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The water bites coolly for the first step, and the second, and the third, until I’m covered up to my hips. Robin turns, and the smile he gives me looks relieved, as if he had expected it might be harder to get me this far. He touches the surface of the water, making it ripple around him. “First, let’s get comfortable in the water. Walk around.”
I wade over to him, and we push our way to the far side of the pool as he outlines all the steps he and Lyle have planned for me. His voice is animated, but as his excitement grows, so does the queasy feeling in my gut.
I look away, towards the large windows overlooking a grassy yard.
This is never going to work.
“One-two-three, breathe,” I say. “Yeah. Got it.” I turn away from the windows and focus on the far end of the pool. He wants me to walk there, bent towards the water, arcing my arms in strokes and angling my head to take a breath on the third one. I feel large and clumsy in the small pool, and it’s awkward wading through the water, imitating freestyle.
Just get to the other side. I stop a quarter of the way to roll my shoulders and rid myself of the tension coiled at the base of my neck. Who cares what you look like? Just think, once you can swim, maybe you’ll be able to surf . . . surfing at midnight . . .
One-two-three, breathe.
One-two-three, breathe.
One-two—
A sharp wolf-whistle slices over the water, followed by a chorus of laughter.
Robin swears behind me, and I snap my head up to a group of schoolboys passing through to the lane pool.
“What a loser.”
“Shut up, dickweed, maybe he’s slow.”
“Then he’s your type of loser.”
I flip them all the bird just as Robin says, “Ignore them.”
“Ignore it?” I spit out. “Easy for you to say.” I’m already moving towards the side of the pool. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Jase, wait—”
I pull myself out of the water. Wait? When every time I’m waist deep I see images of my drowned friend, face down, floating on the lake right next to me?
I choke on things I can’t voice. I point to the toddler pool to our left, the mural at the bottom of the shallow pool, and the tail end of the crowd of schoolboys. I shake my head. “It’s not going to happen, okay?” I rub my brow. “No hard feelings.”
Later, in the middle of the day, I sneak into Robin’s backyard and place the next Douglas fir. Sixty-two centimetres. It will stand two days before I replace it with the next one, eight centimetres taller. Tool butts his head against my leg after I hoist my bag over my shoulder and pick up fir number seventeen.
“I shouldn’t have got so upset this morning,” I say to him—and to the tree because boy was that the truth.
Tool opens his mouth and pants. It looks like he’s smiling. He doesn’t care if I look like an idiot.
I rub his soft ears and swallow hard.
My pocket vibrates; I set the fir back on the ground and fumble for the phone.
“Jase?” Robin’s voice is hesitant, nervous, and . . . is that the sound of a car engine?
I straighten, immediately feeling like I’ve been caught red-handed. I pray Tool won’t give me away with a delighted doggy yelp.
“Hi.” I grab the fir and make my way down the side of the house, Tool trailing behind me. “Look, about earlier—”
“Yeah, that’s why I called.” His breath crackles down the line. “I’ve swapped my afternoon shift. I’m coming to yours to chat.”
I still. “You are?” How far off is he? I jog towards the truck.
“Yeah, I’m just around the corner. Shit, it’s just . . . I’ve felt awful all morning. I should’ve been more sensitive.”
I dump my gear into the truck bed and—
Where are my fucking keys? They were in my pocket!
“Robin, I’m not home right now.” I look back towards the house. Shite. They must’ve fallen out. “You really don’t need to do this, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Sorry, what?”
“We can chat another time.”
“I can’t hear you at all, I’ll be there in a few.” He hangs up. I get the feeling he wasn’t driving through a dead spot.
I race back into the yard. “Keys, keys. Where are you, dammit?” The watch strapped to my wrist seems to tick more and more loudly as I search through the grass and bark.
Tool sniffs the ground next to me as if he wants to help as well.
“Of course they have a green tag on them,” I tell him as I press the soft grass, trying to feel for them.
Tool noses something and gives a small bark. I scramble over to him and he nudges at metal glinting in the sun. Keys! I snag them, thanking Tool over my shoulder as I sprint back to my truck.
