Page 35 of Breathing Under Water

I smile, realizing these women are all joking, turning their sad state of affairs into comedy instead of the tragedies they’re actually facing.

“It’s nice to see my grandmother getting as good as she gives,” I tell them. But it breaks my heart that Glory is so aware of what’s happening, she’s using humor as a coping mechanism.

“Ack!” Glory swats at me again. “Enough out of you. We have important matters to discuss.” She motions toward the hallway that leads to her room and then looks back to her friends. “Later, ladies.”

Once we reach her room, I bypass the big recliner Glory loves and head for the only other chair—a stark, wooden contraption that looks like it belongs in an old-fashioned schoolhouse. Instead of sitting opposite me, Glory goes to her small desk and removes a green binder from one of the drawers.

“What’s this?” I ask as she gingerly places it on my lap. Butthen I realize it’s the binder she mentioned preparing for me. With all our financial information in it. Probably her will too.

I’m not doing this, not yet. I want to spend our time together today talking about life, not death. I want to tell her about all the headway I’ve made with my Marlins, today’s lesson notwithstanding. Or about how everyone on my team has to swap training partners at the end of the week, and how Coach Cat’s bitchy daughter keeps showing up and giving me attitude at the club.

“Glory... it’s not... No, I don’t want this yet.” I hold the binder out, trying to hand it back to her, but she just goes to the recliner and shakes her head at me.

The little binder is stuffed solid. I look around the room, wanting to dump it as far from me as possible, desperate to take control here, while also knowing that this is just one more place where we’re at the mercy of something bigger.

“Look,” she says as she sits. “This thing is coming at us whether we like it or not. You had to grow up much faster than most kids your age back when your mom was sick, and now it’s time for you to do it again. We both know I’m having fewer lucid days. We need to be practical and discuss some of these things.”

Obviously, she’s right. I’m aware that eventually I’ll be entirely on my own, but the finances aren’t what’s scaring me. We’ve always figured out how to stretch a dollar, and from the many pages in the binder, it looks like she’s gone to great effort to make sure I’ll be okay. But the idea of losing Glory—her fiery personality and no-holds-barred feedback—is a thought so painful that I’m struggling to breathe.

There will be so many missing pieces in Life After Glory.All the ways she’s made the days sweeter for me, suddenly just gone. I think of the swimming scrapbook she’s kept since I was a little kid, chronicling all the articles from SwimSwam andNewsdaywith my name in them, or the little bud vase she leaves on my nightstand every summer, replenishing it with a single daisy from her garden every week. The echo of my mother in the silly facial expression she makes when someone surprises her. Even her habit of telling me the storylines from her soaps as cautionary tales—this is what I can’t face losing. She’s all that remains of my family.

But I can see from the set of Glory’s shoulders that she won’t be easily swayed.

“Fine,” I say. “What do you think I need to know? And why did you make a whole entire binder to tell me what I’m sure can be summed up in one or two sentences?”

“Hey now.” She fixes me with one of her signature stares. “You don’t spend the better part of four decades married to an insurance adjuster and not make careful plans for your future.”

“Listen.” I rest the binder flat on my lap and lay a hand on top of it. “You’ve already made clear how I’m supposed to pay the expenses for this place. Beyond that, my scholarship will cover my remaining room and board until I graduate, and I can live at your house during the summers. I think I’m all set here.”

“Yeah?” Glory asks, and I can see the challenge in her eyes. “And how do you expect you’ll be paying for the yearly upkeep of the house, especially when you’re not even using it?”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t keep the house?” The suggestion startles me, even though it has crossed my mind too. “I guess I could rent an apartment during the summers. Or maybe there’s a way to stay in the dorms.”

“I’m not saying you should sell the house. And I’m not saying you should keep it. I want you to do whatever is necessary to keep yourself comfortable as you move into your future as a nurse extraordinaire. By no means should you feel obligated to keep that home as some sort of shrine. You understand?”

She waits for me to nod, making sure I understand she’s given me pre-authorization to do whatever I need.

“Why did you bring the binder here instead of just leaving it for me at the house?”

“Like I said, it needed some updating.”

Her words make me curious, and I finally do open the cover, just to take a quick look. Scanning a few pages, I see handwritten notes jotted in different colors of ink all throughout the documents, and I feel a stinging behind my eyes. She’s trying to make sure I’ll be okay without her, and somehow that makes me feel even lonelier. I’ve spent my life working hard to obtain results, but no amount of discipline is going to help me change what I know is coming, and it breaks my heart.

But I won’t let on. Instead, I close the binder again, hiding from whatever awaits me. I place the whole compendium beside my purse. “I will take excellent care of it,” I say. “But for now, I want to tell you about what happened with Leo and the kids today.”

“Leo?” Glory makes a dismissive motion with her hand, as if she isn’t the least bit interested. “Forget Leo. I want to hear more about the handsome brother.”

I scoff. “When did I ever say the brother was handsome?”

“I may be losing my memories, but my eyesight is just fine with these.” She taps the glasses she’s wearing. “Yup, there they go!” She laughs and points a finger at me.

“There what go?” I ask, worried she’s losing her hold on reality again.

“Your cheeks are bright pink, my darling,” she answers, sounding just like herself. “One needn’t be in Mensa to figure out why you’ve mentioned the fellow no less than three times in a week. Maybe you’d like to give big brother lessons too. A different kind of lesson.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively at me.

“Glory!” I yelp, scandalized. “Stop it!” I laugh and then quickly look away. Right behind my mirth is a thorn of sorrow, the sting of tears returning behind my nose. Glory has always had a way of knowing just what’s going on inside my head. It’s one more reason why I’m going to miss her so damn much.

17