coat and Harley Davidson collar and then slip on shoes and a jacket. We stroll out to the sidewalk as the streetlights turn on. It’s getting dark so early now. Too early. Finally Aunt Allie glances at me. “That was your coach?”
I nod.
“So how are you feeling about swimming these days?”
I lift my shoulder and push my braid behind my ear. “Is Dad making you talk to me?”
She shakes her head. “No. You’re my family too, you know. The best part of it.”
I imagine she gets lonely on the road sometimes, even though she appears to have everything she wants. “I wish he would have let you be around me more when I was growing up,” I tell her. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to her. I don’t feel like I’m betraying Dad anymore. It’s the truth.
“Your dad is stubborn,” she says. “Sort of like his daughter. But he had his reasons, I think.”
“It’s not that I’m stubborn,” I say.
“It’s just that you don’t feel you deserve to go on with life?” Aunt Allie stops and waits while Fredrick lifts his leg on a neighbor’s lawn. She doesn’t seem concerned about ruining anyone’s grass.
“Maybe you’re getting something out of not swimming? Some control? Not doing what your dad wants for the first time in your life.”
“No.” I don’t agree with her. A man passes us on the sidewalk with a big black dog on a leash. Kind of a giant Fredrick. I notice the man smiling at Aunt Allie, but she doesn’t even look at him, and Fredrick ignores his dog. Aunt Allie is staring up at a dark streetlight above us. It’s broken; probably a kid threw a rock at it. For no reason other than to see it break. People do senseless things all the time.
“I dream about swimming all the time,” I tell her. “Sometimes I’m standing on the platform and I dive in, but there’s no water. I keep falling and falling. And then I wake up.”
“Oh, butterfly. It’s okay for you to go back. Not swimming isn’t going to change what happened. Don’t let the guilt break you.” She stops again while Fredrick turns his back on us and squats. “The letter to Alex will help.” She waits and then bends and scoops with her baggie.
“Let’s go home. I’ll make you a hot chocolate and throw away this dog poo.”
“Hopefully not in that order.”
Aunt Allie laughs, and the sound of it echoes in the street. “Want another bit of advice.”
“Not really.”
“Stop listening to the news. Start living your life again. There are things you can do to start taking it back. Do them.”
But I don’t even know what I want from my life anymore. Or how I can deal with what I did.
chapter eleven
On Friday night, I pull the car up to the address Casper gave me, a little surprised by the freakin’ mansion-ness of his home. It’s about the size of three houses and is built across a ridge, so the view of the mountains behind it is amazing. It’s even more gorgeous this time of year, with the reds and oranges on the trees. I turn off the ignition and sit in silence for a moment, studying the huge house, trying to imagine living in it.
Finally, I grab my backpack and close the car door behind me. The age and condition of our car suddenly seems kind of embarrassing. As I walk, my boots crunch over leaves from the many trees on the lot. Raking must be a full-time job. Trees line both sides of a back yard that includes a full-size tennis court that seems small in the surroundings.
I don’t want to be intimidated or impressed by the sheer size and cost of the house. Money shouldn’t make people seem better than those who don’t have as much, but it’s hard to remember that while staring up at such a majestic building. I feel like I’m wearing a ratty bathing suit in a room full of girls in expensive prom dresses.
Inhaling deeply, I focus on the slightly sweet scent of decaying leaves drifting to the ground to rot in the gusts of wind. The little girl inside me wants to stretch my arms out and twirl
I nod.
“So how are you feeling about swimming these days?”
I lift my shoulder and push my braid behind my ear. “Is Dad making you talk to me?”
She shakes her head. “No. You’re my family too, you know. The best part of it.”
I imagine she gets lonely on the road sometimes, even though she appears to have everything she wants. “I wish he would have let you be around me more when I was growing up,” I tell her. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to her. I don’t feel like I’m betraying Dad anymore. It’s the truth.
“Your dad is stubborn,” she says. “Sort of like his daughter. But he had his reasons, I think.”
“It’s not that I’m stubborn,” I say.
“It’s just that you don’t feel you deserve to go on with life?” Aunt Allie stops and waits while Fredrick lifts his leg on a neighbor’s lawn. She doesn’t seem concerned about ruining anyone’s grass.
“Maybe you’re getting something out of not swimming? Some control? Not doing what your dad wants for the first time in your life.”
“No.” I don’t agree with her. A man passes us on the sidewalk with a big black dog on a leash. Kind of a giant Fredrick. I notice the man smiling at Aunt Allie, but she doesn’t even look at him, and Fredrick ignores his dog. Aunt Allie is staring up at a dark streetlight above us. It’s broken; probably a kid threw a rock at it. For no reason other than to see it break. People do senseless things all the time.
“I dream about swimming all the time,” I tell her. “Sometimes I’m standing on the platform and I dive in, but there’s no water. I keep falling and falling. And then I wake up.”
“Oh, butterfly. It’s okay for you to go back. Not swimming isn’t going to change what happened. Don’t let the guilt break you.” She stops again while Fredrick turns his back on us and squats. “The letter to Alex will help.” She waits and then bends and scoops with her baggie.
“Let’s go home. I’ll make you a hot chocolate and throw away this dog poo.”
“Hopefully not in that order.”
Aunt Allie laughs, and the sound of it echoes in the street. “Want another bit of advice.”
“Not really.”
“Stop listening to the news. Start living your life again. There are things you can do to start taking it back. Do them.”
But I don’t even know what I want from my life anymore. Or how I can deal with what I did.
chapter eleven
On Friday night, I pull the car up to the address Casper gave me, a little surprised by the freakin’ mansion-ness of his home. It’s about the size of three houses and is built across a ridge, so the view of the mountains behind it is amazing. It’s even more gorgeous this time of year, with the reds and oranges on the trees. I turn off the ignition and sit in silence for a moment, studying the huge house, trying to imagine living in it.
Finally, I grab my backpack and close the car door behind me. The age and condition of our car suddenly seems kind of embarrassing. As I walk, my boots crunch over leaves from the many trees on the lot. Raking must be a full-time job. Trees line both sides of a back yard that includes a full-size tennis court that seems small in the surroundings.
I don’t want to be intimidated or impressed by the sheer size and cost of the house. Money shouldn’t make people seem better than those who don’t have as much, but it’s hard to remember that while staring up at such a majestic building. I feel like I’m wearing a ratty bathing suit in a room full of girls in expensive prom dresses.
Inhaling deeply, I focus on the slightly sweet scent of decaying leaves drifting to the ground to rot in the gusts of wind. The little girl inside me wants to stretch my arms out and twirl
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