Secret Lucidity(14)
“What are you saying?”
“I love you. I do. I just—”
“Don’t do this.”
“I can’t be what you need me to be right now. I just can’t. And honestly, I don’t think I’m strong enough to even try.” Sadness loops around the cords of my throat, straining my words as I speak.
“You are.”
“You need to trust me when I tell you I’m not.”
His head falls again before he pulls me into his arms.
“I need time, Kroy.” I choke on the words. “I don’t want to be the reason for your unhappiness. And right now, you’re unhappy because of me.”
“Cam . . .”
“I love you. I’ll say it forever, because I do. But for now, I think we should just—”
With hands that have held mine since we played as children, he angles my head up to his and kisses me. A kiss laced with a pain most teenagers wouldn’t understand. A kiss that heals and wounds all at the same time. A kiss that unites us in love, but also parts us in love. And right now, we know we’ll have to hang on to this very moment when it’s over until I can find the strength to make it through this earthly hell.
I PULL IN THE SCHOOL’S parking lot with my swim bag sitting next to me in the passenger seat. My teammates are gathered around the entrance to the natatorium with smiles on their faces, happy to be back together after the summer break. I park the car and watch them like some kind of voyeur. Seeing their excitement replaces what little courage I have with dread.
My father was their coach—my coach, and I fear what it’s going to be like to walk through those doors and not have him there. My gut twists in a mixture of emotions, and I know I shouldn’t have come.
Coach Andrews catches my eye when I spot him walking across the parking lot. He unlocks the door and holds it open as everyone filters in for the first swim of the season. Standing there in his athletic pants and white T-shirt, he scans the parking lot after the last girl walks in. When his eyes meet mine, I freeze, but only for a second. He looks at me curiously before walking my way, but I don’t move to get out of the car. When he approaches, I roll down my window, but he ignores my gesture and pulls my door open instead.
Without stepping back, he asks, “You coming?”
The knot lodged in my throat blocks my words, so I simply shake my head. All the ache my body has been holding hostage rims at the surface from his presence alone.
He kneels between the door and me. “I’ve been worried about you,” he says softly. “I found your cell number in your file. I thought about calling.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My guilty conscience wouldn’t let me. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about you.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” I tell him. “It would’ve happened whether we were driving to your house or driving home.”
“Still . . . I can’t shake it.”
I turn away and look out the windshield. “I can’t walk in there.”
“You don’t have to,” he assures. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Coach!”
We both turn to the building.
“Give me one minute,” he hollers back and then turns to me. “I gotta go.”
I nod.
“Are you going to be okay?”
I nod again.
He stands and shuts my door, giving me an understanding look before I drive away.
I drive because I can’t face what I know won’t be in that building. His absence would break me, and the last thing I want is to have a meltdown on center stage for everyone to see. I don’t want them to know how weak I’ve become because of my injury and to look at me with pity.
When I get home, it’s still early in the morning and Mom hasn’t woken yet. I walk through the house and up to the windows in the living room that look out to the pool. For a moment, I can hear splashing. I know it’s only a distant memory, but I don’t care. I close my eyes, pressing my hands and forehead against the glass, and hang on to the lingering sounds in my head.
“Marco.”
“Polo,” I call out before taking a gulp of air into my lungs and pushing myself off the wall to get away.
“Marco.”
“Polo.”
Dad turns when he hears my voice is now coming from the other side of the pool.
“Marco.”
He makes a mad dash my way, and I break out into a fit of laughter, knowing I’m about to be trapped. “Polo.”
His eyes crinkle when the corners of his lips lift into a grand smile as he glides across the water with his arms outstretched.
“Marco.”
“Polo!” I squeal, but it’s too late.
He captures me in his arms, and I scream with glee when he spins me around and tosses me into the sky. I hit the water with a big splash, and when I come up for air, I swim toward him, giggling, “Do it again, Daddy.”
“Again?”
“This time higher.”
With my hands on his shoulders and his around my waist, he counts, “One, two, threeeeee,” before launching me back into the air.
Clanking silverware yanks me away from my remembrance, and I turn to find my mother rummaging around the kitchen. She’s still in her robe and her hair is ratty. I have no idea what she’s looking for, but she opens cabinet after cabinet as if she’s lost.