Page 26 of Breathing Under Water

After mini-camp and then three private swim lessons, I’m finally packing up when I see Coach and his wife and daughterwalking in my direction. Paula is dressed for golf, with her dark ponytail bobbing behind a sun visor. Despite the summer heat, Vanessa’s in a pair of long pants, and I feel overheated just looking at the dark denim against her legs. But I guess this means Coach has stopped trying to get her to play tennis.

“Hey, Sonny, you’re still here!” Coach says with delight as they approach. “We were just about to have a late lunch. Join us.”

“Warren,” Paula says, her voice edged with reproach. “I’m sure McKenna has plenty of other things she’d rather be doing. Don’t you two spend enough time together as it is?”

I’d actually have been glad to grab a bite before heading home, but Paula’s message is clear, and I don’t want to intrude on their family time. Especially not with Vanessa giving me that stink eye like she is.

“Yeah, I’ve actually got a few more things to take care of before I head out, so you guys go enjoy.”

“Next time, McKenna,” Paula says with a forced smile.

“Wait, just one thing,” Coach says before I can turn back to the bag I was packing. “I heard from Kathleen that the special-needs kids’ class is going great. I knew you were going to figure this out and—”

“Dad, I’m supposed to be at Everly’s in an hour,” Vanessa says.

He doesn’t acknowledge the interruption. “I just wanted to say how proud I am of you. Honestly, you’re making me look good.”

“We really don’t have a lot of time, Warren,” Paula nudges.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Keep up the good work, kiddo.”

“Sorry, McKenna.” Paula offers me a tight smile. “Just trying to get in some family time.”

“Not at all. I have a million things to take care of too. Nice to see you.” I give them a two-fingered wave and then turn back to the chaise where I left my bag.

I’m finally back to the parking lot when my phone rings with the special ringtone I’ve designated for Juniper Groves, the assisted living center.

It’s been strange living in Glory’s house without her. Were I not so busy every day, I’d probably be moping more about how horribly quiet the house is without her. I certainly didn’t manage to hold back my tears when we said goodbye over the weekend. The aide who helped Glory get settled promised she’d call me herself in a few days to let me know how things were going. I was confident I’d be speaking to Glory plenty before that, but I worried my grandmother would just sugarcoat everything for me.

The good news is, Glory seems to have fallen in love with the place. I guess she knew what she was doing when she picked this specific care center. When we moved her in, she took her setup very seriously. It reminded me of when she helped move me into my freshman dorm room only two years ago. In her new room, she and I arranged the framed photos we had packed, overthinking the placement of each one. Glory insisted we put the picture of me from National Signing Day, when I committed to Meadowbrook, in what she called “pride of place.” The facility allowed us to hang a vintage paisley tapestry on one of the walls and bring Glory’s floral bed linens from home. As much as I hate that she’s in a facility, it does seem to be the only solution that allows her to live in a comfortable, communal setting while ensuring she’ll have the care she needs as more memories begin to fail her.

“Hello?” I answer, as I step under the shade of the portico at the front of the clubhouse. Cell phone use isn’t permitted inside the main building, so I lean against the stone wall and watch the valet parking guys take cars from the club’s late-afternoon arrivals.

“Ms. Jamison, this is Roy over at Juniper Groves.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, my apologies. I should have led with that. Everything’s fine. I’m just calling from accounting. I see here you elected to use a payment plan to fund your grandmother’s care. I was hoping to review that with you.”

“Ah, okay.” Glory and I didn’t discuss the financial aspects all that much. She took care of the paperwork and said I should just pay bills as they came in, using the money from her accounts. I haven’t had to deal with any of the finances yet, but I suppose it’s past time for me to start paying attention. “Lay it on me, Roy.”

Ten minutes later, my heart is still pounding. Roy makes sure to tell me about the nurses’ recommendations—what Glory’s going to need in the coming weeks, months, and years, many of which are add-ons we didn’t already select. They want her to have specialized memory care, security measures to prevent wandering, including personal monitoring devices, and occupational and behavioral therapies. Patients with profiles like Glory’s, Roy says, also benefit from personalized assistance with bathing, dressing, and eating. Even if she doesn’t need that quite yet, she will soon. And of course, each of these services has a price tag beside it.

Dread niggles at me as I wonder how I’m going to cobble together the money for these add-ons. Glory was adamant thatwe have plenty to cover the initial entrance fee and ongoing monthly expenses, but what if that doesn’t include all these extras? I want her to have them though. I want her to have everything. I start parsing through ideas for earning more money, maybe staying on at Hollyhock as a waitress during the school year, but that will never work with my clinic requirements ramping up.

But Glory said she had this covered, and she must have known there wasn’t an exact number to what her care would cost, that it might be more than expected. I tell myself to stop stressing. I need to go through the documents she left for me, to start acting like the adult in this situation, and I will, soon. But for now, I just want to believe Glory knew what she was talking about so I can let my thoughts drift back to sunnier topics, like Leo’s cute older brother.

13

Berry

June 2023

Leo and Phil are finishing their buttered toast at the breakfast table when I head upstairs to put on my makeup. Stillwell’s students have officially begun summer break, and before long, our faculty will check out for the summer too. I’m still wrangling a wild to-do list, and I should be hurrying to get to work, but it’s Tuesday, which is the one day of the week I allow myself to go into Leo’s room and snoop around. It’s a habit I picked up when he was in middle school, before his depression was diagnosed. When we first started noticing signs, Leo wouldn’t tell us anything. I started poking through his things back then, making every effort to figure out what was causing his dark moods, just like any good mother would do for her son. There were the obvious issues—wanting to be more like the other children at school, dealing with jackass kids, the taunting, all that garbage—but I knew something else was going on. I won’t be guilted about these little inspections either. My kid’s safety is more important than his privacy. Full stop.

Leo’s personal habits make it very easy to do my trespassing quickly. He’s so meticulous about keeping his belongings inprecise locations that I’d be hard-pressed not to notice if something were new or different. I step into his bedroom, frowning at the frayed rug beneath my feet. The blue threads are old and worn, but Leo didn’t want us to replace it when we refreshed the rest of the upstairs three years ago. He likes the way this carpet feels under his feet, so that was that.

I do a quick visual sweep of the room, noticing the airplane model he finished last week, a futuristic-looking SR-71 Blackbird, in the center of his bookcase. He had to push three smaller aircraft to the side to make room. It’s probably time to move this batch of models down to the wall unit in the basement. Harrison helped Phil build a shelving unit down there last winter to handle the overflow of aviation paraphernalia Leo’s constantly creating.