,” he says. “I promised you a sunset.”

  Inside, I follow him through aisles of canned goods and more aisles of crated fruits and vegetables until we reach the back. There’s a small kitchen there with a tall white counter and a glass refrigerated case filled with fruits I can’t even name and two glass blenders.

  An old man with white hair and a striped shirt buttoned up to his neck is sitting on a stool, reading a paper. He stands when he sees us. “Hola, Alec,” he says. He smiles, his face wrinkling like a fan.

  “Hola,” Alec returns. “I’ve brought a friend.”

  “I see,” he says. “Bonita.” He nods at me and I nod back. Then he asks Alec, “The usual?”

  “Dos, por favor.”

  Then it dawns on me. “A Fiery Blood Sunset is a smoothie?”

  “It’s not just a smoothie,” he says in mock horror. “It’s a religious experience.”

  I roll my eyes and watch as the man begins pulling papayas, oranges, and mangoes from the case. He adds more ingredients at the back counter and after a minute in a blender, he comes back with two Styrofoam cups.

  When he hands me mine, I pull the wrapper off the straw and take a sip. I’m preparing a fake smile for the man’s sake, but then the smoothie hits my tongue and I’m impressed. This is good. Really good. “Wow,” I say. “It’s got a bite.”

  “That’s the secret ingredient,” Alec says. “Tabasco sauce.”

  “It is why we are a hot-blooded people,” the man says, and then he winks. I grin, already liking him. He shuffles back to his seat and his paper, but he gives me one more look. “You come back any time and I’ll make you another.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I will.”

  And then Alec drives us back to the mountain trail where we were last night. He parks in the same dirt lot, empty now except for a few dusty red solo cups. I fill my mouth with the sweet spiciness of my Sunset as the real one begins off to the west. The clouds look like they’ve been dipped in red paint. “Two sunsets at once,” I say. “Not bad.”

  His seat creaks as he shifts toward me. “I thought I’d impress you with my romantic nature.”

  “You? Romantic?”

  He taps his chest. “I come from a very hot-blooded people.”

  I laugh. “That I believe.”

  His smile fades. “You look beautiful.”

  “Better than last night, at least.”

  “You kidding?” He shakes his head. “I nearly fell down the stairs when I saw you at the party. That tattoo?” He raises his eyebrows. “Holy hell.”

  “I thought it was a nice touch.” I smile, remembering how Jen pretended to shoot herself over the idea. We laughed so hard I can hear it inside my head.

  And just like that, new tears are gathering in the corners of my eyes. The tattoos were a part of before. Laughing…a part of before.

  “Hey,” Alec murmurs. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I take a drink, letting the icy cold wash away the heat in my throat and chest. “Bad memory is all. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay. But you know we can, right? Talk about it?” He sets down his drink and wipes his palms on his jeans. “You can trust me is what I mean.”

  I shrug, giving myself a second. I’m too close to tears. “Really?” I say, making my voice light. “A week ago, you thought I was cheating.”

  “I was afraid you were cheating. There’s a difference.”

  “And if I had been?”

  “I’d still be with you right now.” His eyes are almost fierce as he watches me.

  The sky is darker now, the red hanging just above the crest of the hills. I set down my empty cup, and even though it
was cold, my palms are warm.

  “I don’t want to rush you, Abby. I know this is new. It’s just…”

  “What?” I ask.

  The fading light is behind him and all I see is the curve of his cheekbones and dark eyebrows above shadowed eyes. “It doesn’t feel new. It feels…good.” Then he mumbles, “Shit. I’m not good at this.”

  His uncertainty tugs at me more than any words he could have said. “It feels good to me too,” I tell him.

  “So we’ll hang out. See what happens?”

  His gaze is so intent. It’s as if he’s looking into a future of us. I want to follow him there, but how can I think about that now?

  I look away, rub a finger along the edge of my cup, and collect a drop of smoothie. If he knew what I was planning, that I’ve been lying to him. I start to put my finger to my lips, but he stops me, leans forward, and kisses my finger. My mouth goes dry as he sucks the tip between his lips and tastes the bit of smoothie.

  Oh my. My stomach is tight and loose all at the same time. And I think, I’m here now. We’re both here now. Why think about anything else?

  He slides his hand under my hair and around my ear. His palm is warm and urges me forward. I close my eyes and then his lips are opening over mine. There’s something almost reverent in his kiss. As if it’s a promise.

  Inside of me, something hopeful and strong rises in answer. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m here now.

  I kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

  54

  When I open my eyes Monday morning, it’s as if my brain is already up and anxious to get moving. The next half hour is going to be huge.

  I rub sleep from my eyes and swallow. There’s still a tiny aftertaste of Tabasco and it makes me smile. I think maybe I dreamt of Tabasco and sunsets and Alec.

  Oh, Alec. He makes me feel…alive. I am alive. I laugh out loud—I can’t help it. I’m going to stay that way too. I’m going to have everything. Why not? I’ve worked for it, haven’t I?

  I take a quick shower and brush my teeth. I pull my wet hair into a pony and tug on my favorite jeans and a white long-sleeve tee. I swipe on a layer of mascara and worry that my eyes are a little bright this morning. Well, nothing I can do about that. I flip off the bathroom light, grab my backpack from the bedroom, and head down the stairs.

  Showtime.

  With one last calming breath, I stride into the kitchen and dump my pack by the counter, like always. Mom is making a lunch for the office, and Dad is rinsing his coffee mug and making a mess at the sink, spraying water over the counters. I open the cupboard for my usual coffee mug, shuffle to the refrigerator, and pour my milk.

  The water shuts off and I can hear the tiny whoosh of sound as Mom seals up a sandwich bag.

  “Don’t we get a good morning?” Mom asks.

  I swallow a mouthful of milk. “Good morning.”

  My voice is calm, but my skin prickles and I hope I’m not flushing red under my tan. I reach for the bottle of pills. Tiny, white, round. I shake one into my palm and I know she’s watching. I swallow it.

  Beta-blockers and baby aspirin taste exactly the same.

  55

  “Pass me the black marker,” Jen says.

  School ended an hour ago and the swim team has gathered at the picnic tables set up in the hallway in front of the gym. Jen and I are at opposite ends of a white poster board and filling in block letters that read TAKE STATE, HORIZON.

  I’m not sure when this tradition started but it’s pretty lame, if you ask me, making posters for ourselves. The guys are here too, but they’re hanging out in the gym shooting hoops. They’ll show up in a few minutes when the work is done and the snacks come out. Bree has brought whole-grain brownies and a cooler of juice boxes. The guys will hang the posters along the main walkway at school and then we’ll munch.

  I glance around, wrinkling my nose at the sharp smell of the markers. The three other posters are about done. They’ll hang at Horizon this week, but then on Friday, Coach will make sure they end up at Rivera Aquatic Center—the site for the state championship swim meet.

  State is only four days away. I’m suddenly wound so tight I feel like the slightest misstep and I’ll split apart in a million pieces. My heart races, but it’s only nerves. In fact, it feels good. It feels normal to have a heart that works at all speeds again, and know that I can work at all speeds. In just a little while, I’ll prove it too. But first I need to talk to Coach.

  There he is, crossing from the office. As if the team has radar, the guys come out of the gym, Connor holding the ball and talking to Logan. Alec and Tanner are laughing about something, the other guys following behind. I need to talk to Coach before they distract him, but he’s stopped to talk with a guy the size of a locker. Since Coach took over the Advanced PE classes, he’s become buds with the football team too.

  I cap my marker and stand up. Already my breath is coming faster, but I’ve got to keep calm. Can’t let him think I’m nervous. Can’t give him any reason to say no.

  He’s in a good mood, at least. He ribs Tanner about his new haircut, nods to Alec, and jokes with Bree about protein powder in her brownies. Then he’s nearly to our table.

  “Nice poster,” he says. “You just want to color those medals gold.”

  Jen holds up a gold Sharpie. “Ahead of you, Coach. Always ahead of you.”

  “Just as long as you’re ahead of the competition,” he says.

  They knock knuckles. It’s a stupid gesture that’s overused by everyone, including Coach. Still, I can’t help feeling a stab of jealousy that it’s for Jen and not me.

  Then Coach turns to me and his eyes cloud. The smile fades. I feel my shoulders lift because I’m going to give him a reason to smile in a few short days.

  “You got a sec?” I ask.

  “Absolutely.” He gestures to an empty table behind us. We walk together, me with my hands tucked in the back pockets of my jeans so they don’t shake.

  “How you feeling?” he asks.

  “Good. Great, actually.”

  He doesn’t sit, so I don’t either. Instead, he plants his legs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Your dad told me about the second opinion, but you already know that.”

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry, Abby. More than I can say. You’ve worked so hard for this and given up so much to be here. You don’t deserve it.”

  I blink hard, fighting the prickle at the corners of my eyes. “I’m not giving up, Coach.”

  He nods. “Your dad says it’s okay for you to swim in the fifty with your meds?”

  I weave a stray hair behind my ear. “Right.”

  “You know I want to see you out there, Abby.” He shifts his weight as if he’s wrestling with his thoughts. “I have other kids who’d like that spot, but you earned it this year, and I’ll give it to you if that’s really what you want. But I hate to see you disappointed.”

  Translation: He hates to see me lose.

  “I can swim, Coach. You won’t be disappointed.”

  It’s obvious that he’s not convinced, but he gives me another nod. “Okay. And when this season is over, I want to sit down and talk about the future.”

  “Sure, Coach.”

  He squeezes my arm. “You have more heart than anyone I know.”

  A lump rises to my throat. I’m glad he turns away, because I don’t think I could talk. But more than ever, after this, I know I’m right. I’ve seen pride in Coach’s eyes. I’ve seen frustration, anger, worry, joy. But this is the first time I’ve seen pity. Pity. I’m Abby Lipman. The best swimmer on this team, one of the best swimmers in the world. I’m supposed to be happy with his pity? No thank you.

  I take a long breath and get control again. I’m on the roster. It doesn’t matter that Coach is doing it as a favor. He doesn’t really know what to expect from me, but he should.

  I’m going to remind him on Friday.

  I look back at the tables. Everyone is gathered around.
Jen is still putting the finishing touches on the poster. She’ll be mad if I sneak out, but she won’t know until I’m gone. I’ve pulled away from her the past couple of days and she’s been careful to give me space. In a way, everyone is being careful. Connor and I passed in the halls today. We made eye contact—I even smiled a little—which is an improvement for us, because our official breakup happened by text. Thing is, I don’t want his pity either. He needs someone perfect by his side so he can believe he’s perfect too. I get that. But he misjudged me, like everyone else.

  I’m Abby Lipman, and I’m a fighter. It’s time I get in the pool and remember who I am and what I can do.

  Today, the only thing floating through my bloodstream is baby aspirin.

  56

  Five minutes later, I’m in the parking lot. I’ve got Dad’s car parked in the far aisle—perfect for a clean getaway. When I get past the other cars, there it is.

  And there is Alec.

  He’s standing next to my car, his thumbs hooked in his jean pockets, his maroon tee bunched up at his waist. His posture says relaxed, but his face is saying I’m in for trouble.

  Oh no. My insides knot and my muscles tense. Right now, he’s the last person I want to see but at the same time my blood is thrumming in my veins. He’s also the person I most want to see.

  “What are you doing here?” I move around him, sliding against the truck parked next to me. I click open the doors.

  “Thought I’d get a ride to the pool.”

  “I’m not going to the pool.”

  “Then why do you have your swim bag?”

  I throw it in the backseat. “No reason.”

  He slides in front of my door before I can open it. I step back, but there’s not much room.

  “No reason why you snuck out of there?”

  “I didn’t sneak.”

  “Sorry. No reason why you backed up softly on the balls of your feet and then started running when you thought you were in the clear?”