A Matter of Heart (27 page)

S
he's gone.

I listen as the van pulls out, wait for the garage door to rumble back into place. It's quiet now. So quiet I can almost hear the fury as it pumps through my veins. My fists flex open and closed but I wait another few breaths.

Just in case.

Three more measured breaths and then I head for the garage. I'm not sure what I'll do when I get to the pool, but I'll figure out something. For now, I just have to get there. It's not far—maybe eight or ten miles. The team bus will have already left from the school, so that's not an option. She's left me with no car and no way to bum a ride, but she should know that won't stop me. Nothing will stop me.

Not even hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

My Schwinn road bike fit me perfectly—when I was twelve. Now it looks like the size of a trike; my knees are practically to my chin when I sit down. But the chain still turns and the hand brakes work. There's plenty of rust, a ripped seat, and airless tires but I can deal with those.

I'm strangely calm as I do everything that needs to be done, but there's also this buzzing in my head like I've got an electrical current running between my ears. Quickly, I pump up the tires; Google directions to the pool; stuff cap, goggles, and—at the last minute—a swim parka in a backpack. I won't be cold, but it might give me the cover I need to get on deck and then onto the blocks just before my race starts. I may have to warm up out of the pool, but I'll do whatever it takes.

I'm on the road then, my head bent low over the handlebars, my legs working like pistons. The minutes tick by, as one mile stretches into two and then three. The swim facility is 9.3 miles away. I've done ten-mile training runs before, so I'm not worried about getting there. I'm worried about getting there in time. I'm slower than I thought and the 50-meter free is one of the early races at this meet.

The visor on my helmet blocks the sun, and rocks spit up from the gravel as the road widens and clogs with more traffic. Gas and oil fumes are heavy enough to taste and a truck honks as I swerve an inch farther into the lane. There are no bike paths here. I know the wind is with me—I feel it at my back—but my lungs hurt and my knees are starting to ache from the bent position. I'm losing air from the back tire, and it feels like I'm pedaling through sand.

Another two miles pass. I'm light-headed, breathless. Up
ahead, the light is changing and I push hard to clear the intersection in time. My stomach cramps and I can't remember if I ate anything. I don't feel good.
Oh shit
.

The pavement is a black blur. There's a white line painted along the edge of the road and I concentrate on it as if it's the line on the bottom of a pool. A horn blares from behind and I swerve, barely staying upright. A silver pickup flies by and I scream rage at the driver and at the world and at this damn bike. Sweat drips into my eyes but my mouth is dry. Water. Should have brought water.

My eyes blur. I'm looking through fog, but the fog is inside of me too. I need water but I don't know this part of town. Flat gray buildings. Lots of flat gray buildings. Blurring together. No water here. No people. Road is narrower. There's a train.

Bck bck bck bck bck bck bck
.

Wheels turning over tracks.

Bck bck bck bck bck bck bck
.

I blink more sweat out of my eyes and the fog lifts for a minute. Not a train. My back wheel. Flat. I'm hearing the sound of my rim hitting the concrete gutter.

I swing a leg over, stumble, and hit my shin on the pedal. Pain shoots up my leg. I try lifting the front tire over the curb and barely make it. I'm dizzy. So dizzy. Rest. A second. I need.

There's a tree in a gravel bed. I aim the bike that way and push it and myself a few feet until the bike drops and I nearly do too.

Head down, arms on knees.

It's blurry. So blurry. I can do this. I'm Abby Lipman. I'm special. I'm…

The sky is above me now. It's blue and cloudless. But dark around the edges. I can't breathe.

Oh God. Oh dear God
.

My lungs fight for air but there is none. My heart. Why don't I feel my heart?

I shiver at the cold as the sky narrows and the darkness grows. I fight it, but the cold claws its way inside of me, into my lungs, and the darkness fills my nose and mouth. I'm suffocating. Drowning in darkness.

And in that last instant when my life is fading out, it's suddenly clear.

I don't want to die.

I'm swimming.

I'm in our backyard pool. I'm wearing orange flippers and braids tied back in yellow bands. Dad is at the end of the pool, his arms out, his hands urging me to swim to him.

Coming, Daddy
.

I'm swimming up from the past, in our pool the way it used to be, before we redid the surface. The floor is plain cream and there are blue tiles along the border. I forgot about those. Forgot that before I ever loved the blue of first place, I loved the blue tiles that I held on to as I swam to my father's arms.

Coming, Daddy
.

I open my eyes to pain.

Gasping, I suck air into a throat filled with acid and the taste of death.

Death
.

Life rushes back to me as the light above comes into focus and I'm looking at the cloudless sky. Tentatively, I wiggle my fingers and feel the gravel. I take a careful, shallow breath. My lungs fill. My eyes shut again, this time with relief.

I didn't die
.

I look around. The gray buildings are still there, and the cracked road and the fumes and the cars whizzing by and my broken bike and this skinny tree with yellowish leaves and the bed of gravel I'm still lying in.

I must have fainted, but I'm okay. I'm here.

Dad. Mom. Jen. Coach
. I sigh.
Alec
. I cover my mouth with a hand, holding in a sob. My mind ticks past them all, as if I'm checking my pockets to see that everything is still there. That I haven't lost anything.

Slowly, I push myself up until I'm sitting. My hands tremble. I'm dizzy and light-headed, but I'm still here. Still alive. Relief tastes so sweet as I swallow and wipe my forehead.

I get another chance. A do-over. My face is wet with tears, and I hold it up to the sky, to the endless blue.

But there's another blue in the distance. A blue I've seen a million times before. It's the tops of the blue tents at the Rivera Aquatic Center, not more than a mile off. I'm so close, so close to reaching the pool.

And I
don't
want to swim.

I don't want to die.

A shudder ripples under my skin, cold as ice, while the back of my neck is damp with sweat. I imagined dying would be so noble. So beautiful. More tears rise up hot and stinging. The gravel around me is peppered with cigarette butts, and there are grayed wads of old gum pressed around the dirt and grime. It stinks of urine. My urine, I realize, feeling the wetness suddenly.

I'm nobody now. I'm a girl with a disease who's peed her pants. As long as I'm being honest, I'm also the girl who lied to her parents and her best friend. I tricked my coach and I cheated someone else out of a spot today. And I let a guy open his heart to me and then I threatened to ruin his future. I shudder again, this time at what I've done.

Whatever I haven't already lost, I've ruined.

I've been so stupid. So wrong.

But you're still here
.

The words fill me with hope—and also hopelessness. I remember what Mom said this morning and now I understand what she meant about a fight. Figuring out how to live with
this, that's going to be a fight. Finding a reason to get up every morning—that's going to be a fight.

I'm still here
.

The words circle my mind, and I grab hold of the hope. Maybe it won't be easy, but since when did that stop me? I'm not afraid of working hard. I'm Abby Lipman. I have
heart
.

My hand goes to my chest, but for the first time in weeks it's not out of fear. I feel the rhythmic thump against my hand but my heart is more than a septal wall. It's more than membranes and chambers and muscles responding to electrical pulses. It's still the heart of a fighter.

Shaking in every muscle, I stand. I've screwed up a lot of things, but I've got another chance. And who knows. Why can't dreams be like people? Why can't you get a second chance at those, too?

I have to get to the pool. I need to find Mom and Dad. Jen. Coach.

Alec.

I leave the bike and my pack. The pool facility is less than a mile and I can't get there quickly enough.

But I won't run. I will walk.

T
he meet is in full swing when I limp through the main gate. I'm bruised, smelly, and covered in dust. Not exactly the entrance I wanted to make but who cares. I'm here.

It's a State meet, so the usual crowds look to be doubled—maybe tripled. I'm bumped from the front by a set of parents studying the meet schedule and then from the back by a crowd of young girls running with slushies in their hands. I'm so thirsty, my mouth waters at the smell of cherry ice. But more than that, I need to find Mom and Dad. Dad's working on deck as backup in case the timing pad on the starting block malfunctions. It's what he always does—times the race with a stopwatch the old-fashioned way. He won't be able to leave without a replacement, which is why I'm hoping they're still here.

I sidestep groups of people until I can see the wide grassy
areas off to the right and left of the pools. There are blue pop-up tents spaced like waves, and the grass is so covered in towels I don't see any actual grass. On my tiptoes, I try to catch a glimpse of the line judges.

There are two competition pools and both are surrounded by crowds of people. From the screams coming from my right, I'm guessing there's a race going on right now. I swivel to see the large overhead clock. It's close to ten now, which means it might be the men's 100. It might be Alec.

I can't help myself—I move closer. The line of swimmers is nearing the far end of the pool, white foam flying off the kicking legs, a blur of arms reaching for the wall as the race ends. When the heads pop up, I recognize Connor in lane 4. And Alec in lane 5. I have no idea who touched first. There are crowds around the fence but I shift until I have a clear view of the electronic scoreboard. It only takes a second but it feels like forever. The red lights flash on the black board.

Lane 4: first place. Lane 5: second place.

Connor is pumping a fist at the sky. I can't bear to look at Alec. Then I focus on the times and my heart lifts. He's done it—Alec has dropped the time he needed! He made the cut, what Stanford wanted. I look back, searching for him, but he's already out of the pool. The deck is so crowded with swimmers and judges. Where is he? I need to see him—I need him to see me.

Before I can take a step, a form comes flying at me, and I'm nearly knocked flat. Miley grabs my waist and hugs tight. “You're here, you're here! I knew you'd be here.” She looks up, happiness glowing from every corner of her round face.

“Hey, Miley.”

Her dad is just behind and he's frowning. No doubt he's noticed what Miley hasn't—I'm kind of a wreck.

I bend down to Miley's height. She's dressed in a pretty blue shirt that hangs over her jeans. In her blond hair, she's clipped a red and blue ribbon—Horizon colors. She's wearing the dolphin necklace I gave her. “I can't race, Miley.”

She frowns. “But if you tell them you're late, they'll let you. There's even a TV lady here, just for you. Another man told my dad.”

“It's not just that I'm late.”

“Then what?” she demands.

I take a deep breath, wondering how to say this. But I don't know any way other than just straight out. “I can't race, Miley. Not ever again.”

“But…” She doesn't finish the sentence. It's like I just spoke Russian or something and she's still trying to translate.

“I have a heart condition, Miley. I'm fine—I'll be fine—but I have to take medicine every day and I can't swim with the medicine.”

She backs up, as if I've just slapped her. “You mean you can't teach us?”

She sounds so sad, I can't help but smile a little. I was afraid the heart condition would scare her, but she's only thinking of Sundays and our hour together. And as that runs across my mind, I realize I'd be pretty bummed to lose that too. “No,” I tell her, “I can still teach you.”

“But if you can't swim—”

“I can swim,” I interrupt. “I just can't race.”

“Oh.” She lets out a big breath. “Well, that's not so bad, then.”

I laugh as a few tears drip from the corners of my eyes. As I look at her, I see the younger version of myself wearing flippers and braids with yellow bands. I would have said the exact same thing. Swimming was all that mattered.

And Alec's voice fills my mind.

Swimming wasn't always about winning
.

He was right. I didn't start out dreaming of a medal. I wasn't dreaming at all because I had everything I wanted. A pool. Sunshine. My dad waiting for me in the deep end. I hug Miley. “You're right,” I say. “It's not so bad.”

When I pull back, she straightens the dolphin necklace. “So I'll see you on Sunday?”

“Yep, you will,” I say. “Sorry about today.”

“That's okay. Someday, I'm going to swim at State.”

I nod. “And I'll be here to watch you.”

“You better,” she snaps. “You're going to be my coach.”

My heart squeezes like it's just been hugged too. Then I narrow one eye and point my finger. “That doesn't mean I'm letting you off easy on Sunday.”

She laughs and reaches for her dad's hand, and I wave as they walk off. When I turn back toward the pool, Mom and Dad are standing there. Dad is still wearing his stopwatch and his line judge badge. Thank God they haven't already left. Mom is crying and Dad is just staring like he's sleepwalking or like he doesn't even know who I am.

“Daddy?” I say. I'm breaking into pieces. Now I know why I had to get here. I'm trying to swim into my daddy's arms the way I always did.

And then he holds them open wide. I choke back a cry and
bury myself in his chest. “I can't do it. I thought I could, but I can't.”

“Shhh,” he says. “It's okay.”

We stay like that until I stop shaking. Then he lets go and grips my fingers and squeezes. He wipes the tears from his face and with his wet fingers, he tries to wipe my cheeks dry. His tears are on my face and my tears are on his hands and I wonder if the only thing between us now will be sadness and disappointment.

But then he forces my chin up and his eyes look into mine. “Abby, you are my dream—our dream,” he says, gesturing to Mom. “You were from the day you were born. How did I screw up so much as a father that you don't know that?”

“You didn't screw up,” I blubber.

“Neither did you,” he says. He shoots Mom a look. “We'll get through this, the three of us.”

“Abby?” someone says.

I turn. It's Bree.

“Coach said you weren't coming. You okay?” she adds when she registers how I look.

“Yeah, fine.” But I'm looking around now and realize I'm in the middle of a packed pool deck, crying, and I've been hugging my parents. In sweats that smell of urine.
God, so embarrassing
.

Mom, as usual, seems to know exactly what I'm thinking. “It's a long story, Bree. I'm sure Abby will tell you later.” She puts a protective arm around my shoulder and Bree gives me another long look before she takes off. I know she's headed to our team area to tell everyone I'm here and looking scary-bad. When Bree is gone, Mom says, “Should we go home?”

“I need to stay,” I say, just as another horn goes off. “This is my team. I want to be here to cheer them on.”

“They'll understand,” Mom says.

“I don't want them to have to.” I try to straighten my ponytail and then wipe my cheeks dry.

They swap glances and then nod. Dad looks at his watch. “You've got about thirty minutes until Jen's heat.”

“Perfect,” I say. “There's someone I need to find.”