Page 54 of Breathing Under Water

Except the next day, things don’t unfold how I expect.

When I arrive at the office of Aitana Fernandez, the lawyer my broker recommended, the buyers aren’t there. Apparently they signed everything the day before and only sent their lawyer, a crotchety older man named Archie, in their place. So I don’t get to meet the wonderful young family who’ll be taking possession after all.

How I wish that was the worst of it.

After I settle in at the shiny conference table, the frizzy-haired lawyer pushes a huge stack of papers toward me. It takesa while for me to sign on all the dotted lines, document after document, but finally, Aitana hands me a check. I look at the amount and blink to make sure I’m seeing properly.

“What is this?” I ask.

“It’s your proceeds. From the sale.”

“This is only a quarter of the purchase price.”

“Right. Because of the reverse mortgage,” Bobby the broker says as he leans over to pat my arm.

“Reverse mortgage? What is that?” I ask.

“I told you,” Bobby says, defensiveness in his voice. He glances at the attorney and then back to me. “Your grandmother had a reverse mortgage on the house. I told you.”

So much new information had been thrown at me while we were preparing for the sale. Maybe he did mention it, but what the hell do I know about real estate and mortgages?

“I didn’t know that meant I wasn’t getting all of it.” I look over at Aitana helplessly.

She and Bobby then explain to me what it means to have a reverse mortgage—the important detail being that Glory had taken out a loan at some point using the house as collateral. So it’s the bank, not me, who’s getting all the money I’d been waiting for, the money I’d been so foolishly sure would save us.

I’m on my third set of freestyle laps, and I can barely focus after the disastrous events of my morning. I’m pretty sure I’m crying, but thankfully, having my face under the water makes it hard to tell. I keep running calculations in my head as I push my body through the water, turning my head to the side for briefgasps of air and trying to figure out how to stretch the much-smaller-than-expected check. When I turn for the next breath, I clock movement in my peripheral vision and see Coach Cat at the side of the pool, waving his arms and trying to catch someone’s attention, maybe mine. I’m only two strokes away from the starting block, so I just finish the lap and look up to where he’s storming over to my lane. His face is a darker shade of red than I’ve ever seen it, and I can tell something is very, very wrong.

Before I can ask what’s going on, he barks a command at me.

“Out of the pool! Now!”

“What? Why? What happened?” I plant my hands on the pool’s edge and haul myself out of the water.

“I just got another call from Hollyhock,” he says, his tone expectant.

I wait, unsure what he’s going to say next.

“Well?” he demands. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“About what, Coach? I don’t know what you’re talking about. The club’s just randomly calling you to complain about me now?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” he roars, and I take a step back. I’ve never seen him this angry. “Why did you go back there? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Some of the other swimmers have stopped their laps to watch us.

“Go back? I didn’t go back. I haven’t. Honestly, I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but you’re being totally scary right now.” Water is dripping from my hair and suit down my body to the floor, but I barely feel it as Coach continues.

“Good! Youshouldbe scared. What kind of stunt... I can’t believe this!” His voice keeps getting louder. “Gasoline, McKenna?! Oil paint? You know full well how much damage those materials can cause!”

“Coach!” Now I’m panicking and yelling too. “Stop it! I have no idea what this is about!”

Suddenly our assistant coach, Marcy, is hurrying over, an expression of alarm on her face. “Warren, what’s going on?” she asks, looking from Coach to me and back to Coach.

“Our friend McKenna here thought it’d be a good idea to send the people at Hollyhock Country Club a message,” he tells Marcy. “Show them how she felt about being fired, or how she doesn’t respect their rules, or God knows what else she was trying to say! You want to tell Marcy what you did, Sonny, or should I?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

A look of grave disappointment crosses Coach’s face before he looks back at Marcy.