Part 17 (1/2)
Chapter Twenty-five.
Parents and kids filled the pool area, and their cheering, talk, and laughter echoed harshly off the tile walls and deck. The air was warm and thick, and the meet was already underway, but Jill had five minutes before Megan swam. She scurried up the stairs to the bleachers and spotted Sam sitting with the other swim moms and dads, Len Wynn and Rita Cohen, the McGraths, and Bill Roche and Jenny Zeleny.
”Sam!” she called out, and he turned, breaking into a grin.
Sam motioned her to come over, and Len and Rita looked up, smiled, and s.h.i.+fted aside to make room as Jill picked her way down the row. She sat down on the hard wooden bleacher and kissed Sam lightly on the lips.
”Hiya, honey.” Jill was already sweating under her s.h.i.+rt, and she could practically feel her hair curl. ”I made it.”
”Way to go. What happened? Was Abby there?”
”No, but her car was. I went to the police, and they checked the house.”
”Good.” Sam nodded, his face s.h.i.+ny from the humidity.
”I told the police everything, but I'm still worried that she hasn't called me back.”
Sam patted her leg again. ”I gave Megan her swim bag.”
Jill could see he was over talking about Abby. ”Was Megan bothered that I wasn't there?”
”If she was, she didn't say so. I told her you went to check on Abby, and she seemed fine with it.”
”Good.” Jill turned her attention to the pool, which was new and Olympic-sized, to accommodate the high school. Navy-and-white tiles rimmed the edge, in Sequanic High colors, matching the floating lane dividers. The far wall was a panel of gla.s.s, and it flooded the pool area with indirect light, making bright shadows of each ripple, illuminating the chop churned up by a hundred arms and legs, like a restless sea.
Sam craned his neck at the starting blocks, where the girls clumped together, a noisy flock of yellow bathing suits and swim caps, like so many baby chicks. ”Which one's Megan? I can never tell. They all look alike.”
”There.” Jill pointed at Megan, standing near the front and swinging her arms to keep them warm. The yellow spandex of her bathing suit outlined her skinny little body, and Jill could see her hips and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, formed but not fully mature, somewhere between girl and young woman.
”How can you always tell it's her?”
”It's like penguins. You know your own.”
Sam gave her a sweet nudge, and they both watched Megan, who was looking up at the bleachers, trying to find them in a way that wasn't obvious.
”Hey, honey!” Jill called out, raising her hand, but Megan was still looking for her. ”She doesn't see us.”
”Yes, she does.”
”No, she doesn't, I can tell.” Jill stood up, waving her arms, but Megan had already turned away and was talking to Courtney, their yellow caps close together. Jill shouted, ”Megan!”
”Down in front!” called a man behind her, and Sam turned around and shot him an annoyed look.
”It's okay.” Jill sat down, and on her other side, Rita leaned over.
”He's from the Plymouth Meeting club. Want me to hit him?”
Jill smiled. ”It's okay, I just like it when Megan knows I'm here. We always make eye contact before she gets on the block. It's our thing.”
”She saw you.” Sam patted her leg. ”It's okay, relax.”
Jill thought Megan looked worried as she walked toward Coach Stash. Jim ”Stash” Stashevsky was only in his thirties, short but powerfully built in his yellow polo s.h.i.+rt and sweats. He bent over to talk to Megan, tucking his clipboard under his arm, and she listened intently, nodding as he spoke, her dark eyes looking up at him and her mouth making a stiff little line, like a dash.
Sam s.h.i.+fted forward on the bleachers. ”You can do it, Megan!”
Jill made a megaphone of her hands. ”Go, Megan, go!”
Megan climbed onto the third platform, swinging her arms, then slipping her yellow goggles down over her eyes and adjusting them on her head, her cap, and her nose. Jill knew all of Megan's swim rituals, and the time for making eye contact with Mom was over. She'd be visualizing the race, ignoring the other swimmers as they climbed onto the blocks, shaking their arms and fidgeting with their goggles.
”Go, Megan!” Jill shouted again.
”Come on, Megan!” Sam hollered, and Rita, Len, and the others cheered for Megan, because they all cheered for each other's kids. The parents from other clubs added to the chorus, hooting and hollering for their own kids.
Megan and the others took the positions on the blocks, bending at their bony knees, tucking their heads, and curling their toes around the edge. The electronic beeper sounded, barely audible above the crowd noise, and the girls shot into the air, stretching out their lithe bodies and extending their fingers and toes. For a split second, they were all knifing forward through thin air, transformed from girls into something that could fly. But Megan didn't get her typical smooth start, and she hit the water behind the others.
”Sam?” Jill heard herself say, her gaze on Megan. ”Did you see that? She's off.”
”She'll catch up.”
”No, it's not that.” Jill had been a compet.i.tive swimmer, but she didn't care about Megan's time or if she won. Megan's skinny arms started to bend and extend, but they were churning more than usual, and she didn't move through the water the way she always did. Her hands slapped the surface, and her kick was too low, not her distinctive flutter. ”Am I crazy, or is something the matter?”
”No, she's fine.”
”Go, Megan, go!” Jill yelled. The other swimmers stroked ahead, kicking hard and picking up the pace, and Coach Stash shouted for Megan, holding his clipboard to his mouth, to amplify the sound.
Megan fell behind two lengths, then three, and the other girls reached the wall, straining for the tiles with outstretched fingertips. Megan only seemed to slow down, losing ground.
Jill leapt to her feet. ”Go, Megan!”
Sam rose. ”Go, Megan!”
The man behind them yelled, ”Sit down!”
They both ignored him, and Jill started to worry as Megan took a few more feeble strokes, then stopped in the middle of her lane. Coach Stash hustled poolside past the cheering teammates, and before Jill knew why, she found herself in motion, climbing down the bleachers toward the pool, pus.h.i.+ng past the other parents.
”Yo, watch it!” one man said, as Jill moved him aside. The race continued fast and furious, the crowd kept cheering, and the teams on the pool deck jumped up and down with excitement.
”Megan!” Jill cried out, just as Megan's yellow cap disappeared beneath the water. Glare from the windows reflected on the chop, whiting out the water's surface, obliterating everything.
”Help!” Jill reached the bottom row of the bleachers, threw herself over the rail, and half stumbled and half slipped toward the pool.
Megan was gone.
Coach Stash dropped his clipboard and dove into the water. Jill dove in behind him. The water m.u.f.fled the cheering, and she opened her eyes to see Megan sinking to the bottom of the pool, her eyes closed and air bubbles leaking from her mouth.
Coach Stash reached Megan first, grabbed her by the waist, and raised her head up and out of the water. Jill grabbed her other side, pushed aside the floating lane markers, and they all popped together to the surface.
”Megan!” Jill shouted, terrified. Megan remained unconscious, her head flopped over. ”Get her to the side!”