The Names They Gave Us(85)

“I know it does, Bird.”

“Dad.” My voice drops, not wanting even the trees around us to hear my worst-case scenario. “If it gets really bad and I need to leave Daybreak for the summer to be with Mom . . . you’ll tell me, right? Because if you didn’t, and—”

“I would tell you.” His solemn face shows me he understands. If she’s not going to get better, I would never forgive him if I wasn’t here, getting in every moment I could. “But for now, she likes knowing you’re at camp. And she can’t seem to let herself be sick in front of you. She always tries to buck up.”

“That’s so ridiculous, though.”

“I have expressed that same sentiment to her.” He gives me a sardonic smile. “It was not very well received.”

I think of my dad writing sermons on a legal pad in the car as he waited for my piano lesson to end. I think of him in the stands at my swim meets, wearing more White Hills High School logos on his person than the actual mascot.

Never looking annoyed when I showed up in his office at church, wanting him to check my English homework.

Apologizing so earnestly when church member emergencies got in the way of something we’d planned.

I throw my arms around him, nearly knocking him back with unexpected enthusiasm. “Love you, Dad.”

Unstartled by my dramatics, he hugs me right back. “Love you too, Luce.”

On the walk back around the lake, I try to recount the smallest details of life with my parents. The Easter egg hunts in patent Mary Janes, the Christmas mornings with shiny wrapping paper, the birthdays with striped pink candles. But it’s not the holidays that matter most, I think. It’s the nights my mom stayed up listening to how Carly Battista hurt my feelings in sixth grade. It’s my dad stopping by Dairy Queen after I flubbed the hardest part of my eighth-grade recital piece.

I try to stuff these details into the pockets of my memory.

I try to keep my eyes dry and on the road ahead.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The next week, Thuy—bug-eyed in borrowed goggles—swims with her head below the surface of the water.

I burst into tears and make it weird.

“I’m so proud of you,” I blubber. “Oh my gosh. Thuy. You did it.”

She’s pleased, if a little taken aback by my display. “It’s okay, Hansson.”

But my floodgates are open now. I’m helpless as I remember swim lessons with my mom. My first real dive, arms straight in front of me. How proud I was, how she leapt up from the lounger by the pool, cheering. I acted embarrassed in front of the other kids. I was thrilled.

“Sorry!” I wipe my eyes, trying to laugh at myself. This is why Simmons warned me not to cry: freaking out these poor, innocent children. “I’m totally fine! I just cry when I’m happy sometimes.”

“It’s okay to be sad,” Thuy says. She’s so earnest, with those blue plastic lenses stretched over her eyes. “Mommy Sheila tells me that all the time.”

“Yes. It is okay,” I agree. “It’s okay to be sad.”

On Friday, a bonfire is out of the question. I don’t even want to be outside in this heat. We wind up making a too-long, sticky-hot walk to town, where Tom’s has ice-cold soda and air-conditioning.

“Oh my God,” Anna says, somewhere near the gazebo. “It’s too hot to live.”

Keely wipes at her brow. “This is truly disgusting.”

“Detour?” Mohan asks, jabbing his thumb toward the nearby playground. “Swings to cool off your face, Keels?”

“The sign says it closes at dark,” I say, squinting to make out the white letters.

“Aw.” Mohan gives me his most patronizing smile. “You’re so cute.”

He shimmies up the nearest ladder, whooshing down the slide by the time Anna gets to the swings. I sit beside her, wondering when the last time I did this was. Years, I think. I kick my legs out experimentally and that giddy, little kid feeling comes right back.

“Want a push?” Henry asks, fingertips on my back.

“Yes, please.”

He’s gentle at first, with Keely beside us pushing Anna. Mohan races back, fitting his slim hips on top of the swing for babies.

“You’re going to break it, you idiot,” Keely says.

“Because I’m so heavy due to my well-developed muscles?” Mohan calls. Still, his energetic kicks get him going fast. “Bet I can swing the highest, even without backup.”

“Oh yeah?” Anna asks. Keely pushes her harder, purposefully, and I turn to glance at Henry, nodding.

“Whoa,” I whisper as a firm push sends me up, up, up. “Ahh! Oh my gosh.”

“And now for the dismount!” Mohan yells, leaping from the swing. He lands on his feet, then stands with his arms raised. “The judges give it a ten! Full marks! A huge day for Mohan Tambe’s career!”

Anna flies off from my other side, landing just a hair farther than Mohan did. When she straightens up, she uses her best announcer voice. “Guess that means . . . it’s an eleven for Anna Miroslaw! Wow, folks. Truly a historic day in swing-jumping.”

“All right, Luce,” Henry says. At this point, he’s backed up so much that his hands are basically on my butt every time he pushes me. “Gonna take ’em down?”