Page 58 of Breathing Under Water

“I don’t know, okay? I just didn’t want you to have to think about any of it, none of it! Not when I promised to be the one to provide for you, and I failed to live up to everything I swore I’d do. It doesn’t matter anyway, because that investor’s not interested. None of them are. It’s over. We’re closing up shop.” He drops his head into his hands. “I don’t know, Berry. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how I’m going to support us now.”

“Would you shut up? We are going to be okay. Even if I don’t get the promotion. I can pick up some tutoring like I used to do. You’ve carried us for long enough. I can be the one to bear that burden now. And you can use this opportunity for a fresh start, to find something you really want to do.”

“Who’s going to hire a man well into his fifties? I’ve made such a mess of my career.” He looks so devastated that my anger continues to melt. It must have been so hard keeping this to himself all these months, all because he was so beaten down by loss.

“It’s not 1950 anymore, Phil. Plenty of people would want the expertise of a highly educated former executive with specialized skills. You’ll see. You’ll call a headhunter. In the meantime, let me take care of everything. I’ve got this.”

28

McKenna

July 2023

I don’t start crying until I’ve started the car, where I’ve got every last item from my swim locker stuffed in a bag behind me. Maybe I shouldn’t be driving in such a state, but since I’m clearly not the best at making good choices, I chalk this up to one more error of judgment on my part. By the time I reach Juniper Groves, my eyes are so red, there’s no way to hide I’ve been crying.

Grabbing a t-shirt from my swim bag to dry my face, I take a deep breath. The scent of chlorine emanating from the shirt is as familiar as it is crushing when it fills my nose. Glancing in the rearview mirror again, I twist my wet ponytail into a bun, and it only accentuates how beaten down I look. I should wait a few minutes and let my features return to a less alarming state, but I’m desperate to talk to my grandmother.

Ever since I was a little kid, Glory’s had a way of taking whatever I’ve done wrong and helping me rearrange the pieces on the board. Like that time senior year when I got fired from Monte Pizza for pouring a pitcher of Dr Pepper on the manager who’d been getting handsy with waitresses. After lecturingme about all the better ways I could have handled the situation, she sat with me while I updated my résumé and made a list of other restaurants where I should apply. She was the one who suggested I start looking for work closer to Meadowbrook so I could keep the job into college, and that’s how I ended up waiting tables at the Sizz. There were countless other incidents like that, where Glory managed to turn another one of my shitty situations into an excellent opportunity.

Thinking about all that now, I feel like I can’t waste another second outside of her wise presence. I quit waiting for my post-crying aura to fade and hurry out of the car. When I approach reception to check in, I don’t recognize the woman at the desk today.

“Where’s Rhonda?” I ask, perhaps too abruptly. She’s been so warm to me every time I visit, and I was looking forward to seeing a friendly face.

“This isn’t her shift,” the dark-haired woman responds. “I’m Tanya, here every weekday morning.”

Of course I wouldn’t know who’s on duty during this time because I’m always at swim practice. She chews the wad of gum in her mouth aggressively and looks up at me expectantly.

I tell her I’m there to visit Gloria Jamison, and she makes a few clicks on the computer in front of her.

“The residents are just finishing up breakfast, but I see you’re on the approved list. You can go on up.”

Upstairs are several sitting areas, with floral upholstered sofas arranged across from sturdy, hard-backed chairs. I move down the hall and end up in a mostly empty breakfast room. Only a few stragglers remain, reading their morning newspapers over cups of coffee. I’m about to turn toward the living quarters—“the apartments,” as they call them—when I notice Glory at a table tucked into the far corner of the room. She’s sitting by herself, shaking her head back and forth.

Even from across the room, I can see something isn’t right.

“Glory,” I say as I reach her.

She looks up at me with wide eyes. “Can you help me?” she asks.

My chest tightens at the vacant look in her eyes.

“Of course. Anything you need.” I lean down and start to give her a hug hello, but she stiffens. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I can’t remember where I’ve put my shopping list. Larry’s going to kill me. I thought I had it here.” She looks down at her half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. “But there’s nothing. He’s going to be so angry.”

“Who’s Larry?” I ask, hoping I can bring her back from wherever she’s gone. Maybe a change of scenery will help. “Why don’t we go look in your apartment?”

She winces at the suggestion and then looks at me with a hard expression. “My apartment? I can’t take you to my apartment. I don’t bring strangers home.”

“Glory, it’s me, McKenna.”

“No,” she says, pushing her chair out from the table. “I won’t go with you. No.” She’s still shaking her head as she stands.

I reach out for her arm, and she yanks it away.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps.

I know this is her disease talking, but the pain of it stings just the same.