Every Summer After(34)
Charlie looked me over again, slowly. “You’ll need a different bathing suit.”
* * *
TRAINING FOR SWIMMING was way more fun than running. It was also a lot harder than I thought it would be. Sam collected me from the cottage every morning after his run, and we’d walk back to his place together so he could change into his suit. We devised a warm-up routine, involving a series of stretches on the dock and laps to and from the raft. Sometimes Sam swam beside me, giving pointers on my form, but usually he bobbed on a pool noodle.
Charlie had been right about the bathing suit, too. During my first warm-up, I had to keep adjusting the top to keep everything from falling out. That afternoon, Sam drove us in the little boat to the town dock and we walked to Stedmans. It was half general store, half dollar store, and it had a little bit of everything, but there was no guarantee they’d have what you were looking for.
As luck would have it, there was a rack of women’s suits right at the front. Some had those old-lady skirts attached to them, but there was also a handful of plain one-pieces in cherry red. Practical, cheap, and cute enough: the perfect Stedmans find. Sam found a pair of swim goggles in the sporting section, and I paid for both with one of Dad’s fifties. We spent the change on ice creams at the Dairy Bar—Moose Tracks for Sam and cotton candy for me—and walked back to the dock, taking a seat on a bench by the water to finish the cones. We were looking over the lake quietly when Sam leaned over and circled his tongue around the top of my cone where it was melting in rivulets of pink and blue.
“I don’t get why you like this so much—it tastes like sugar,” Sam said, before he noticed the shock on my face.
“What was that?” I asked. My voice came out an octave higher than usual.
“I tried your ice cream,” he said. Which, okay, I know was obvious, but the way a current buzzed across my skin, he might as well have licked my earlobe.
* * *
AS MY DISTANCES increased, Sam rowed beside me in case I ran into trouble and as protection from other boaters. When I suggested he turn on the motor so he could relax, he brushed me off, saying I didn’t need gasoline in my lungs while I swam. I practiced daily, dead set on making it to the other side of the lake by the end of August.
The week before my big swim, I waited in the Floreks’ kitchen for Sam to change into his bathing suit, helping Sue unload the dishwasher.
“Did he tell you he’s lifting his dad’s old weights every morning before his run?” Sue asked me as she put a pair of glasses into the cupboard. I shook my head.
“He’s really into the whole fitness thing, huh?”
Sue hummed. “I think he wants to make sure he can pull you out if he needs to,” she said, squeezing my shoulder.
On the morning of the swim, I made my way down to the water, Mom and Dad following with mugs of coffee and an old-school camera. When Sam came down to the dock, I walked over in my bare feet, holding my towel and goggles.
“Today’s the day. How are you feeling?” Sam asked from the boat when I padded onto the dock.
“Good, actually. I can do this.” I beamed and threw my towel in with him.
“Good, good,” he muttered, checking around the boat for something. He seemed . . . nervous.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. He looked up at me and scrunched his nose.
“I know you’ll do great, but I gotta admit I’m a little worried if something goes wrong.” I hadn’t heard Sam sound panicked before. But today he was panicked. I stepped down into the boat.
“The water’s calm, you know CPR, you have an extra life jacket as well as a life preserver, there’s a whistle in the boat to call for help, not that you’ll need it since we have an audience.” I pointed up to where my parents had joined Charlie and Sue on the deck, and waved at them.
“We’re rooting for you, Percy,” Sue called down.
“And,” I continued, “I’m an excellent swimmer. There’s nothing to worry about.” Sam took a deep breath. He looked a bit pale. I wrapped my finger around his bracelet. “I swear, okay?”
“You’re right,” he sighed. “Just remember to take a break if you need to—you can always float for a bit.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “So, should we do this thing?”
“Let’s,” Sam said. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it.”
Once I was in the water, I pulled my goggles on, gave Sam a thumbs-up, and then turned my attention to the far shore—a small, rocky beach was my target destination. I took three deep breaths, then pushed off from the lake bottom with my feet and set off in a steady front crawl, my arms and feet working in tandem to propel me forward. I didn’t rush my strokes, and soon the rhythm became almost automatic, my body taking over from my mind. I could see the side of the boat when I tilted my head for air, but I didn’t pay it much attention. I was doing it! I was swimming across the lake. My lake. With Sam beside me. A rush of pride ran through me, powering me on and distracting me from the burning in my legs and the ache in my neck. I kept going, slowing down when I needed to catch my breath.
I switched to breaststrokes for several minutes to relieve the tension building in my shoulders, then resumed the crawl. At times, I could hear Sam cheering me on, but I had no idea what he was saying. Every so often I’d raise a thumbs-up in his direction to let him know I was okay.