A Matter of Heart (4 page)

L
ifeline Fitness is quiet for a Sunday morning, and I'm glad to see the indoor pool area isn't very crowded. At times, it's as packed as a high school football game—which makes sense since it's as big as a football field. There are two pools, two hot tubs, a shower area for rinsing off, and a sauna. The whole place smells like chemicals, feels thick and muggy, and is about ten degrees hotter than the rest of the gym. But I like it in here. Outside there's another lap pool, and it's okay this time of year, but in the summer the water gets too hot from the sun. I like my pool water cold. Jen says so do sharks.

There's usually a group of old men soaking in the hot tub, their hair as white as the foamy bubbles that swirl over their big bellies. They know me because I've been teaching the nine- and ten-year-olds every Sunday for a year. They call to me now, but
there are only two of them today, and I can't hear their voices over the chug of the jets.

Over in the other pool, a small group of gray-haired ladies are bobbing up and down in an aerobics class. “Eye of the Tiger” is playing on the instructor's stereo. I'm glad I don't have to share the lap pool with anyone. Well, except Alec. Not that I've bothered to look his way. He's in lane 6, as usual, with a private student. They always give Alec the privates, but I'm not sure why. He goofs off too much, if you ask me. There's more to being a teacher than winning over the kids with games.

I've got six kids today. All of them are regulars and pretty good swimmers. Miley is my favorite, even though I'm not supposed to have favorites. She's got short dark hair, big brown eyes, and a body like the Pillsbury Doughboy—round and squishy in the middle. Miley always comes to practice with a huge T-shirt over her one-piece. She swam in it for the first six months until I finally convinced her that superheroes don't need capes in the pool. And in the pool, she is a superhero. Against all odds, this goofy little girl with the unathletic build and apologetic eyes can
book it
. She's my fastest swimmer by far, but that's not what I love about her. It's the pride on her face when she hits the wall first. I'm guessing Miley takes a lot of crap about her weight, but in the pool she just looks good. I tell her to brag—she's earned it—but she laughs and turns red. She's shy and still half surprised to be this good. So I brag for her.

Miley is in lane 1 with Lauren and Nicole. Mike and Billy are in lane 2 with Katie. I've got them holding the wall, waiting to take off. We're doing 50-yard freestyle repeats this morning, and
already they're breathing hard. Katie is trying to sneak her way to the stairs.

“Katie,” I say. “Where are you going? No breaks yet. Let's get another one in.” She looks miserable, but I ignore her. Katie tends to be my whiner. “Wait for my whistle. We're going every fifteen seconds. Swimmers ready?”

I take a breath and blow the whistle. I raise my hand, pointing my finger forward, and then…then.

The pool tilts and the cool deck rushes up toward me.

Oh my God
.

I teeter forward, then catch myself. My heart pounds, fear crashing over me like a wave. My vision blurs and there's a rushing whirl in my ears. It's the whistle. The whistle is going off. I move to pull it from my mouth, but it's already hanging by my neck.

What's happening to me?

Widening my stance, I try to steady myself. I slowly draw in long breaths and blink over and over until the pool finally swims into focus again. The deck still feels uneven beneath my feet. The kids are doing laps. The first kids. The others are looking at me.

Why are they staring at me?

I suck in air.

I need air.

Oh. Right. The whistle. I close my eyes and blow it again. It's better with my eyes closed. No.

It's worse.

I open them, panic clogging my throat. My heart is beating so heavy and hard—something isn't right. It's too fast, stuttering as if it can't keep pace with itself.

Off to my right, there's a noise. I think it's my name, but I can't focus. I bend over, resting my hands on my knees, letting my head hang low.

After another deep breath, the world steadies. The kids are hugging the wall, but they're staring off to the side. I follow their gaze and see Katie standing on the stairs. She's bent over.
Why? What?

Then I hear the sounds. She's throwing up in the pool.
Katie is throwing up. I need to
—

Alec?

He's suddenly there, lifting Katie from the water. “It's okay,” he says. He's got one hand on her shoulder and the other is rubbing her back as she throws up again, this time on the cool deck.

The kids scream and scramble to pull themselves out.

“Katie,” I say. I'm moving forward and I'm a little wobbly but mostly I'm scared shitless.
What if she'd drowned?
I bend down beside her. “Are you okay, honey?”

She nods, looking scared over her puddle of throw-up. It breaks my heart to see her trembling in her pink bikini and a swim cap with yellow daisies.

“Let's find your mom, huh?”

“I want to go with Alec,” she whispers. She won't meet my eyes. I didn't think it was possible to feel any worse, but I do.

“Sure,” Alec says. He shoves back a wave of his hair. He wears it long for a swimmer, halfway down his neck. “You and I are buds, aren't we?” he says, his eyes on Katie. “Is your mom waiting inside?”

Katie nods.

Alec glances up at me. “Can you keep an eye on Benji?”

I look over at lane 6. Alec's student is sitting on the edge of the pool. His feet are pulled out of the water. I don't blame him. The throw-up is floating like a gray film. “Of course.”

His eyes are cold when they look at me, but when he turns to Katie, she presses herself against his side. She obviously knows him somehow and trusts him. I want to warn her not to, but she looks okay with his arm around her shoulder. Safe. Does she know something I don't? Or is it just easier to fool a nine-year-old?

T
he parents have all come and gone. Thank God. Class was nearly over when Katie threw up, so no one complains. The vomit was contained to lane 1 and the chlorine levels are high enough that they won't have to close the pool. Still, I get a nasty look from Bob, who runs the maintenance crew and shows up as the last kid is leaving. He takes one look at the puke and curses under his breath.

“We got a broken pipe in the men's locker room,” he says. “My guys are up to their necks in it right now. This one's on you.” His voice is a tired grumble, but it's still clear what he's saying. “Make sure you get it all,” he adds as he leaves.

All
being the throw-up.

I nod, but I'm not sure I can do it. I have one of those gag reflexes. The sight of throw-up makes my stomach lurch, and I'm
not real excited about adding two cinnamon rolls to Katie's pile. I use a kickboard to direct the mess toward the stairs but I'm too chicken to do more. Now I'm squatting on the cool deck, mopping things up with one hand and pinching my nose with the other when Alec comes back out.

He stares at me a long second. I don't care how stupid I look or what he thinks. I'm too busy being angry with myself. After yesterday's dizziness, I know I'm dehydrated. So what did I drink this morning? Half a glass of milk—that's it.
Real smart, Abby
. No wonder I'm dizzy. I drop the rag in the bucket and stand up.

“How's Katie?” I ask.

“Okay. Her mom said she hasn't been feeling well the past few days.”

“So why did they bring her to swim class?”

His eyes flash. “Why didn't you notice she was sick?”

I pause, my mouth open and ready with a comeback, but I have no answer for that.

“I was across the pool,” he says, “and
I
could see her turning pale.”

“I thought she was tired,” I say. “Or faking it. Katie does that sometimes.”

Also, I was too dizzy to see straight
. I lift a hand to my face, rub my eyes. They feel achy. Maybe I caught a virus or something? Or maybe it's a migraine. I knew a girl in middle school who got migraines and had to lie in a dark room until they went away.

“Is something wrong?” Alec asks the question, but he sounds pissed off rather than worried. As if I'd tell him
anything
.

“No,” I snap. “Except that I can't handle puke, and I've got to clean this up.”

I turn toward the pool and I can't stop myself. My stomach
clutches, rolls, and a choking sound squeezes up my convulsing throat.

“Jesus,” Alec mutters. He strides to the wall and grabs the pool skimmer that's hanging on white hooks.

I reach out to take it.

“Move over,” he says. “I'll do it.”

My eyes widen. “You will?”

He skims up the puddle and rinses the skimmer in the bucket.

“It doesn't bother you?”

“Throw-up?” He shakes his head.

I'm watching him, and I feel stupid standing here while he works, so I ask, “How do you know Katie?”

“She lives in my apartment complex. I see her at the pool a lot.” He gets the last of it, then rinses the skimmer again and hangs it back up.

“Well, thanks.” I shuffle, scraping my feet across the rough, cool deck. “For being there. For taking care of her.”

He turns back to me. “Katie wasn't the only one who looked pale.”

I draw in a breath, glad that the only thing I can smell is chlorine. “Yeah. I guess I'm a little tired.”

“Out late? With your boyfriend?” he adds in a sarcastic voice.

My spine stiffens. “That's none of your business.”

“If you're going to let kids get sick, it is my business.” His jaw is squared and challenging.

And suddenly, the air is snapping and crackling like Rice Krispies again.

“What's your problem with Connor?” I say. “You can't handle that he beats you?”

“I could if he beat me straight up.”

“Oh, pl ease.” I let out a hiss of exasperation. “Is that what's going on? You think he's cheating? Are you really that desperate for excuses?”

“Cut the crap,” he says. His hands are on his hips as he leans in, vibrating with barely controlled anger. “He has to be taking something. No one recovers that fast from pneumonia, and you know it. He had one slow meet and suddenly he's back to one hundred percent.” He rolls his eyes. “The thing I can't figure out is you.”

“Me?”

“You're with him all the time, so you must know. But if you know, why don't you say anything? Is it because you don't care? Or because you're doping too?”

“How dare you!” Furious, I lift a hand to his chest, shove him back.

He counters, catching my hand in his in the space of a heartbeat. I struggle, but he's stronger than I am. My hand is caught in his fist, pressed between our bodies. We're both breathing hard and fast. I'm so angry I can feel the pulse of it rising through my neck and face. I look up, and Alec is close enough that I see a freckle at the edge of one slanted eyebrow. Our eyes meet. Hold. I want to blast him with my fury, but instead I feel scorched by his look.

He's angry, yes. I can feel the heat coming off him. But I can feel another kind of heat too. I'm suddenly aware of just how close we're standing. How warm his skin feels. How the tips of my breasts are practically pressed up against him.

I jerk back. He lets me go and steps away until there's a yard of space between us.

I don't know what just happened, but we're still breathing hard. I hold up my hand as if that will keep him at a safe distance. “Just stay away from me, okay? And if you repeat those lies—because that's what they are—I'm going to Coach.”

He opens his mouth and I think he's going to curse at me, but instead his lips tighten and he mutters to himself,
“Estoy loco.”
A second later he disappears into the men's locker room.

My eyes close, my shoulders drop, but my breath is still coming fast. I wonder if there is any safe distance where Alec Mendoza is concerned.