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“The saying,” Nina replied. “It’s swim with the fishes.”

“Something occurred at the pool that day? Something that stayed with you,” Dr. Jones stated.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“But it shook you up?”

I half shrugged. It hadn’t really shaken me up. I was trained to deal with that sort of thing. It was my job, in a sense. Ellie, on the other hand—it shifted something in her. That, however, was none of Dr. Jones’s business. And I intended to keep it that way.

“Can you tell me what happened that evening? It might help to talk about it.”

“A child almost drowned.” At night—nights are the longest in here—I sometimes still picture that boy’s eyes, fixed and glossy and unmoving. I can still hear his mother’s cries. Guttural and desperate. Primal.

“And you saved him?”

“I performed CPR.”

Her brow knits together. “The result of which quite possibly saved his life.”

“Perhaps.” The boy will never be the same, which makes my answer as good as any.

“Wasn’t it you who pulled him from the pool?”

“I assisted the lifeguard.”

“And your daughter, where was she?”

“I sat her on the edge of the pool, when I saw the boy was in trouble,” I answered, even though this has no bearing on anything. Ellie has her issues, but she’s a phenomenal swimmer.

“And what happened after?”

“After what?”

“After you saved the boy’s life.”

“My daughter spoke.”

“She spoke?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Jones glanced at her yellow pad, at invisible writing. “Ellie is four years old, is that right?”

“Five, next month.”

“Speaking was unusual for her?”

“Full sentences, yes.”

“And what did she say?”

I looked away. “She said, ‘the mommy wasn’t watching.’?”

“And what happened then?”

“I told her she was right. The mommy wasn’t watching.”

“You were arrested not long after the incident with the boy? A few days later? In the pool parking lot?”

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