Page 41 of Breathing Under Water

She leans forward, ready to hound her point. “People at the club don’t even want to see cell phone usage in the buildings. They come here to relax, to have peace and quiet. Not to provide a space for charity. It’s bad enough that our wage dispute with the maintenance workers made the paper, and now everyone’s worrying about the club’s reputation. I’m sorry, McKenna. I thought it was a beautiful thing you were doing, but it didn’t work out. This is nonnegotiable, and you have to let it go.”

The kids are going to be so disappointed.

I could probably continue the lessons at the Y, but the whole point was to have them outdoors during the summer and let them feel like typical kids. I realize with a start that I’m more upset for what the kids are losing than I am for myself. Obviously, this is going to be a problem for my service hours, but right now I’m focused on the six beginner swimmers whose lessons are being stolen out from under them.

“I don’t understand why you can’t stand up for them. The kids need this.” I’ve already said some version of this several times, but I’m not ready to give up. I’m irate thinking about these people who have so much good fortune and are unwilling to share any of it.

“I’m sorry, McKenna,” Kathleen says again. “The answer is final.” When I don’t make any move to leave, she says, “I have to head to the back lawn now. Do me a favor and close the door behind you when you go.” And then she leaves me there, fuming in her fancy office all by myself.

I have the urge to swing my arm across her desk and sweep everything on it to the floor, just like they do in the movies. But that would only get me fired, and it wouldn’t do anything to help my Mighty Marlins. I should probably text Karyn at the Y and let her know the lessons are indeed being discontinued, but I’m so full of rage. Instead, I just huff out of my chair and head back to the parking lot, where I plan to sit in my car and stew until it’s time for the mini-campers to show up.

As I reach the main door, I see that woman, Christine Thomaston—the one who was whispering with her friend at the pool the other day—approaching the entry to the club from outside. Even with the morning glare behind her, I can make out the Bottega Veneta logo on the waist of her lemon-yellow tennis dress. I never would have recognized something like that before starting at Hollyhock, but I’ve learned a lot about what’s important to these people in my time here. The dress happens to be the same color as the swim caps the UVM swim team wears, and it feels fitting that the woman is dressed like one of our biggest rivals. Looking at her now, I see so much red that I can barely keep going.

But I push open the heavy glass door and close the remaining distance between us.

“You!” I say the word like the insult I mean it to be. “What kind of entitled, selfish witch do you have to be?”

She stops on the steps and rears back. “I’m sorry, do I knowyou?” she asks, then quickly glances around, most likely embarrassed to have her ass handed to her in public. Only the valet guys are outside, across the driveway loop, and they’re busy arranging car keys on their board.

“Maybe not,” I answer, seething. “But I know you. You’re the person who couldn’t put up with special-needs kids infiltrating your precious country club pool for a measly thirty minutes a day. The person who couldn’t fathom that when people are vulnerable, you ought to cut them some slack. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Before I can say more, Christine’s eyes dart behind me, and I turn to see Ainsley Lowell, Eloise’s mom, coming toward us from the interior of the clubhouse. She must have just finished the early Pilates class.

As she steps outside, she looks from me to Christine. “McKenna, what’s going on?”

Christine answers first, her pert chin lifting toward the sky as she speaks. “I’m getting told off by a member of the swim staff, but I haven’t the slightest inkling as to why.”

The two valet guys, whose names I can’t remember, have noticed the tense situation and are now watching us. A few other older women are walking our way from their cars, and I’m sure they’ll also absorb every word I’m about to spew. I’m too amped up to care.

Turning to Ainsley, I say, “Maybe it’s you I should be telling off.”

“Me?” She puts a hand to her chest, and her eyes go wide like a baby deer. “What in the world for?”

“You told me yourself you thought it was great what theclub was doing. How could you tell Kathleen to shut down the special-needs swimming?”

I see the understanding as it dawns on her face.

“That didn’t come from me, McKenna,” she says, “but I have to say that after what I witnessed at the pool the other morning, I agree with the decision.”

“Agree with it?” Spittle flies from my lips, and I realize I’ve shouted my response.

One of the valet guys across the way lifts his walkie-talkie and starts speaking into it, his words too far away for me to hear. But his eyes don’t stray from me.

“People pay a lot of money to belong here,” Ainsley says. “We bring our families, our children, for a safe, peaceful environment where they can enjoy the summer. Those kids the other day were out of control. Just because nobody got hurt that morning doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t be hurt the next time.”

“Hurt?” I nearly shriek. “Nobody wanted to hurt anyone else!”

She’s infuriatingly calm as she responds. “Of course not, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”

Before I can respond, Kathleen comes hurrying outside.

“McKenna, what’s happening here?”

I don’t know how to answer without pissing her off, but Ainsley’s friend Christine saves me the trouble.

“This staff member is telling us how to run our club,” she says. “Apparently we should be using our hard-earned money to fund that circus she created out back last week, with kids running around like animals in every direction. Our membership fees aren’t charitable donations. That’s not what we joined for.”

“Circus!” I scream at her. “Animals?! Those were children. How can you talk about them like that? You know what?” I point a finger at her chest, too enraged to care about the consequences. “You’re the animal!”