“I didn’t—” I stop. No way did he see me running, did he? My face feels hot. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Abby—”
“You promised.”
“You promised too,” he says. “That you wouldn’t do anything stupid. But I got this feeling.” He shakes his head. “I got this feeling you’re doing something very, very stupid.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“Am I?”
“Come on, Alec. We’ve been through this.”
“So let me come with.”
“I’m not going to Lifeline.”
“Then where?”
Fear has blossomed inside my chest, forcing my lungs to work hard for air. “Would you just get out of the way? Please?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” I lift my gaze to his, and I’m held by the change in his eyes. The fierceness melts away and the brown depths warm me like hot chocolate. “What’s it worth to you?” he says in a low murmur.
“Alec.” I mean it to sound like a warning, but the tremor firing up my spine reaches my voice and makes it shake.
He lifts a hand and I feel just the brush of his fingers against my temple. My stomach tightens. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Thinking about last night.” His voice is a whisper, but it reaches somewhere deep inside of me.
My lips part on a sigh.
“One kiss?”
“Alec—” But even as I say his name, I’m lifting my mouth to his. My arms tighten around his neck and my insides loosen and turn liquid. My breath is gone; my heart races. He tilts my head and deepens the kiss and I feel like the sun has come out and is beaming down on me, sparking heat inside and out.
When he finally pulls away, I’m breathless and foggy. He kisses my neck and trails his fingers down my arm, stopping at my wrists.
The sharp pressure against the inside of my wrist is what startles my head clear.
I blink up at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “What are you doing?”
His pupils are flared wide, his jaw suddenly hard and his lips set in a determined line. He’s got his fingers pressed to where my heart taps out a beat against my skin.
I yank my arm away. “You’re taking my pulse?”
“Your heart is beating as fast as mine,” he bites out. “Too fast for someone taking beta-blockers.”
“You can’t know that.”
Anger rises to my rescue. He kissed me like that to prove a point? I shove him back using my fists against his chest.
He barely budges. “I’ve seen you swim on beta-blockers and I know you can’t compete. Not really. So why were you telling Coach you’re ready to go? I heard you.”
“This is not about you.”
“I’m not going to let you kill yourself.”
“I know what I’m doing, Alec.”
“The hell you do!”
Fury pounds at my temples. I should have known not to let him in. “You’re not going to take this away from me.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he says, leaning in. “It’s your heart that isn’t following along with the plan.”
“My heart is just fine.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m going to tell Coach.”
He turns back toward the gym and I reach out, my traitorous heart thudding. I get a fistful of his shirt, but it’s enough. He stops.
“Alec, no!”
He turns back, and I can tell he’s twisted up over this. “I can’t stand by and watch you risk your life.”
“I’m going to be fine. It’s twenty-six seconds, and I can handle it.”
“Then you tell Coach.”
“I’ll tell him Saturday, after I swim. And if you tell him before that, I swear I won’t forgive you. Not ever.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
Why is he doing this to me? Why is he making me do this to him?
“If you do, I’ll tell Coach about the albuterol. I’ll tell him you cheated during a sanctioned swim meet. You think he’ll still let you swim?”
He kicks at the tire, an explosion of anger. “This is your life!”
“Exactly.” A car rolls by puffing black fumes, but it feels there’s already a cloud around us. “You think Stanford will give you a second look if they know you cheated? It won’t matter what times you post. You’ll be over.”
It’s a low blow and the words taste like metal in my mouth. But I mean this. By the icy glare in his eyes, Alec knows it. He’s looking at me like I’m a stranger. Something in his eyes is ugly. I have to look away.
“You’ve been lying to me all along, haven’t you? Last night, what was that? More lies?”
“No. We were hanging out. Having a good time.”
“Because I thought it meant something,” he snaps. “I thought it was something real.” He shakes his head. “Were you just keeping me in line? Figure a few kisses and I’ll go along with whatever?”
“It wasn’t like that. Last night wasn’t about swimming.”
His eyes widen suddenly. “Is that why you gave Miley your necklace? Because you’re going to die?”
“What? No!”
“That’s what she’s going to think when you kill yourself on Friday.”
“I’m not going to kill myself! Will you just wait and give me a chance? Why can’t you believe in me? Be there for me? You of all people should understand.”
He backs away and the look on his face makes my stomach cramp. “You think you’re so special. The sad thing is that so did I. But you don’t care about anything, not even yourself.” He shakes his head. “You and me, we’re over. And if you show up to swim at State, I’ll stop you.”
He walks away, not bothering to turn around. I fumble with the car door, finally getting it open, and climb in. I punch the wheel with one fist and squeeze back even the idea of tears. He’s wrong. I do care—too much. Maybe he wants to act all noble, but what drew him to me in the first place? It was my spirit. My fight. My heart!
I start the engine and back up. As I pull out onto the street, I’m churning with emotions and a pain I know will set in when I realize what I’ve just done to Alec. But I also feel a sense of relief. My head is pounding, tears are burning behind my eyes, and my gut is a mass of twisted knots. But my heart is steady and rock solid.
Bmm bmm bmm bmm
I can do this.
57
The parking lot at the community pool is nearly empty. I park under the drooping branches of a mesquite tree and carry my swim bag to the locker room. The air is moist in here, the smell antiseptic. Someone has left a pair of black Teva sandals by the shower stall. I’m still wound up too tightly—thank you, Alec—and I concentrate on my breath. I visualize myself shutting down sections of my mind, quieting inner voices, until I’m left with pinpoint focus. It’s something we were taught a few years ago when Coach hired a sports psychologist to do a session with the team.
Unfortunately, some days it works better than others. Alec is still in my head as I kick off my clothes into an angry heap. So maybe he’s gotten in deeper than I realized, but not as deep as this dream of mine. Slowly, I pull on my suit and I start to relax. I give in to the ritual and let it take over. There’s peace in this, in doing what I know so well—what I’m so good at doing. I twist my hair up into my favorite silver cap and fit goggles to my forehead. By the time I slip my feet into my flip-flops, I’m calm.
Swimming, in one way or another, is the antidote for everything. Even, it seems, Alec.
The pool is empty and I’m glad. I don’t want J.D. for an audience right now. I leave my towel on a picnic table and step out of my shoes at the edge of the water.
The lane stretches out ahead of me and the water is so beautiful. Sunlight, even weakened by a layer of clouds, warms the blue. When it’s still like this, the water is a perfect reflection of the sky. When I was little, I loved to stand on the diving board and look into the watery vision of heaven. And feel as if I were jumping into the clouds.
A whisp
er of voice—my mother’s, maybe?—wonders if I should go slow, go careful. Which is why I fit my goggles over my eyes, not even bothering to wet them first, and dive in.
The water parts for me with an explosion of sound and movement. Cool blue kisses every inch of me and I stretch into a streamline and kick as if I’m a dolphin. If I could have one wish, one magical wish, then I would want to be an actual dolphin for a day, just to feel what it’s like to swim that fast. I’m a freak, I know. Other kids want to swim with dolphins; I want to be one.
I come up for air and start an easy stroke. I’m five hundred yards into a warm-up before I even realize it. I feel good. No, great. I sure as heck don’t feel like I’m dying. Like I’m ever going to die, in fact. I pick up my pace, reaching longer, pulling harder, kicking faster.
Bmm bmm bmm bmm
What would it be like, death? I’ve never seen a dead person before. My grandparents are all still alive. Aunts and uncles. I grab a quick breath, then curl myself into a tight flip turn and push off the wall.
Is being dead different than never being alive?
Bmm bmm bmm bmm
I try to picture myself dead. I pull up a hazy image of me, lying in a coffin, arms crossed over my heart. But it’s still not like I’m dead because I’m looking down on myself. Maybe that’s how it is. Maybe it’s like in books and movies where you hover above the scene as everyone sobs. Maybe death is just a different kind of life.
I flip again and push off into a faster rhythm. Do soldiers think about death when they go off to fight? Do police officers and firefighters? Or do they just feel alive the way I feel right now?
Bmm bmm bmm bmm
I can swim like this because I am alive. Death doesn’t scare me.
When I reach the wall, I pull up. Something white flashes off to the right. My heart jumps and I cry out. I grab my chest.
Bmm bmm bmm bmm
It’s okay. I’m okay. My vision clears. It’s only my dad—he’s standing there at the fence. Watching.
Watching.
Oh no. There are shiny patches on his cheeks, glinting in the filtered light. He’s been crying—my dad who never cries. He knows. He’s been watching me and he knows. I struggle to calm down as I wonder how to explain.
Then he rattles the fence and smiles. “You’re so damn beautiful to watch.” He wipes his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Just got lost in the moment, I guess.” The tears are happy. He’s happy.
He has no idea.
Dad wears an Arizona Diamondbacks sweatshirt and his grubby weekend jeans. He’s got on his bulldog ball cap. It’s blue with a pudgy white bulldog. The brim says NEVER GIVE IN. He got that cap after one of my regional wins. The bulldog is a fighter, like us, right, Ab? Everything has always been about swimming. Even a ball cap.
“What are you doing here?” I say.
“I saw the car when I drove by. Surprised me so much I had to stop. Since when did you start swimming here?”
I shrug. “It’s empty in the afternoons and I like having the pool to myself.”
“Well, you look smooth,” he says. “Your rhythm was great. How you feel?”
“Great.” I pull off my cap. “Perfect,” I add. I look down the lane again. Clear, blue water. My favorite color.
I hear his footsteps and then the clanging of the gate. A second later, he’s at the pool edge holding up my towel. He used to do this when I was little. Seven, eight years old. I smile. “I’m okay. Really.”
I step out of the pool, and I’m surprised that he’s crying again. He wraps the towel around me, folding me into the thickness and into his arms. “What’s happened to you…it’s brought everything back to me, my own accident, the broken collarbone. The disappointment.” He’s quiet a second as he swallows and gets control of his emotions. “I couldn’t stand to watch you go through the same thing.”
He rubs my arms through the towel. His hands are jerky and frantic, almost like his words. “But you’re swimming. You’re competing. I don’t know how you’re doing it on the meds but you’re doing it.” He shakes his head. “You’re a fighter, Abby. You make me so proud.”
I let him squeeze me tight and I feel how happy I’ve made him. He doesn’t suspect anything and I know it’s because he doesn’t want to. He’s seen what he wants to see—that his daughter is swimming. I realize it’s what he needs to see. And I’m more determined than ever to swim my hardest. To win it all. For me and for Dad. Because now I know exactly what it means to die.
Death is what happens when your dream ends.
58
Friday morning is clear and cool. A perfect day for the state swim championships and sanctioned Olympic trials. I open my bedroom window and breathe in the dawn. There’s a splash of red across the sky, a deep color lit from behind and nearly glowing. Horizon red.
Blood red.
I blink slowly. My eyes are tired and achy. I didn’t sleep much, as expected, but I’m ready. No regrets.
A few minutes tick by and the gray lifts as if a curtain is rising and the world is coming into focus. Another day.
The day.
I lay my hand over my heart. It feels fine. Regular. Rhythmic. Strong. I’ve taken my vitamins and swallowed quarts of Gatorade and water. I’ve been to the pool every afternoon this week, not pushing hard, but holding on to my feel of the water. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
Now it’s just a matter of getting myself onto the starting blocks.
Alec rises to my mind. He threatened to stop me, but he hasn’t said a thing to anyone all week. I don’t think he’ll risk his future. He’s no different than I am, whether he wants to admit it or not.
It takes only a few minutes to get ready and slide on my team suit. My swim bag is already packed. Jen will be by to pick me up soon. The meet officially starts at nine, but the team bus will leave from Horizon at 7:30. Dad always volunteers as a line judge, but today he also agreed to help set up, so he and Mom must have left a few minutes ago.
I walk into the dark kitchen. I pull my small cooler from the pantry and drop in a PowerBar, a banana, a bagel, an orange, and a handful of fruit leathers. I zip up the cooler. I open the fridge, squinting at the door light, and reach for my water jug. There. That should be all.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I jump and cry out in surprise. My heart rockets against my ribs. “Mom?” I peer toward the chair in the corner of the family room.
Her shape is nothing more than a shadow. She sits in the chair, dressed in a shirt and sweatpants as dark as the fabric. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
I set my things on the counter. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. Aren’t you going to take your pill?”
“Of course.” My heart thumps again, but this time it’s a different kind of fear. I reach for the pill bottle, shake out a pill, and swallow it with a mouthful of water from my jug.
Mom walks toward the kitchen, moving from shadow into light. Her face is pale and strangely blank. “They say one baby aspirin a day is good for your heart.”
I freeze.
She pulls out a barstool and sits. “I remember when you were about two years old,” she starts, as if we’re just having a chat. “You were acting strange—fussy for no reason. I would have called Laney but she was out of town.” Mom adjusts herself on the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Your dad said I was worrying over nothing. You didn’t have a fever but I just knew. So I took you to Urgent Care and turned out you had a raging ear infection.”
She shrugs. Her calmness is freaking me out. “It’s been exactly like that this week. I could feel that something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what. Then I checked out the pills in that bottle this morning and discovered they’re all aspirin.” She folds her hands on the counter and waits.
I look at her and then back at the pills and around to the fridge and the door. I’m looking everywhere, but there’s no escape. “I have to go. Jen will be here any minute.
”
“I called Jen and she’s not coming. You’re not going.”
“What?” I reach for the counter to steady myself. “You have no right.”
“Where are the beta-blockers?”
Her voice is so smooth and mine is shaking. I’m shaking. “I flushed them.”
“When?”
“Monday night.”
“You were going to swim today without them? Knowing everything you know?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ve been swimming all week.”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, her face suddenly white.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He already left for the pool.”
“He understands. He wants me to swim.”
“Because he doesn’t know you stopped taking the pills.”
“I had to,” I choke out. “They were making me slow.”
“They were keeping you alive!” She stands up so quickly, the barstool crashes to the floor behind her. Sudden fury pours off her hot enough that I step back. “Do you know how lucky you are? Do you have any idea how many other parents are grieving the loss of their children from this disease? And you stand there ready to throw it all away for a swim meet?”
“That’s not all it is.”
“Yes, Abby. That’s all it is. A title and a stupid medal.”
“It’s not stupid!”
I see her gather herself, tamp down her anger. She’s slipping into counselor mode. Counselors do not call their patients’ dreams stupid.
“It was Dad’s dream too,” I cry.
“And it’s over. You hear me?” she bites out. “Over! You are done. You are not going to kill yourself in that pool.”
“I’m not killing myself. I’m living! LIVING!” I scream. “And I’m going to do this—I can do this.”
She’s crying and shaking her head and I hate her. I hate her so much. As if she sees it in my eyes, she turns away. She reaches for her purse and brushes past me at the counter.
At the garage door, she turns. “Pick your fight, Abby,” she says. “Because you have one hell of a tough battle ahead of you, and it’s not in the pool.”
A Matter of Heart Page 20