Learning to Swim(47)

You can always tell when I'm in a fake happy mood and you know exactly what to say to put me in an honest-to-goodness good one.



You asked Keith to teach me how to swim.





*

After the hospital, I went by Tippecanoe to quit my job. I said farewell to all the staff and then strolled down to the pool. When I walked through the gates, I kind of expected things to be different. Considering my new relationship with Keith and everything that had happened with Mora (not to mention the fact that I was no longer a maid), the whole social structure might have changed.

But it was exactly the same. Rafaela Berkenstein and her smarty-pants friends were off to the side, still discussing Sylvia Plath. Amy Fitz and her jocky friends were still doing cannonballs off the high dive, and Mora Cooper and the rest of the popular crowd were still talking on their gem-studded cell phones. The only difference was that there was a recent addition to the Mora group. One of the assistant golf pros, a hunky preppy-looking twenty-three-year-old, was sitting on Mora's lounge chair. Mora was giggling and rubbing some sunscreen on his shoulders. She seemed to sense my presence and looked my way. I held my breath, expecting some sort of confrontation. But nothing happened. In fact, her eyes barely registered me. She simply went back to rubbing sunscreen on the golf pro, laughing as he craned his head back and kissed her.

Keith was nowhere in sight, so I knocked on the door to the lifeguard office. Goatee Boy looked up from his clipboard. “Yeah?”

“Is Keith around?” I asked.

“No. He left this morning to go to his parents’ beach house.”

“This morning?” I had to do everything in my power not to faint.

“Yeah, his dad called him a little while ago. I guess he forgot something and asked Keith to bring it by.”

The news that Keith had left hit me a lot harder than I would have expected. I hadn't planned on a big, gooey love scene, but I was hoping for some sort of exchange where we said how much we'd miss each other and what was on the horizon for us. Everything seemed so unfinished.

I rode my bike back home, crying like a toddler and moving as if in slow motion. My body seemed heavier, weightier, nearly impossible to manage. And my insides felt as if they were being crushed by a trash compactor. I was minutes away from hacking up my breakfast, so when I opened the door to my apartment, I had intended to make a mad dash to the bathroom. But I was blindsided by what I saw.

I was certain I was dreaming. It was as if the previous evening had never happened. The Hefty bags were gone, and the apartment looked exactly like it had two days before, with everything in its rightful place.

“I'm glad you're home,” my mom said.





19


As soon as I'd finished hyperventilating, I made a mental note to add this to the Steffie Rogers's most-shocking-moments list.

“I don't understand,” I said, trying to shake myself out of my stupor.

Barbie walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her low-rise jeans. “You've made a lot of sacrifices for me, Stef. I decided that I wanted to make one for you.”

I could barely contain my joy. “So we're staying?” I asked excitedly.

Barbie grinned. “Well, you really seem to like it here.”

We are staying on Jones Island.

The realization that I would not have to leave Alice, that I would not have to move again and start my senior year at a new school, that I would be here when Keith returned on breaks and vacations, was enough to make me want to bend over and kiss the nasty orange carpet I was standing on. “Thank you,” I said, throwing my arms around Barbie as if it was the most natural thing to do.

She held me tighter than she ever had. “I love you, Stef.”

“I love you too,” I said. In fact, I more than just loved her. I was glad she was my mother.

When Barbie and I were finished embracing, she said, “Thelma called to say that Alice really wants to see you before we leave. I told them we weren't moving after all and that we'd be over to see her this afternoon.”

“That sounds great,” I said merrily. “But there's one thing I want to do first. Do you know where my bathing suit is?”

Barbie's elation looked as though it was about to fade. “It's in your top drawer. Why?”

I thought about Alice in that instant and I knew she'd remind me not to lie to my mother, no matter how crazily she might react. So I didn't. “Because I thought I'd go for a swim.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and I braced myself for the eruption. She breathed in deeply and then opened her eyes. “Have a… g-good time,” she stammered.

And then (as if the hug wasn't enough), she kissed me on the cheek.

*

A half hour later, I was standing on the sand at Crab Beach and staring at the horizon. It was a warm, sunny day, and the calm water looked like an emerald green mirror. I swallowed my nervousness and began to walk toward it. I kept going without hesitation, wading in until the lukewarm water was up to my waist. I stopped for a moment, allowing my fingers to trail across the smooth surface as I practiced the stroke that Keith had taught me.

I kept telling myself over and over again, You can do this.

Then I took baby steps until the water was up to my chin. I cleared my mind, took a deep breath, and plunged forward. Salt water splashed up my nose as I wiggled around, moving my arms and kicking my legs. It was awkward at first, but the movements became smoother as my confidence increased and my rhythm steadied. But the truth of the matter was, I didn't care about my technique or how I looked. What mattered was that I had not sunk to the bottom of the bay. I was propelling myself through the water.