Who I Kissed

by Janet Gurtler

  “It must be so hard,” I finally say. It’s all I can force out.

  “It is,” she answers.

  “I’d do anything to take it all back.”

  “I know.” She’s perfectly still, staring at her hands.

  It’s time for me to leave her, but then she looks up.

  “I sleep in his room sometimes,” she says softly. “It makes me feel close to him.” She glances up at me with watery eyes. “My husband and daughter hate it. Chloe thinks it’s creepy.”

  I chew my lip, wondering what I should say.

  “His baseball uniform is still crumpled on the closet floor. Where he left it. I yelled at him that morning. For throwing it there. I told him he needed to learn to clean up after himself. For college.”

  My lips quiver. I try desperately to think of something to say.

  “I feel like I can tell you these things,” she says.

  I nod and smile with as much understanding as I can inject into my lips.

  “You might think I’m crazy, but sometimes I feel like he’s still around. He’s left signs.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask slowly, wondering if maybe she is going crazy.

  “Alex loved Hot Wheels. He collected them. He had hundreds and kept them on display, even when he got older. He’d hate that I was telling you this. It was a family secret after his eighth birthday.”

  I don’t remind her she talked about it on national TV. I know she’s not trying to disrespect him, but trying to keep him alive.

  She darts her head from side to side and then back to me. “Anyhow. A few nights ago, my husband and I took Chloe to a movie. It wasn’t very good, but we wanted to get out of the house. As a family. At the theatre, I went to the washroom. It was empty. When I came out to wash my hands, there was a Hot Wheels car sitting by the sink. Just sitting there. It wasn’t there went I went in. I’m positive of that.”

  “Wow.” Goose bumps spread all over my body.

  “You believe me,” she says.

  “You should meet my aunt.”

  She frowns and pushes back her bangs. “Chloe told me you stopped swimming.”

  I raise my chin and realize something I wasn’t completely aware of until that moment. “Actually I think I’m going back,” I tell her. “Soon.”

  I wince, wondering if she’ll condemn me for going back when her son can’t do the things he loves anymore.

  She presses her lips tight and stares at me.

  “Yes.” She finally says, and her whispery voice is fierce. “You need to keep living, Samantha. For both of you. You’re forever connected to Alex now. You need to do things bigger. For two people. You need to live for both of you.”

  I can’t blink fast enough to keep the tears from spilling over, and a trail of warmth rolls down my cheeks. I reach up and wipe them away. There is a bond between her and me too. It will be there forever.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat. The sadness in my heart travels to my throat and lodges itself, wanting to choke me. Her request circles through me, echoing in my head.

  “I know,” she says. “I know you are.”

  And then, in a swift movement, she pushes her cart away from me, click-clacking quickly as she disappears out of the produce section.

  Aunt Allie comes around the corner where Mrs. Waverly disappeared. She’s holding a box, smiling in victory. “Fredrick will like these.” She stops, and the smile vanishes when she sees my face. She rushes toward me, tossing the box in our cart, and throws her arms around me. Fredrick squeaks from his sling, but she surrounds me with her arms and pulls me in. She doesn’t even ask me what’s wrong, she offers support unconditionally.

  Aunt Allie holds me, but I’m stiff even when Fredrick sticks his head out and licks my face. She pushes me gently, taking an arm and wrapping it protectively around my shoulder. “We’ll go, we’ll leave.”

  “But…” I glance back at the grocery cart behind us, three-quarters full.

  She doesn’t look at it. “Forget about it,” she says. “We’ll come back for groceries later.”

  Aunt Allie is the kind of person who will abandon a cart full of groceries for me. We walk to the parking lot and she holds out her hands for the keys.

  “I’ll drive,” she says.

  I give them to her without a fight, even though she hates to drive. She climbs in the car, takes Fredrick out of his sling, hands him to me, and pulls on her seatbelt. I do the same. Fredrick circles in my lap until he’s comfortable and then lies down.

  “You want to talk?” she asks when we leave the parking lot.

  I shake my head and she reaches over and pats my hand.

  “When you’re ready. You let me know.” She puts in a CD she gave me. Burbling creeks in the mountains or something.

  When we get home I head straight for my bedroom and dive under the covers. My body is weary and heavy, and all I can think about is sleep. My head spins when I lay down and, drugged by sorrow, I drift to sleep within minutes.

  I don’t know how much time’s passed when there’s an imprint on my bed and the weight shifts me toward it.

  “Sam?” Dad shakes my shoulder.

  I pull the covers down and see him staring at my hair, his eyes sad.

  He hates my haircut, but he hasn’t said much about it, other than dragging me to Bob for an emergency meeting.

  “You sent flowers to the Waverlys,” I say. “You never told me that.”

  He clears his throat. “I had to.”

  “Thank you,” I interrupt before he says more.

  He glances around my room instead of at me. It’s messy and unorganized, but he doesn’t comment on the clothes piled on the floor. “If anything like that ever happened to you. If I lost you. I don’t know what I’d do.”

  He stands up and walks to my bulletin board and runs a red swimming ribbon through his fingers.

  “You’re the only thing that kept me going when I lost your mom. You’re the most important thing in my life. And if I’ve done wrong by you by not telling you about the person she was, I’m sorry. It seemed easier. Not to talk about her at all. But Bob has helped me see that it’s better to talk than to sweep things under the rug.” He turns away from the board and faces me.

  “Are you seeing Bob too?” I ask.

  He walks back to the bed. “A couple times. I should have a long time ago. But as usual, I needed you to show me the way.” He eyes my Michael Phelps poster. “I’m not perfect, Sam. I had no idea how to deal with this. All my life I’ve tried to keep you safe by hiding things from you.”

  He shrugs again, sits, and takes my hand. “It doesn’t work.” He squeezes and lets go, and then he runs his fingers over the top of my head. “What happened?” he asks.

  Where do I start?

  I scootch myself up to a sitting position and hug my knees, resting my head on top of them.

  “I saw Mrs. Waverly. At Safeway.”

  He purses his lips and lets out a loud breath. He reaches for my hand again, but squeezes so hard it hurts.

  I pull it away from him. “It’s okay, Dad. She was nice. I mean, considering.”

  “Good,” he says. “Good.” His eyes go to a framed certificate above my bed. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for the family. When I lost your mom…” He pauses and stares down at the bed and then at me.

  I reach for his hand to urge him to continue.

  “I was terrified. I didn’t know how to raise you alone. Allie wanted to help, but she’d already given up most of her childhood. She spent most of her free time looking after me. She sat through a lot of swim meets. Took me to school. Cooked.”

  “Where were your parents?”

  “They traveled a lot. Business.” He presses his lips tight. “Mom and Dad paid for things, but s
he’s the one who showed up. She missed out on a lot because of me. I didn’t want to do that to her again. But also, I think I wanted to do it myself.”

  I’m quiet, digesting that information. “I think she wanted to help with me, though,” I say softly.

  Outside my window, the wind blows and rattles the blinds. He glances at them and then at me.

  “I know. I thought she needed to find her own family. I didn’t realize she already had one. Us. She loves you so much.”

  It’s the nicest thing I think I’ve ever heard him say about Aunt Allie.

  The blinds rattle again, and Dad glances over. “When I lost your mom, it seemed like my fault. That I was being punished for not being able to help her more.”

  “Oh, Dad. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know that now, butterfly. But it took me a long time to figure it out. The same way you’ll figure out that what happened to Alex wasn’t your fault either. Not really.”

  “Mrs. Waverly said she swam with Mom.”

  “I know. Your mom used to kick her ass in the pool.” Something bangs against my window. A branch from a tree blowing in the wind.

  Both of us laugh for a minute, and then his expression changes. “I don’t think I handled any of this well. Or the rumors in Orlie. You don’t know how much I wanted your mom to be here to deal with those things.” He pretends to grab at his heart, and I smile but it fades quickly. “I know there’ll be more boys, Sam. That Casper seemed like a decent boy.”

  I close my eyes and fight a sudden desire to throw up. For wasting my first time on Casper. I can never get that back. “Casper’s not the right guy for me,” I say softly.

  He stiffens, and I practically see the hairs on his back rise. “Did something happen?”

  “No, Dad. He’s just not my type.” Some things he doesn’t need to know.

  He presses his lips together. “Okay. But if you need to talk.”

  I hold up both hands to my neck and stick out my tongue, pretending to choke, and he laughs. “I’ve always regretted that your mom wasn’t here with me to watch you grow up. To see the wonderful person you’ve become.” He reaches over and lifts up the locket around my neck. “But maybe she’s been watching out for you all along. Maybe Aunt Allie isn’t as crazy as I think she is sometimes.”

  He lets the necklace go but runs his hand over my short hair and smiles.

  “Don’t give up on me, Sam. Crawl out. Fight to come back where you belong. With the living.”

  I can only nod. I think of Alex’s mom. The look on her face when she pleads with me to go back to living. To live larger. For both of us.

  chapter twenty-four

  I time my arrival at the pool so that everyone is already on deck. My heart pounds as I hurry out of the locker room, trying not to think or plan ahead by more than five seconds. The familiar scent of chlorine is like sweet perfume in my nostrils. I quickly head toward the pool, hanging onto my swim bag for dear life. My nerves are far worse than they were on my first day with the club.

  Clair spots me moving toward the team gathered around the white board and waves. I already spoke with her to tell her I was coming back, and she’s ecstatic even though we both know I won’t be in shape for the state finals. I give her a shaky smile and watch many pairs of eyes turn to look at me. Out of habit, I dip my toe into the water as I walk by. Cold. My heart thumps in my chest, on fast forward.

  Taylor rushes forward, hugs me, and tugs my hand, pulling me to the team huddle. “It’s great to have you back,” she says.

  There are a few friendly smiles and some not-so-friendly smiles. A couple of people clap, but it’s not very enthusiastic.

  Long legs step out of the group, and then a body whisks past, leaving a breeze in the air. Zee hurries away, toward the locker room.

  “Zee?” Clair calls after him, but he doesn’t turn back.

  Taylor grabs my hand and squeezes it, and I close my eyes and concentrate on that and fight an urge to run away too. It’s been weird between him and me for a while, but he’s been mad at me since the festival. I remember the days when Zee and I would goof around on deck. I think of Bob’s words. As much as I want to, I can’t be responsible for other people’s actions or feelings. Whatever he’s mad at right now, he owns those feelings. Not me.

  “Okay,” Clair says. “We were just going over our drill. We’re starting with butterfly off the block, 200, then 200 back, 200 free. We’re warming up, so don’t go hard yet. Especially you, Sam.”

  I step to the back of the lineup. Not the front, where the fast swimmers begin. Bodies start plunging in, and a splash of water wets my suit. I take equipment from my bag, stretch my cap down over my ears, and adjust my goggles. Clair steps to my side. “I didn’t tell Zee you’d be back today,” she says softly. “He needs to adjust is all. We’re all glad you’re back.”

  I jump in the water. “Go easy at first, Sam,” she calls down. “You need to work your way back.”

  My arms itch, my legs eager to kick. The sensation is familiar, but I wait my turn and then push myself off the wall.

  I pace myself way slower than normal, but my legs burn almost immediately. I struggle to get my natural rhythm. I struggle against myself. After my first lap someone passes me, but I let them go without trying to sprint ahead and catch them.

  My breathing comes in fast bursts, and I swallow trying to catch up with it.

  The drill seems endless, and when I finally touch the pool to end it, Clair bends over. “Not bad for almost two months out of the water,” Clair says.

  For the life of me, I can’t remember why I missed this.

  Taylor hangs over the lane rope and gives me a high five that I return without enthusiasm. Clair calls for a new drill, and I climb out of the water to grab fins and a paddle. My body actually hurts already, and not in an “I pushed myself hard and feel awesome about it” way. I suck hard.

  I want to head straight for the locker room. Soak myself under the shower and then change and go home.

  I pull on a fin. “You’ll take a couple weeks to get it back, Sam,” Clair says. “You’ve got time before nationals.”

  I bend over to put on my other fin. “It felt like ass.”

  “It’s supposed to feel like ass. That’s why we train every day.”

  I think of Alex’s mom and how I’m supposed to do this for both of us. I wonder if he’d rather I quit to spare him the embarrassment. Clair keeps feeding me words as if she’s searching for the right one to plant inside my head. I sit on the end of the pool, my fins in the water.

  “Zee,” she calls. “You’re back. You want to pace Sam for a long slow swim?”

  I glance up. He’s looking down at me as if I’m a foreign substance that shouldn’t be floating in the pool. I plop into the water, and Taylor grabs a spot on the wall beside me.

  “I’ll swim with Taylor,” I tell Clair and glance over at Taylor. She nods.

  “You okay?” she asks. I smile and hold up my thumb, and we take off from the side in silence.

  After a few strokes, Zee passes me in my lane, and I ignore him but kick harder. I manage another half hour in the water without bawling or falling apart, and then, finally, it’s done.

  I pull myself out of the water and bend over to put my gear away.

  “Your boyfriend know you’re back to swimming?” Zee asks.

  I stand, about to tell him Casper is not my boyfriend, when a girl interrupts us.

  “Hey, Zee. What’s up?” I glance over and see a slim girl with pink tips on the ends of her hair. She’s wearing an old Titans swimsuit and is standing close to us, near the white board. I don’t recognize her. Another pretty girl walks up behind her, and in her arms is the cutest little African American boy I’ve ever seen. He’s got tight curls and crazy green eyes and every single one of his
fingers are shoved in his drooling mouth.

  “Ashley, how’s it going?” Zee says. He nods at the friend with the baby.

  “Taylor!” the girls says when Taylor walks up behind me.

  “Hey Ashley,” Taylor grins and points at me. “This is Samantha Waxman. The girl who has been all over your state records.” I realize who she is. Ashley Anderson. She swam with the Titans last year but is in college now.

  Ashley grins. “I heard all about you.” Then her face kind of changes, and I see her remembering what else I’m known for. Outside the swimming pool. “Oh. I totally didn’t mean it that way. I heard about your swimming.” She pauses. “I’m sorry. About that boy.”

  There’s genuine sympathy in her eyes. Not judgment or blame.

  I nod my hello and acceptance of her words.

  “Alex,” Zee says. “His name was Alex.”

  The little boy shrieks at the top of his lungs.

  “Joe,” the girl holding him says, but she laughs. “Sorry. Joe likes to announce his presence if he feels like he’s being ignored.

  “This is my friend Jaz,” Ashley says to all of us. “And her little brother with the lungs is Joe.”

  “Hi,” I say.

  Jaz smiles. Her smile gets wider, and I see she’s looking behind me. I turn and spot a beautiful dark-haired boy in swim shorts walking toward us.

  “Jackson,” Jaz says when he reaches us. “This is Sam. And Zee. And you know Taylor.” We all say hi, and Jaz transfers the little boy to him. Jackson kisses Jaz’s cheek as he tucks little Joe under his arm.

  “Hey, buddy. Let’s go splash while your big sister and Ashley do laps, okay?” He smiles and swoops the baby up in the air, and the boy giggles. The laughter in his young voice is the best sound I’ve heard in a long, long time.

  Taylor throws her gear over her shoulder and heads off with Ashley and Jaz toward the public swim lane. I overhear Taylor asking about the university team Ashley is swimming with.