Page 37 of Breathing Under Water

“McKenna yelled at me.”

“She yelled at you?” I feel my blood pressure rising. “Why would she do something like that? What reason could she possibly have to yell at you?”

“It was my fault,” he says. “I blew my whistle. I blew my whistle a lot of times. I blew my whistle loud. I was helping. But then Rohan got upset, and Elias, and there was a lot of yelling, too much yelling, and I kept blowing my whistle.”

As I listen to Leo, I can see the scene unfolding in my mind’s eye. I imagine the utter chaos that might have taken place at the pool yesterday.

“Do you think maybe it’s a stretch to say she yelled at you?” I ask. “Like, maybe she was yelling because it was loud, and she wanted to make sure you heard her? Maybe she wasn’t exactly yellingatyou so much as yellingtoyou?”

“I don’t want to do swimming anymore. Dad took me to the Y so I can do extra hours in the AV room today instead. I don’t like swimming anymore. McKenna got mad.”

“Sweetie, I really don’t think she was mad. I bet she was just overwhelmed. You know how sometimes you get overwhelmed, right? And then you act in a way you might otherwise not have acted. Do you think maybe you could go see McKenna one more time before you decide you’re finished with the swim class?”

“I don’t want to.”

This isn’t the first time Leo has sworn off an activity based on one bad experience. Like the time he got his shoelace caught in an escalator when he was eight. I yanked the lace out of the crevice right away, and no harm was done, but Leo has refused to go on another escalator ever since. It’s been stairs, elevator, or bust.

But he’s been so happy with the swimming and his new responsibilities with the other kids.

“Could I speak to her then? Would that be okay with you?”

“Okay.”

I sit up straighter at his words.

“Did you just say okay?” I ask, surprised by his answer.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, okay then.” I certainly don’t want to make him second-guess himself now that he’s agreed. “I’ll do that. In the meantime, it’s fine for you to just do your AV work. We know McKenna must be busy teaching right now, so I’ll call her later today.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Then we can hang up now.”

“Okay,” he says, and the line goes dead.

Clearly, we still have more work to do on phone etiquette, but we’re getting there.

Meanwhile, I scroll through my contacts until I find McKenna’s name.

I start typing out a text to her, but then I change my mind. I haven’t met her yet, but since both my boys seem quite taken with her, I imagine she must be something special. I decide to use time I don’t have to stop by Hollyhock in person. I see a picture in my head of myself climbing back into a helicopter, putting on those big headphones, and trying to get us back on course. If Phil doesn’t like it, well, maybe we can find him an ejector seat.

18

McKenna

July 2023

Of course Leo chose this day of all days not to show up. My morning swim team practice was especially brutal today, with Coach making us do three extra rounds on the air bikes before he let us leave, so I was spent before I even got to Hollyhock. I made it through the lesson on my own, but only because the kids were on their best behavior after the drama of the day before. Then I had all the mini-camp groupsandtwo extra “free swim” periods because of the heat, plus an additional four swim lessons after camp ended. The only good part of my day was when the maintenance people found something wrong with the water filtration system, and all pool staff got to cut out half an hour early so the workers could do emergency remediation. Kathleen was worried the maintenance workers were fabricating a problem as part of the ongoing issues with their wages, but the pool company confirmed the diagnosis. A text came in from Kathleen on my way home letting me know it will take a couple of days to fix, and hallelujah, there’ll be no more lessons until next week. This means, for once, I get a second to rest.

Letting myself into the house, I collect the mail and add itto the stack from the day before. I’ve stocked the freezer with microwavable dinners for one, and I’m starving. I’m choosing between a vegetable lasagna and chicken potpie when my phone rings.

Lark’s name is flashing on the screen. She’s one of few people I have the energy to talk to, but before I can even say hello, I hear her sobbing on the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong?” I’m instantly worried.

“It’s Darian,” she says between wails. “We broke up.”