Page 53 of Breathing Under Water

He looks genuinely surprised, and maybe I’ve really missed the mark. Either that, or he’s a much better actor than I realized.

“The way you’ve been behaving,” I say. “There’s more here than just ongoing grief. I’m sure of that much. It makes sense if you’re sick, like battling cancer or something. I’ve been worrying about you.” My throat tightens with emotion. His head moves up in the start of a slow nod, as though he’s processing my words and deciding how to respond. A flash of something defensive crosses his face, but then his features soften again.

Looking up at me, he says, “You don’t need to worry about me. I promise. That’s not—” He stops abruptly, and now I’m desperate to know what he’s decided not to say. If I push, he’ll clam up, so I wait.

“My health is fine,” he finally says.

“But your dark circles, the medicine you were hiding in yourpocket... And you’re spending extra time with your father, maybe cherishing final normal moments with him?”

“No, hon, it’s not like that.” He reaches out for my hand, a pleading note in his voice.

I yank my arm away, too betrayed for his touch.

“Okay, so then what exactlyisit like? Having an affair? Because that’s the only other explanation that makes sense.”

“For the love of God! Berry!” Phil pushes out of the chair and stands, maybe so he can get better range as he shouts back at me, “There is no other woman!”

“Okay, go ahead and explain the perfume you reeked of yesterday morning. Enough of this bullshit, Phil. It’s time to come clean. I’m not some idiot who can’t tell that you’re acting strange in a million different ways. Spit it out.”

“There could never be another woman,” he says, no longer yelling as he reaches for my hand again. “You have to know that. Ever since I first saw you sitting in that booth at Friendly’s, I knew I couldn’t live without the woman with those ice-blue eyes and the bold voice that carried halfway across the restaurant. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make sure I deserve you. I’d never jeopardize this.” He motions back and forth between us. “Being with anyone else? I’d honestly never, ever want to.”

But then his voice goes quiet again. “Berry,” he says, and in that one word, I know there’s something else. Whatever it is, it’s difficult, something I’m not going to like. I grab the back of the chair beside me, bracing myself.

“The thing is,” he starts gently, “I don’t want to tell you.” I can hear the pain in his voice as he says it. “Can you please... can you just trust me?”

That’s a good question.CanI “just trust him”? As I look intohis dark eyes, I think of all the arguments we’ve had over these past months, how moody and withdrawn he’s been, and most of all, how he’s fought me on Leo’s care. And that’s when I realize he’s gotten the question all wrong.

“I think, Phil,” I answer him sadly, “it’s you who’s lost trust in me.”

26

McKenna

July 2023

For my last night in the house, I’ll be curled up in a sleeping bag on the hardwood floor, probably getting weepy about saying goodbye to the place that’s been my home for so long. Everything I’m taking with me is stuffed in my car, and the closing is scheduled for tomorrow morning. After that, the new buyers will take possession, and I will spend four and a half weeks couch surfing between Lark’s and Rae’s summer housing until it’s time to move back to my own dorm.

Outside, the rain has been pouring for the last hour, with intermittent bouts of thunder and lightning. The noise feels like exclamation points on my gloomy mood. I keep wandering between the different rooms, especially my bedroom, then Glory’s. Even empty, the nooks and crannies of these spaces bring back so many memories.

Standing at the kitchen counter, I take a few last bites from the container of chicken and rice I picked up from Chipotle. I had to walk through a deluge to get it, but I’d finished cleaning out the fridge earlier in the day, and I was starving enough toput up with getting soaked out there. I scarfed down a few bites as soon as I got home and then took a long shower to warm up.

Now dressed in dry sleep shorts and a comfy sweatshirt, I polish off the remaining food and toss the empty containers back in the takeout bag, which I’m using as the lone trash bag in the house.

My phone dings and I grab for it, hoping it’s Glory. She’s been harder to reach these last few weeks. And when we do talk, she often zones out or falls asleep. I can feel her slipping through my fingers, disappearing deeper into an abyss with each passing day. And maybe this is the cruelest way there is to lose someone, watching the old Glory fade away in tiny increments, piece by piece, one memory at a time. It feels like fragments of myself are disappearing right along with her.

I look down at my phone. Of course the text is not from her.

Coach Cat:I talked to housing, and it looks like I can get you into the dorms a week early.Meantime,don’t get too blue tonight. Look at this as the start of a new leg of your journey. You know what they say: When one door closes...

Things have been strained between Coach and me ever since the day he dressed me down for “assaulting a member” at Hollyhock. But yesterday he overheard Rae and me talking about the family that’s buying Glory’s house. He asked a bunch of questions, and after listening to my answers, he softened a little. I feel buoyed by his message, remembering that Glory isn’t the only person who looks out for me.

I’m okay, but appreciate the pep talk, Dad.I add a little smiley face.

After I hit Send, I feel, for the first time in recent memory, regret that I don’t have a dad, that I’ve been left to handle so muchon my own. Not necessarily because I missed out on that specific relationship, but because a dad would have been one more person who was mine.

I consider texting Glory to say good night, but she probably won’t respond, and then I’ll only feel sadder. Instead, I head to my bedroom, flipping off the light and burrowing into the thin sleeping bag on the floor. I already left the other set of keys with Bobby the broker to give to the new owners. Tomorrow I’ll lock the front door of this house one last time. Then I’ll go to the lawyer’s office to sign whatever they need and officially transfer title to the house. I made a list of important details I want to give the new people, like how the ice maker sometimes makes a funny noise but they can usually just ignore it, or that they’d better remember to replace the batteries in the doorbell every six months or they’ll never know when they have visitors. I want to hug them and tell them I hope they’ll love the house as much as we did. Maybe we’ll exchange numbers and they’ll tell me I can come visit anytime.

Maybe it will all be okay.