Page 80 of Breathing Under Water

I can feel my cheeks start to heat with shame at the idea of this perfect, wholesome family knowing how I’ve been living. But looking at their faces, I don’t see judgment. Berry’s eyebrows are pulled so low, her expression can’t be anything other than compassion.

Phil’s dad seems to sense my discomfort, and he pushes himself off the couch with a grunt.

“I’ll let you folks finish this conversation without me. There’s some leftover soup in the fridge with my name on it.”

As he makes his way from the room, shuffling a little in a way that reminds me of Glory, I turn back to Phil.

“I have a lot of expenses,” I offer. “I had to make some cuts.” That’s the best explanation I have for why the system failed me so completely.

Berry stands then and walks over to where I’m sitting. Placing a hand on my shoulder, she asks, “How about you stay in our spare room for the weekend? On Monday, you can go over to see the people in charge at your school and get all your awards reinstated.” Her voice is full of confidence that come Monday, my whole life will go back to normal.

Will it though? Will they even take me back on the team?With eight months since I last trained, my endurance and strength will have plummeted. It would take months for me to get back in shape, well into next summer, and then I’d only have my senior year left to compete. I think about my teammates, all the so-called friends who abandoned me. I picture them lining up to apologize to me, and I don’t hate it.

“I think maybe I’d better call my coach,” I say, rising from the sofa.

Berry insisted on setting me up in their second-floor guest room. She wouldn’t hear of me even stepping outside to make phone calls until I promised I wouldn’t spend another night sleeping in a parking lot. So now I’m here in this little bedroom, with its fluffy white duvet covering a twin bed, and cheery powder-blue carpet beneath my feet.

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re part of the family,” Berry says as she places a couple of clean towels on the foot of the bed for me.

“Because I was teaching Leo to swim?” I’m enjoying her kindness, but it does seem a little over-the-top given the circumstances.

“Not that.” She waves a hand in the air dismissively. “It’s the other things.”

“What other things?”

She rolls her eyes at me, at the same time smiling as if I’ve made a cute joke. “Why don’t you go ahead and make your calls? We’ll talk.” After a gentle squeeze to my shoulder, she leaves the room and shuts the door. Given how little physical contact I’ve had since getting thrown off the team and losing my friends,Berry’s frequent pats to my arm are especially noticeable, but I can’t say I mind.

After she leaves, I go digging in my tote. The shabbiness of the green nylon bag is so glaring next to the pristine comforter that once I’ve pulled out my phone, I hide the bag away, shoving it in a crevice between the dresser and the opposite wall.

Rather than dialing Coach like I planned, I pull up my list of favorites and press on Lark’s name.

After one ring, her voicemail picks up. It’s been so hurtful having her screen my calls all these months, but I remind myself to focus instead on the knowledge that I will soon be forgiven. I don’t leave a voicemail. She might not listen to it anyway. Next, I do dial Coach.

“What do you need, McKenna?” he asks, his tone harried. He sounds annoyed, as though I’ve been bugging him for months, when I think I’ve actually done a really admirable job of staying out of his way.

“I have proof that I wasn’t the one who damaged the pool at Hollyhock.” I take a big gulp of air and add, “It was Vanessa.”

He’s silent for a beat and then says in a tone of deep exhaustion, “I can’t even begin to imagine why you would make an accusation like that. Whether you’re making this up or actually believe the delusion, you clearly need help. The university provides free mental health services to students. I should have suggested it sooner. I can connect you—”

I interrupt. “There’s video.”

“Of what? Of my daughter?” he asks as if there’s no way what I’m saying is true.

“I can send it.” I pull up the recording that I now have saved on my phone and text the link to Coach.

I can hear when his phone pings with receipt.

“Call me back after you’ve watched.”

After I finish cleaning myself up in the en suite bathroom, which includes taking the best shower I’ve had in months, I put my dirty clothes back on and make my way downstairs.

Murmuring voices are coming from the kitchen, and when I wander in, I find Beck standing at the center island, his attention on a cutting board in front of him. A woman I’ve never met is seated at the kitchen table.

When she notices me approaching, she rises with a toothpaste-commercial smile and an outstretched hand. “You must be McKenna. I keep hearing how utterly fabulous you are, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

My eyes meet Beck’s, where he’s chopping herbs into neat little piles. He’s still as good-looking as he was last summer, but now I’m wary. “This is Aunt Yvonne,” he says.

As I shake her hand, I tell her, “I’m not sure I’m so fabulous. Just long-suffering and wrongly accused.”