Page 60 of The Last Five Yards

Reese notices. Maren feels it more than she sees it.

The summer light brightens, the noise swells, and the afternoon unfolds the way it always does. But something small has shifted, and Maren can feel it under her ribs, quiet and steady as the water itself.

Rowan dips both feet into the lane again, testing the water temperature like she has never been in the pool before. She slides into the water with a tiny gasp and adjusts her goggles, placing them over her eyes. Her lane mates are already off the wall, churning down the pool in chaotic lines.

“Four hundred, your choice,” Maren calls again, mostly for Rowan.

Rowan nods, even though she still looks unsure, and takes a deep breath before pushing off.

For a moment, she moves well. Smooth kicks. Good extension. She makes it down the lane, hits her turn, and heads back. About halfway down the pool, she suddenly stops. She pops up in the middle of the lane, shaky and uneven. Her goggles are already fogging. She turns in a small, frantic circle like she is trying to remember which direction she came from.

Maren frowns. That is too quick for fatigue. Something else is happening. She makes eye contact with Rowan and waves her to the side of the pool.

Rowan darts back to the wall, swimming too fast and too close to the lane line. She hits the gutter with a small slap of her palm and grabs it like she is holding on for her life.

Maren slides down, placing a knee on the gutter. Rowan pulls her goggles off and tosses them toward her. Maren catches them and dips them under the water, wiping the fog from the lenses.

“What is going on, kiddo?” Maren asks.

“I do not know what number I am on,” Rowan blurts, her words high and short. “Was that fifty or seventy-five? Or a hundred? I am all messed up. I cannot start over, I cannot, and everyone else is already ready to move to the next part, and I am just doing it all wrong.”

Her breaths come in sharp bursts. Her bottom lip wobbles. A small tear forms in the corner of her eyes.

A couple of parents on the bleachers look over. The playlist still thumps its steady beat, but Rowan seems to hear none of it.

Maren rocks back and sits on the deck with her feet in the gutter. She continues adjusting Rowan’s goggles with calm, careful hands.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Look at me.”

Rowan tries, blinking through her soft tears. Her chin quivers.

“You are OK,” Maren says. “Take a breath.”

Rowan’s whole body stutters, but she mirrors Maren’s inhale when prompted. Her shoulders shake. Maren waits for the worst of the panic to pass.

“I lost count,” Rowan whispers.

“I know,” Maren says. “And that is alright.”

“I cannot do it right,” Rowan says. Maren watches the anxiety start to creep back up.

“You can, I promise,” Maren says, steady and sure. “But for right now, how about I handle the counting for you?”

Rowan freezes. “You can do that?” She sounds like she does not believe it is allowed.

Maren stands and steps into the equipment room for a moment. When she returns, she is holding a white plastic rectangle with numbers on it.

“Do you know what this is?” She asks.

Rowan shakes her head, curiosity returning to her expression.

“It is a lap counter. We use it for distance races with the high school team. Even the high schoolers lose their lap counts from time to time.” Maren flips through the numbers until she reaches the bright orange card. “All you have to do is swim until you see this card in the water,” she says. “That is your only job. I will take care of the rest.”

Rowan’s whole body relaxes.

“Just the card?” She asks.

“Just the card,” Maren says. “You are not behind. You are not doing it wrong. All you have to do is swim.”