Phantom Limbs (12 page)

He wasn’t helping.

He gestured toward my mug. “Not too shabby, huh?”

The foam at the top of my mug was creamy and billowy. “It is a thing of beauty,” I told him.

“Starbucks ain’t got nothing on your old man.” He kissed his bicep — a gesture my mother couldn’t stand, but it must have been part of their unwritten agreement, because he still did it.

He was showing me how he could grate whole nutmeg onto our lattes with the wood rasp from his tool box when my cell phone rang. I glanced at it with dread, expecting Dara.

It was Meg. I lunged for my latte, almost knocking it over, and headed toward my room, answering the phone as I went.

“Hey,” Meg said. “Am I calling too early?” The familiar, sweet sound of her voice made me desperate to be close to her again. She had a way of pronouncing her consonants, light on the tongue, that always made me want to get my ear right near her lips.

“Ha, I’m a swimmer, remember? There’s no such thing as ‘too early.’ How’d you sleep?”

“I was sleeping fine, until Jasper peed on my bed! I don’t know if he couldn’t find the litter box or if he’s just pissed at me, no pun intended.”

I groaned. “Ugh, that sucks.”

“Seriously,
nothing
gets that out. You know how they say nothing lasts forever? It should be amended to ‘nothing lasts forever, except cat pee.’”

I laughed.

“I have a feeling that the Extended Stay will be revising its pet policy soon.” She heaved a sigh.

I set my coffee down on my desk and pulled opened the blinds, squinting against the sun. “Have you seen how bright it is outside?”

A door creaked open on the other end of the phone. “Oh, wow. We have this little patio thingie off the back door.” She yawned. “I could use a latte.”

“Ha! Guess what I’m drinking right now?”

“You so are not drinking a latte.”

“I so am! My dad made me one. He has a new machine.” I took a noisy slurp.

She made a disgusted noise. “Lucky.”

“You’re welcome to come and put my dad to work. Nothing makes him happier than being productive.”

“That is a true thing. Remember how he was always getting my dad to do house projects?”

I smiled. Meg’s dad would rather watch TV and hire a handyman, but my dad always wanted Jay to be his project pal. “Well, your dad got my dad to sit and watch sports sometimes, so maybe it was good for both of them.”

“Yeah, it was. I think they’ve missed each other. I hope they’ll, you know, hang out again and stuff.”

Unanswered questions hung heavily in the air. The question of our mothers’ friendship. The question of mine and Meg’s. The question of whether Meg would also move back and what, exactly, she needed to figure out before she made that decision.

“Anyway,” she said after a moment. A chair scraped and cars whizzed by in the background. “What are you doing today?”

“Swimming,” I said. “For a while, anyway.”

“I’m dying to see you swim,” she said, which made my stomach leap. “Could I watch? Is that allowed?”

“Well, I should warn you that, as much fun as training with Dara is, I think watching would be even less fun.”

“I don’t think so. I’d love to see how you train, meet Dara . . . all that stuff.”

My stomach twisted thinking about “all that stuff.” It could be amazing to have Meg there — or it could be the worst day ever, depending on how Dara behaved.

“And then maybe after . . . we could talk?”

“Sure,” I said, as if I didn’t fill with dread at the very thought. “Let me find out when Dara wants to practice.” She’d probably yell at me for not referring to her carefully constructed schedule, which I had long since misplaced or possibly tossed.

I hung up with Meg and texted Dara, letting her know that Meg wanted to watch me practice. I phrased it as a statement so that it was clear I wasn’t asking for permission. But I figured I’d better give her a heads-up.

She called me right away. “Training is not a spectator sport,” she said by way of a greeting.

“Jesus, Dara. What’s the big deal if she comes? The pool is open to the public, you know.”

“Fine, whatever. But you’re putting in your yards. Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because she’s there. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“No! I’m not ready. Anyway, I’m going to have my dad drive me so we can pick up Meg.”

“I’ll pick her up after I come get you.”

I hesitated, dreading the intersection of Dara and Meg. But it was probably inevitable.

I turned to the mirror. My hair looked like roadkill in a windstorm, and my mouth tasted like coffee mixed with garbage. “I need to shower.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going straight into the pool. You’ll shower later.”

“Just give me a half an hour, okay? And could you not drive like such a maniac?”

She snorted and hung up.

When she picked me up, I was freshly scrubbed and combed and minty. She was in a bitchy mood, but I did my best to get a friendly vibe going in the car. “What did you do yesterday?” I asked.

“I knitted a scarf.”

One of her favorite rejoinders: naming things that can only be done with two hands.
I practiced guitar. I shucked oysters. I gave myself a manicure.
“Ha-ha. Seriously.”

“I slept.”

“All day? Go to Sanders.” I pointed at the upcoming intersection.

“I know where it is,” she grouched.

But when she pulled up at the hotel and saw Meg waiting out front, Dara’s expression changed. I don’t know what she expected, but she looked surprised.

I jumped out of the car, wishing I could throw my arms around Meg and take a big whiff of her, but instead I just stood in front of her, grinning like a dummy. “Hey.”

She was wearing a summery dress, black with a flower design. It tied behind her neck and clung to her waist. I tried not to stare.

She reached out and poked me lightly, just once, right below my shoulder. “Hey, yourself.” Her bright eyes sparkled, and she had shiny stuff on her lips that caught the sun. She gestured with her head toward Dara’s car. “Should we go?”

“Right!” I turned and hesitated for a split second about whether to put Meg in the front seat, which under normal circumstances was the polite thing to do, or spare her Dara’s proximity and put her in back. I went with manners and opened the passenger door for Meg.

Had I told Meg about Dara’s stump? It stuck straight out toward Meg as Dara leaned into the backseat to move her stuff so someone could sit back there. Meg did a double take, then glanced at me, still standing by the door.

“Hey, Dara,” she said as she climbed in. “Nice to meet you.”

Dara sat back and glanced at Meg, looking flustered. “Hey.”

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem.”

I buckled in behind Meg and prompted her to fasten her seat belt.

“Mueller thinks I’m a hazard behind the wheel,” Dara explained, pulling out of the lot with less hazard than usual. “I am actually a very skilled driver.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Meg quipped. “Though I’m guessing you’re a great driver, Otis,” she added, turning to glance back at me.

“I’m not bad,” I said, hating that I couldn’t show her myself.

“Well, you’ve got me beat in driving and swimming, that’s for sure,” she said.

“You could improve at swimming if you wanted to,” Dara said.

“I don’t know,” Meg said. “If after three years in California all I can do is doggie paddle, I think it’s safe to say I’m hopeless.”

“Well, you come by it honestly,” I said.

Meg laughed. “True.” She explained to Dara, “My dad can’t swim. He’s petrified of the water.”

“You should have seen Mueller three years ago,” Dara said, pulling up to a red light. “He couldn’t do any of the strokes — and he belly flopped when he tried to dive. Believe me, if he can learn, anyone can.”

Thanks, Dara.
Heat bloomed in my cheeks and ears.

But Meg craned around and smiled at me. “The dark horse. I’m not surprised.”

“What’s that?” Dara said.

“You know . . . the unlikely one who turns out to be amazing. That’s so Otis.”

My face warmed.
Yes, okay!

“Well, he didn’t do it on his own, you know,” Dara grumbled.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that he did,” Meg said quickly. “My dad was telling me this morning about all the medals and ribbons Otis has won; you must be an amazing coach.”

Dara grunted, and that was the end of the car conversation. On balance, I considered it a win — but only because Meg was so awesome.

At the pool we found a table with an umbrella. Meg pulled a chair into the sun and settled in.

“Did you stretch already?” Dara asked, pulling off her “Shut Up” T-shirt.

I hadn’t. I’d been too busy grooming this morning — and examining my body from various angles in the mirror. I also tested how the Speedo/drag-suit combo handled a complete erection, in case of an emergency. Not good. Not good at all.

So Dara and I stretched while Meg dug around in her purse — trying to look busy, I suspected, because it was frankly kind of awkward, especially when Dara worked on the two-person stretches she liked to use on me. Her comfort in handling my body, our familiarity, suddenly felt way too intimate.

When we finished, Dara handed me her goggles.

“You coming in?” I asked Meg, holding the elastic on Dara’s goggles as Dara adjusted them. Technically it was open swim time, but the pool often roped off a strip on the far ends of the deep end for lap swimming.

“Maybe later.”

I stepped out of my shorts and peeled off my T-shirt, acutely aware of Meg’s eyes on me. Drag suits cover up slightly more skin than Speedos, but they still don’t leave much to the imagination. I hoped Meg was thinking,
Wow, he’s hot
, but I worried she was thinking,
Wow, what a tiny package he has!
Because I didn’t think girls knew about stuff like the complete insignificance of non-erect package size or unfortunate situational realities such as shrinkage. This was a grave injustice. In my opinion, these things should be covered in health class.

“There’re your boys,” Dara said, gesturing with her chin. Shafer, D’Amico, and Heinz strolled in, towel-snapping each other’s asses.

Shit.
They weren’t supposed to be here. They never swam on Sundays. “Why?” I asked Dara.

Dara stretched her shoulders. “I told them I’d help you guys work on exchanges if they came today. I think you guys can take first at River Park, but, man, your exchanges suck.”

“They don’t suck,” I argued. “Only Shafer sucks on starts.”

“Plenty of room for improvement on yours,” Dara said. “Come on.”

I waved at Meg and headed to the pool. I dived in and had barely started warming up when Shafer jumped in and grabbed my ankle after my turn.

“Who’s the girl?” he demanded when I came up. “You know her?”

Heinz appeared, too. “Yeah, who is she?” he asked. “Man, she’s hot as fuck.”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “You guys are such assholes.”

They exchanged confused glances. “What the fuck?” Heinz asked.

Dara appeared. She wiped her goggles off rather than pulling them up, which would mean all the trouble of getting them back on. “Swim or get out of the pool. We’re not here to fuck around.”

Shafer ignored her, slapping me on the chest with the back of his hand. “Come on, Shakespeare, who is she?”

D’Amico walked over by us. “Hey, are we doing this or what? I have to start work in half an hour.”

“Yes, we’re coming,” Dara told him. She turned to Shafer and said, “She’s his childhood friend. And she has a boyfriend, so back off.”

Shafer shrugged. “Hey, just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t try to score.”

I was tempted to punch him, but Dara shoved me and it was back to swimming.

I kept one eye on Meg as we practiced starts, and then after, even as I swam, turning in her direction when I breathed, trying to see whether she was watching me. Shafer and Heinz swarmed her, not about to waste their time swimming or deferring to Dara when there was a beautiful mystery girl in the vicinity.

“Quit grabbing the gutter!” Dara yelled. She stood by the wall, checking my turns.

“I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did,” she said, gesturing wildly with her one and a half arms. “If you can’t break that habit, you’re going to be fucked at trials. And how many times have I told you to tuck tighter on your turns? I swear you’ve got two seconds tied up in these fucking turns.”

I glared at her, worried Meg could hear Dara handing me my ass, but I doubted she could make us out over Shafer’s mating calls and the piped music and the yelling and splashing of the kids who’d gradually filled up the pool.

After a while, when I couldn’t take Dara’s shit anymore, I faked a leg cramp. Pathetic, I know. But it was the only excuse I could think of that stood a chance of getting Dara to give me a break.

Dara gave me a look that could have bent metal, but I climbed out and walked — limped — over to Meg. I pulled up a chair right next to her, crashing into Shafer to move him the hell away from her.

“What happened?” Meg asked me. She looked so concerned that it made me feel bad. And good.

“Just a leg cramp,” I said, toweling off. I grabbed my swim bag and took out my water bottle.

Meg opened her mouth to say something to me, but Shafer interrupted.

“You totally have to come back and go to Willow Grove in the fall.” He was practically drooling all over her. “It’ll be so awesome. I’ll show you around.”

Meg smiled. “Thanks, but if I come back, I’ve already got a tour guide lined up.”

“Who, Shakespeare?” Heinz said.

Meg looked at him quizzically.

“Mueller,” Heinz said, nodding his head toward me. “He writes poetry.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a stupid nickname.”

“Anyway,” Shafer continued, trying to get Meg’s attention back, “I’d be a much better tour guide. Shakespeare barely talks — he’s more the brooding type. I, on the other hand, am engaging, entertaining . . . Some even say irresistible.”

“
Nobody
says that,” I countered.

“Will you forget it, Shafer?” Dara exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere. “She has a boyfriend! Get a life!” She grabbed my water bottle out of my hands and took a long drink.