39 McKenna #2
As he makes his way from the room, shuffling a little in a way that reminds me of Glory, I turn back to Phil.
“I have a lot of expenses,” I offer. “I had to make some cuts.” That’s the best explanation I have for why the system failed
me so completely.
Berry stands then and walks over to where I’m sitting. Placing a hand on my shoulder, she asks, “How about you stay in our
spare room for the weekend? On Monday, you can go over to see the people in charge at your school and get all your awards
reinstated.” Her voice is full of confidence that come Monday, my whole life will go back to normal.
Will it though? Will they even take me back on the team?
With eight months since I last trained, my endurance and strength will have plummeted.
It would take months for me to get back in shape, well into next summer, and then I’d only have my senior year left to compete.
I think about my teammates, all the so-called friends who abandoned me.
I picture them lining up to apologize to me, and I don’t hate it.
“I think maybe I’d better call my coach,” I say, rising from the sofa.
Berry insisted on setting me up in their second-floor guest room. She wouldn’t hear of me even stepping outside to make phone
calls until I promised I wouldn’t spend another night sleeping in a parking lot. So now I’m here in this little bedroom, with
its fluffy white duvet covering a twin bed, and cheery powder-blue carpet beneath my feet.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re part of the family,” Berry says as she places a couple of clean towels on the foot of the
bed for me.
“Because I was teaching Leo to swim?” I’m enjoying her kindness, but it does seem a little over-the-top given the circumstances.
“Not that.” She waves a hand in the air dismissively. “It’s the other things.”
“What other things?”
She rolls her eyes at me, at the same time smiling as if I’ve made a cute joke.
“Why don’t you go ahead and make your calls?
We’ll talk.” After a gentle squeeze to my shoulder, she leaves the room and shuts the door.
Given how little physical contact I’ve had since getting thrown off the team and losing my friends, Berry’s frequent pats to my arm are especially noticeable, but I can’t say I mind.
After she leaves, I go digging in my tote. The shabbiness of the green nylon bag is so glaring next to the pristine comforter
that once I’ve pulled out my phone, I hide the bag away, shoving it in a crevice between the dresser and the opposite wall.
Rather than dialing Coach like I planned, I pull up my list of favorites and press on Lark’s name.
After one ring, her voicemail picks up. It’s been so hurtful having her screen my calls all these months, but I remind myself
to focus instead on the knowledge that I will soon be forgiven. I don’t leave a voicemail. She might not listen to it anyway.
Next, I do dial Coach.
“What do you need, McKenna?” he asks, his tone harried. He sounds annoyed, as though I’ve been bugging him for months, when
I think I’ve actually done a really admirable job of staying out of his way.
“I have proof that I wasn’t the one who damaged the pool at Hollyhock.” I take a big gulp of air and add, “It was Vanessa.”
He’s silent for a beat and then says in a tone of deep exhaustion, “I can’t even begin to imagine why you would make an accusation
like that. Whether you’re making this up or actually believe the delusion, you clearly need help. The university provides
free mental health services to students. I should have suggested it sooner. I can connect you—”
I interrupt. “There’s video.”
“Of what? Of my daughter?” he asks as if there’s no way what I’m saying is true.
“I can send it.” I pull up the recording that I now have saved on my phone and text the link to Coach.
I can hear when his phone pings with receipt.
“Call me back after you’ve watched.”
After I finish cleaning myself up in the en suite bathroom, which includes taking the best shower I’ve had in months, I put
my dirty clothes back on and make my way downstairs.
Murmuring voices are coming from the kitchen, and when I wander in, I find Beck standing at the center island, his attention
on a cutting board in front of him. A woman I’ve never met is seated at the kitchen table.
When she notices me approaching, she rises with a toothpaste-commercial smile and an outstretched hand. “You must be McKenna.
I keep hearing how utterly fabulous you are, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
My eyes meet Beck’s, where he’s chopping herbs into neat little piles. He’s still as good-looking as he was last summer, but
now I’m wary. “This is Aunt Yvonne,” he says.
As I shake her hand, I tell her, “I’m not sure I’m so fabulous. Just long-suffering and wrongly accused.”
“Well, hopefully your luck is about to turn,” she answers. “I heard all about the way you’ve been counseling our Leo, and
I’d like to think we’ll be able to offer you some help in return, or at least some good Karma.”
“Counseling?” I look from Yvonne to Beck.
Beck stops his chopping. “When Leo was missing, my parents got access to all his texts. They know you were the one who convinced
him to take the teaching position at the STEM place. And then you got him to talk to Tatiana. Plus that stuff you told me
about the drone racing league.”
“Yes, darling,” Yvonne pipes in. “Now they’re going to love you until your dying day, and nothing you do can ever change that.”
It’s a nice thought. Having people who will love me until the day I die.
“And I’ve been feeling pretty terrible about the way I acted with you,” Beck adds. “I was quite the asshole.”
“Darling, language.”
“Sorry, Auntie.” He grins at her. “But I really was a prick.” Then he looks back at me. “All I wanted was to protect my brother.
I’m sorry you had to bear the fallout of that. You didn’t deserve it, and I should’ve realized my first instincts about you
were the right ones.” He keeps his eyes on me, waiting for my response, but I’m not sure if I want to open myself up to him
again.
“I have to go visit my grandmother,” I say. “Do you think I could throw a little laundry in the machine before I go?”
“Have at it,” he says. “And don’t be surprised if my mom has everything folded and ironed by the time you get back,” he calls
after me as I head out to my car. “You’re a hero in this house.”
Nobody has folded my laundry since before my mom died. I feel my eyes start to well up at the idea. I’m being ridiculous.
It’s just laundry.
As I grab the bag of dirty clothing from the backseat, I picture the ways my life is about to change again. We have proof
I didn’t do the awful things people said. I’m going to clear my name with the school, my coach, my team. My friends will realize
they never should have ghosted me, and I can finally get back the life I had before.
But as I walk back into the house and head toward the laundry room, I start to wonder: Do I even want that?