Sun Seekers E-Book

Rachel McRady

• Herausgeber: Verve Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

** From Emmy Award-winning writer Rachel McRady comes a vital, illuminating debut novel about memory, storytelling and a broken family uniting in the face of a terrifying crisis. **

Six-year-old Gracie Lynn is perpetually curious and bighearted. Convinced she knows how to save her beloved grandfather John from the 'worm' that is eating his brain - a metaphor her mother once used to explain John's dementia and sundown syndrome - Gracie helps him break out of his nursing home, and the two disappear together on a quest to chase the sun.

But what's an adventure for Gracie is a nightmare scenario for her estranged parents, LeeAnn and Dan. There's no way to predict where John might have taken their young daughter, or if he's capable of keeping her safe.

An emotionally resonant novel, Sun Seekers artfully explores the truths of parenthood, the ways in which we sometimes hurt those we love most and the universal experience of deep loss - even when the person is still here. Perfect for fans of Fredrik Backman, Clare Pooley, Mark Haddon and Nicholas Sparks, as well as the hit TV series Parenthood and This Is Us

PRAISE FOR SUN SEEKERS

'A heartwrenching tribute to familial trauma, guilt and loss, Sun Seekers makes for a captivating, beautiful holiday read' - Daily Mail

'In her impactful debut, Rachel McRady explores the intricate dynamics of a fractured family. Through multiple perspectives, she paints a poignant portrait of the complexities of relationships that resonate with us all' - Jo Piazza, author of We Are Not Like Them

'A vivid and often wise exploration of grief, told through the lens of alternating narrators... Sun Seekers explores how we grieve and who we love, despite our struggles to maintain a brave front in the aftermath of great loss' - Jaimee Wriston, author of How Not to Drown

'Sun Seekers is my favorite type of novel: beautifully written prose delivering deep truths about family and the nature of grief. I absolutely loved it. An incredible debut by a writer to watch' - Brenda Janowitz, author of The Grace Kelly Dress

'Rachel McRady's debut novel depicts the fabric of family dynamics in the voices of well-developed engaging characters. The emotional connections across multi-generations are genuine and kept me turning pages until the finale' - Suzanne Leopold, Suzy Approved Book Reviews

'Magnificent... A beautiful tribute to the suffering and hard-earned growth of these characters' - Booklist

Leseprobe

For my marvelous grandfather, John Dozier: Yes, I know how much you loved me.

And for Caleb, Iona, and Isla, my favorite adventures.

1

Gracie

‘Mama, what’s a “grit”?’ I ask, watching the goopy globs falling off the wooden spoon. Mama is standing in the kitchen, stirring the pot with her hand on her hip. She’s pinching her side like she does sometimes when she’s cranky or nervous.

‘For the sake of this conversation, it’s breakfast, baby girl,’ she says with a small laugh, adding, ‘I can’t believe I’ve never made you grits before.’

The grit smells okay, but it looks so gross that I don’t know what to believe. But Mama knows what I like, so maybe the grit won’t be so bad.

‘It looks like something the worm would eat,’ I say, and Mama goes quiet. Her back is to me, but she gets all stiff and still. I can tell she doesn’t like that I brought up the worm.

Grandfather’s had the worm in his brain for two years now. That’s what Mama says. Most days the worm is sleeping, but it’s always there. On the sleeping days, Grandfather tells me he loves me. He brushes my hair back and tells me I’m the most marvelous girl in the whole wide world.

But sometimes, when it’s late and the sun goes down, the worm wakes up. When the worm is awake, Grandfather doesn’t know my name. Sometimes it’s even worse than him not knowing my name – he stares past me like his eyes are covered with a blindfold.

I covered my eyes with a blindfold once at Becky’s birthday party. There was a giant horse, and her belly was filled with candy. I know the horse was a girl because only girls have things come out of their bellies. I wore the blindfold because Becky’s mama told me that was the way to play the game. But I didn’t like wearing it because I always like to see what’s around me. How horrible it must be for Grandfather when he can’t see.

Last week, after ‘the incident,’ Mama told me that the worm is invisible. She thinks the worm will always be there and there’s no getting around it, but I know better.

‘Mama, what does the worm eat?’ I ask her, even though I know she doesn’t want to talk about it. Sometimes I can’t help it. There are too many questions in my head.

Mama keeps stirring the pot and pinching her side. She still won’t turn around to face me. ‘Umm, brains, I guess?’ she replies.

‘The worm is eating Grandfather’s brains?’ I shout a little. I picture the invisible worm – or at least its squiggly outline that’s shaped like Grandfather’s twisty mustache – chomping through his brain. Maybe that’s what made him look that gray color the other day. That day he had to sit in the wheelchair after his accident and Mama cried.

‘Oh, sweet pea, I’m not sure. I guess the worm lives in Grandfather’s brain, but we don’t know what it eats,’ Mama says, turning around and giving me one of her special smiles that she only gives me.

My mama reminds me of the sun. Some days she is so happy and bright. On those days she is the tickle monster, tickling my tummy until I fall on the ground laughing so hard I can barely breathe. On those days, she plays music on her phone and spins me around the kitchen and even lets me wear some of her sparkly eye shadow. But other days it’s like there’s a storm cloud in front of her, blocking her light. On those days she doesn’t wear any eye shadow. Sometimes I just see her sitting there, staring at the wall, and I have to call her name a few times to get her to hear me. One time I asked Mama if she had a worm in her brain too, and she looked surprised and said, ‘No, baby, I’m just tired. That’s all.’

But lately it seems like she’s always tired. Some days she’s too tired to take a shower and she just wears her pajamas all day, and I have to remind her to make me dinner. Some days I make my own dinner. I am very good at making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I can’t cut the crusts off as good as Mama does, but I know what each side of the bread needs – two scoops of grape jelly on one and one scoop of extra crunchy peanut butter on the other.

On the sunshine days, Mama looks like a princess. When I get ‘old enough’ I hope I look like her on her sunniest days. But Mama says looks aren’t important.

‘Looks can only get you so far,’ Mama once told me. ‘And in my case, they sent me in the wrong direction.’

I know she’s talking about Daddy when she says this, but I don’t ask her any more questions, even though I have about one million. Mama says lying is bad and that’s why Daddy went away, but Grandfather says some lies are necessary. Necessary lies are for when you don’t want to upset people. I never want to upset people, so I’ll probably have to tell many necessary lies.

Daddy used to live with us in a different house, but then we moved here to Grandfather’s house when I was four years old, and now I don’t see Daddy very much. We never went on adventures together or even talked about adventures the way Grandfather and I do. It seems like daddies are the kind of people you are supposed to miss, but I don’t know if I actually miss him or if I miss being able to talk about him. Some days I forget I even have a daddy. Rowan Frank, from school, says her daddy is a soldier and is saving our country like a superhero. He lives far away and Rowan told me that she gets to call him sometimes on her mom’s phone and that she can see him talking to her on the screen. One time I asked Mama if we could call Daddy like that and see his face, but she just got real quiet and then she said her phone doesn’t work like that.

Mama scoops some of the grit into the bowl, and I stare at it carefully. I don’t trust it yet.

‘It doesn’t have a very nice-sounding name, “grit,”’ I say.

‘Well, why don’t you just try it before you write it off?’ Mama says, placing a bowl in front of me. She puts some cheese and butter on top and they melt into the grit. It sure does smell good.

Slowly, I dip my Mickey Mouse spoon into the bowl, picking up a few of the grit pieces. I’m a little scared, but I see Mama watching me, so I put the spoon in my mouth because I know it will make her happy. I might have to necessary lie about liking the grit. It slides in smoothly, and I roll the pieces around on my tongue. The grit is salty and thick, not like the watery mash I was expecting. I pause to swallow.

‘Verdict?’ Mama asks.

But I’m not ready to give it my approval just yet. I scoop my spoon back into the bowl, getting more grit pieces this time. Now I’m less afraid to put the grit in my mouth, and I open wide. I give Mama a big thumbs-up.

‘Can I have more grit for my birthday?’ I ask her.

She smiles. I know she’s happy I like the grit.

‘It’s “grits,” baby girl, and of course you can,’ she says, bending down to give me a kiss on the top of my head.

I turn seven next week. My birthday is on July 5, the day after America was born. I hope by then I will be old enough. Mama is always saying I’m not old enough for things. Mama says she’ll take me to Disney World when I’m old enough, and I can’t wait because I have never been on an adventure before and that will surely be an adventure. Every year I ask if we can go, and every year Mama says, ‘When you’re old enough.’ It seems like I’m always getting older, but it’s never old enough.

But that’s okay. I’m about to go on an adventure of my own. Grandfather says it only takes one day to have an adventure, though I think this one will take longer.

The washer beeps, and Mama flings the wet clothes over her shoulder and heads outside to hang them on the clothesline. I can tell it’s already sticky hot outside because Mama lets out a ‘Jesus!’ as she hops down the steps off the back porch.

It’s probably good that it’s so hot outside. That means my dress with the daisies around the collar will dry in time for tomorrow. I need to look my best for my adventure, and the dryer broke a few months ago. But Mama says there’s no use in spending all that money to replace it when you live in Reading.

‘Most days it’s hot enough to fry an egg on that sidewalk, Gracie Lynn,’ she says, wiping the sweat bubbles off her forehead. ‘No idea why I even bother putting on foundation in this town.’

Last week was my last day of first grade. Next year I will go to second grade, which might also be an adventure. My report card is coming soon and Mama says if I get an ‘exceeds expectations’ I can get a bonus ice cream – which means two ice creams this week instead of one. We go to Baskin-Robbins for my one ice cream a week because they have pink chairs and chocolate peanut butter ice cream. All ice cream stores should have pink chairs and chocolate peanut butter ice cream, but they don’t. When we order, Mama always asks the person with the giant spoon to get me extra chunks of peanut butter because she knows that’s my favorite part. Mama knows all of my favorite things.

I think I will get an exceeds expectations on my report card because Mrs Hoyt says I’m very ‘advanced’ for the first grade. I am already reading chapter books and some of them don’t even have pictures – which I like, because that way I get to use my imagination. Mrs Hoyt says I have an ‘overactive imagination,’ which sounds like a bad thing, but I know it’s not. My favorite chapter books are called the Magic Tree House books. They are about Jack and Annie, who are brother and sister and get to go on adventures through time and visit all these different places. I wish I could go with them.

When Grandfather used to live with us, we would do fun projects and he would read me the comics. Now he doesn’t want to do much of anything. He sits in his recliner chair and we talk, and sometimes on good days I ask him to tell me stories of his adventures. Those are my favorite days.

Even though chocolate peanut butter ice cream is my favorite treat, I told Mama that I wanted to go visit Grandfather as my treat for when I get an exceeds expectations instead. We used to visit him every other day when I didn’t have swim practice, but we haven’t been to see him in the home since the incident last week. That’s what Mama calls what happened – ‘the incident.’ I tried talking to her about it the other day, but it just made her cry, so now I will call it the incident too because I don’t want to make Mama cry. Mama makes me to go to Becky’s house to play while she goes to the home and ‘handles things.’ I don’t really know what that means, but I guess I’m not old enough yet.

‘The home’ is what Mama calls where Grandfather lives now. He used to live with us here in his real home, but then one day the police found him in the street in his underwear and he got in trouble because you’re supposed to wear your clothes in the street. So he had to go to the home. A lot of people live in the home. It smells kind of gross in there, like the cleaning spray Mama uses when I wet the bed, which I only do sometimes when I have my pee dream. I know that can’t be what it is because grown-ups don’t wet the bed, but whatever it is, it doesn’t smell so good.

Grandfather calls it ‘old people stank.’

Aunt Sarah is mad that Mama and I live in Grandfather’s real home now, but I don’t know why because we take good care of it. I even planted flowers in the back garden and none of them have died even though it’s the middle of summer. That’s because I have what Mama calls a ‘green thumb.’ That is when you’re good at taking care of flowers even though it is very hot. It doesn’t mean my thumbs are actually green.

Mama says Aunt Sarah is family, but I’m not really sure she is because I thought families are always supposed to be together and we’re never together. But I also know that Daddy is family too, and we’re never together either. So I guess I don’t really know what families are.

I pull my espionage notebook across the counter. It’s where I keep all of my clues. ‘Espionage’ is what spies do. They learn secrets just like I learn lessons at school. The notebook is getting pretty full. I write everything down in there. I write down what I have for breakfast – today I write down the grit – and I write down when Mama pinches her side. To a spy, everything is a clue. And since I’m not old enough to know things yet, I’ll try to figure them out by putting the clues together.

Mama let me watch the Harriet the Spy movie a few weeks ago on Netflix, and ever since then I have been keeping my notebook. I also tried to eat a tomato and mayonnaise sandwich, just like Harriet, but it was really gross, so I’ll just write in my notebook instead of eating those. I’m going to solve all of the great mysteries.

Gracie Lynn and the Mystery of Being ‘Old Enough.’

Gracie Lynn and the Mystery of Grandfather’s Worm.

Gracie Lynn and the Mystery of the Missing Daddy.

Gracie Lynn and the Mystery of the Hidden Brown Bear.

That last one was made up. I know where Brown Bear is. I gave him to Grandfather in the home so that he might help the worm to sleep. Brown Bear always helps me sleep. But I don’t think that Brown Bear works for the worm, because a few weeks ago Mama got a call in the middle of the night.

Mama wouldn’t tell me what happened, but I have written down the clues in my notebook so that I might be able to solve this case sometime soon.

So far I know that Mama got a phone call when it was very dark outside. I know because it woke me up. She said, ‘What?’ and ‘Are you serious?’ Then she said, ‘How much blood?’ I couldn’t hear the rest, but Mama didn’t come into my room or leave the house, so I don’t think it was that serious. The next morning I asked her, ‘Who called you on the phone last night?’

‘It was someone from the home, Gracie,’ she told me. She looked very tired and didn’t have any makeup on, so I wrote down that it was a storm cloud day.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Just some grown-up stuff, sweet pea,’ Mama said, using her fake happy voice. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Ummm hmmm,’ I said very wisely, not letting her know that that made me cranky. Then I pulled out my notebook to take notes on what she said and gave Mama a very suspicious look, just like Harriet the Spy would.

‘What’cha writing in there?’ Mama asked.

‘Just some kid stuff,’ I copied her. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

Mama grinned and kissed the top of my head. ‘You got me there, baby girl.’

The phone call happened exactly six days before the incident, but I don’t know if they’re connected. Mama said that the incident happened because Grandfather is sick with the worm, but I don’t know if the worm has anything to do with the blood. Mostly I think the worm just makes Grandfather confused.

I still haven’t figured out that mystery and a few other ones, but now I’m using my notebook for a different reason. I’m taking notes about my plan, so that when Grandfather and I go on our adventure, Mama will understand. I’m sad that Mama can’t go with us, but I know she wouldn’t want to. She never wants to go on adventures, and she probably wouldn’t be too happy about this one because it’s about the worm.

Her flip-flops flap against the wooden floors as she comes back in, taking a long drink of orange juice straight out of the carton. I’m not allowed to drink out of the carton like Mama, but I guess I can when I’m old enough.

‘Alright, girlie!’ she cries, flinging her arms in the air. ‘Time to go show that pool who’s boss.’

I slap my espionage notebook shut because I don’t want Mama seeing any of my notes, shove one last spoonful of the grit in my mouth, and grab my yellow backpack. My backpack is special. It’s covered in patches of my favorite cartoon characters that Mama sewed on even though it was hard and it made blood teardrops on her fingers. She also pinned my swimming ribbon onto it from last week’s meet. Maybe if I do well today, I’ll get another ribbon. I’m not just an advanced reader – I’m also an advanced swimmer, and Coach Grant said I can be on the Purple Team this summer. Not only is purple my favorite color, but it’s also the team for the best swimmers besides the high school kids, so I really want to be on the Purple Team. But I’m not sure if I’ll be here this summer. I may not even be here for my birthday. I have to save Grandfather, and I have to do it tomorrow.

‘Mama?’ I say.

‘Yes, sweet pea?’ she replies, grabbing her keys and tucking a piece of hair out of her face.

‘Thank you for my grit.’

2

Dan

It’s too bright out today. I wish I could hide in the shadows, but there aren’t any in this parking lot. I can almost feel the heat steaming off the asphalt through my shoes – brand-new Allen Edmonds dress boots that Ashley says are on trend. As I look at the hand-crafted banners and the cars with elementary school bumper stickers, I don’t think the latest fashions will work in my favor here. Suddenly dress slacks and a button-down shirt seem far too formal for a kids’ swim meet, and I feel ridiculous as my shoes squeak with every step I take toward the pool.

What a terrible idea. I mean, I’ve had worse ones, but this one is up there. I adjust the collar on my shirt. It’s stiff, crisp, ironed to perfection.

I wish Ashley hadn’t signed up for the school emails. I could have lived in blissful ignorance, never knowing my daughter had a swim meet or that she was a top-ranked swimmer for her age group, or that she was starting to get the same dimple in her cheek that I have. Living in ignorance has been so easy until now.

I wasn’t there for Gracie’s first time in the pool. LeeAnn took her herself when Gracie was three, telling me as I was heading out the door to a work conference as an afterthought. I still remember that pang of being left out from yet another pivotal moment in my daughter’s life, one I’d even dreamed about. But by that point, I had one foot out the door anyway, so I brushed it away, like I always did in those days.

I was a swimmer when I was Gracie’s age – a fact I’m sure Saint LeeAnn forgot or she never would’ve signed her up. I remember flinging myself into the pool with a giant cannonball as the girls in my grade would squeal – that was me, already the star of the show. My parents would take me out for pizza after my meets, bragging about my medals while I pretended to be embarrassed.

The smell of chlorine wafts past me as I pass through the chain-link fence, taking me back to those days. Swimming was replaced with football, which was replaced with frat parties, which were replaced with after-work drinks, but I feel like I could cannonball back into the water all over again. I wish Ashley were here, or maybe Jack, our son. But she insisted they shouldn’t come; she said Gracie and LeeAnn seeing me would be enough drama, and the day wasn’t about Ashley. But still, it would be nice to have a security blanket of people who don’t think I’m pond scum. Not that I entirely blame those who do consider me to be lower than the dirt beneath their fingernails, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy the wave of shame that seeing or talking to LeeAnn always summons.

I approach a folding table packed with Stepford moms, all grinning back at me in unison. There’s a blonde woman who looks like a former pageant queen whose face has since deflated, another woman whose hair is so light it’s practically white in the midday sun and whose skin is lathered in an orangey fake tanner, and another one who has some of the biggest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. They blind me as I approach.

‘Name?’ Self-Tanner asks.

‘Um, Dan,’ I offer, not wanting to give up my full identity; I was trying to come in undetected.

‘No, silly!’ Self-Tanner giggles as if I’ve just told the most hilarious joke in the world. ‘What’s your child’s name? Or are you here for a, er, friend?’

The women in the group exchange looks of concern, like I might be a creep stalking out kids’ swim meets to get my jollies.

‘Gracie,’ I blurt out, panicked by their false perceptions. ‘Gracie Clarmont.’

Self-Tanner wrinkles her nose in exaggerated confusion. ‘We don’t have a Gracie Clarmont,’ she argues. ‘Do you mean Gracie Abernathy?’

No, I think. I mean Gracie Clarmont, daughter of Dan Clarmont. I was there the day she was born. We have the same dimple. Bring her over here, I’ll show you. But the moms are looking at me expectantly, so I just smile and nod.

‘Dannnny? Is that the famous Dan Clarmont?’ The woman with the big teeth steps forward, surveying me with scrupulous precision. She’s wearing a hot pink tennis skirt that is half an inch shy of obscene and a crop top clearly designed for someone closer to Gracie’s age than the grown woman before me.

‘Err, yes?’ I reply, feeling as if that’s the wrong answer to give.

She flings her arms in the air with a squeal and lunges her heaving bosom toward me like she’s throwing the shot put.

‘I can’t believe it’s youuuu,’ she declares, drawing the last word out and accentuating the pout of her overly plumped lips.

I desperately try to place her, feeling sweat start to pool around my lower back where my belt sits snugly on my hips. There’s definitely something familiar about her, but her name and how she might have once fit into my life completely elude me. There’s so much about my past that haunts me, and clearly this woman hasn’t made the cut.

Her bright smile falters one small tick as she realizes I don’t immediately recognize her but recovers and playfully bats my arm. ‘Corrine, Danny! Corrine Carter! Well, Bryant now,’ she adds, wiggling her finger to flash a blinding diamond ring almost as shiny as her teeth.

Corrine Carter. Shit. I can see it now – just replace that tennis skirt with a cheerleading uniform and take her down a few bra sizes and the memory materializes like a Polaroid photo coming into focus.

‘Oh, of course, hey,’ I reply, eager to end the conversation. ‘Gotta go find a seat,’ I add, though the bleachers are only a third full. This isn’t exactly an SEC stadium.

‘Grrrrreeatt!’ Self-Tanner exclaims like Tony the Tiger as Corrine stands there dumbly, smile frozen on her face like it’s painted on. ‘Feel free to sit in the second set of bleachers. Gracie’s group will be going in about ten minutes. They wear the blue suits. And please do take a flyer for our book fair to raise money for the PTA in late July. Every little bit counts!’

She waves the piece of paper in front of my nose like she’s trying to swat a fly away. I watch it dizzily for a few seconds before plucking it from her, as if I have a choice.

‘Oh, and LeeAnn normally comes in right before the meet starts,’ Corrine tells me conspiratorially. ‘So she probably won’t even notice you’re here.’

I haven’t seen Corrine since high school and I barely remember her from back then, so I’m unsure how she knows I’m more than happy to avoid LeeAnn, but I don’t question it. I just smile and quickly walk away from the group’s superglue gazes, past a much less polished woman wearing a cat shirt who looks almost as out of place as I feel.

Clutching the book fair flyer in my hands, I twist the paper back and forth as I walk past the other parents in the stands. I wonder how many of them know who I am.

Dan Clarmont. That name used to mean something around here. When I was a senior, and one of the football captains, I helped the team get its first championship in thirty years. There was a giant banner in the center of town that had my picture on it. I landed a partial scholarship to the University of South Carolina – my chance to get out of this hick town and make something of myself. Most people at college had never heard of Reading, South Carolina, even though it was only thirty minutes away, and I liked that. I had three glorious years where the only person from Reading in my life was LeeAnn, and she visited Columbia so often back then it was easy to feel like she was a part of this new life I was forging. While it might not be the most bustling metropolis, Columbia at least offered the illusion of progress.

Reading’s biggest attraction is the Walmart Superstore, and that’s five minutes outside of the actual town limits. It’s a decaying place where the heat seeps through your clothes and clings to you like an unwelcome neighbor.

You hear people in Reading talk about how they wish they could restore this pit of a place to its ‘former glory.’ I sort of remember a time when it wasn’t a wasteland, when there were monthly events and markets and bake sales. But sometimes I don’t know if those things really happened or if that’s just the image that comes up every time someone references ‘the good ol’ days’ in any small town in the South. After everything went down with LeeAnn, I moved back to Columbia with Ashley. I may not live far away now, but I cherish those twenty miles of highway that separate me from this place. They are necessary for my sanity. Being back here feels like watching a movie about my life, none of it real.

No one seems to recognize the old Dan, the town hero, except maybe Corrine. I’ve been rebranded now, as they’d say at the marketing firm where I work. These days Dan Clarmont is the absent father. I’m the cheater who can’t be bothered to show up at his kid’s school events, the lowlife who hasn’t even earned the basic honor of sharing a last name with his child. I’m sure that’s what they all think, especially if LeeAnn has anything to say about it.

The flyer is a sweaty wad of paper in my palm now. I make my way up the steps to the back row, my legs shaking slightly. I hope there aren’t any sweat stains showing. I don’t need any more signs of my weaknesses visible in this crowd.

They don’t know the real story. Saint LeeAnn is Gracie’s only real caretaker in their eyes – this perfect parent who has sacrificed everything, while I moved on to greener pastures. I used to think the same way, feel constant guilt for the pain I’ve caused, but over time I’ve learned there’s more to it than that. The bleachers scorch my legs, even through my pants. I wish I’d worn my Braves cap or brought a newspaper or something, anything to hide behind. The lingering shame of my poor life choices burns just as hot as the metal under my thighs.

‘This seat taken?’

It’s Corrine. Her sugary smile sickens me as she stands inches away, oblivious to the idea that someone might not want to be around her. She flicks her blonde hair behind her shoulder, fanning herself with her hand like it’s some huge burden to have to stand there for the few seconds it takes me to respond.

‘Umm, no, go for it,’ I say in what I hope is the least welcoming tone I can get away with while still sounding polite. The flyer her crony handed me back at the table now feels like a giant spitball between my fingers. She doesn’t seem to notice, plopping down so close that her tennis skirt brushes my khakis. I fidget with my collar again, slightly queasy at the smell of the sticky stuff she’s put on her lips. Her smile is stretched across her face as if it’s taking all of its energy to remain perfectly in place.

‘Gracie is a killer swimmer,’ she tells me, putting her hand on my bicep. ‘My son Greg is in her grade. Greg Bryant?’

She says this name like it’s something I’d register, like I see my daughter all the time and catch up on her day, her friends, her life. Like my daughter is more than the three-year-old framed picture on my desk at work. I shrug to brush her hand away and half-listen to her gab about her kid’s academic acumen.

‘Mr Michaels, the crafts teacher, says Greggie has great potential in woodworking,’ she gushes, bouncing up and down with enthusiasm, as if we’re having cocktails on a first date. ‘He made this box out of popsicle sticks that is simply di-viiiiiinnnneeee.’

I politely smile and nod in what I hope is a convincing manner, like I think her son’s popsicle box means he’s obviously destined to open up his own handcrafted furniture store.

The large clock at the end of the pool ticks loudly over the sound of the restless parents and their kids. I can hear it counting the seconds down, the ticks echoing around my anxiety-riddled brain. Here I sit, waiting for my execution.

‘Don’tcha think?’

Shit. I haven’t heard a single word.

‘Er, sorry, what?’

‘I just think being involved in our kids’ lives is the most important thing,’ she says, with her crazy stiff smile. ‘It’s so great of you to come out in support of Gracie, even with your… well, pardon me, but with your history with LeeAnn.’

Corrine feigns embarrassment over bringing up such an unsavory topic, slightly shifting her eyes away from me, but I can tell she’s loving every second of it.

‘Putting your kid first, that’s what’s important,’ she agrees with herself.

I stare at my hands. I shouldn’t have come here.

3

Gracie

‘Mama, we’re gonna be laaaate,’ I whine.

Mama looks flustered like I’m stressing her out. She keeps moving her hands around the steering wheel and squeezing it really tight.

‘We’re almost there,’ she insists. ‘Just relax. You’ve got your goggles, right?’

‘Yes, Mama.’ I roll my eyes the way Becky does sometimes. ‘I forgot my goggles one time, and you always talk about it.’

‘I just want to make sure, sweet pea,’ she says, turning into the school parking lot. ‘I don’t want you to miss your meet. Or give those other women an excuse to crucify me,’ she mumbles.

‘What does “crucify” mean?’ I ask her.

‘Oh, um, it means give me a really hard time,’ she explains, looking surprised that I heard her even though she’s just in the front seat, and I’m right behind her. Grown-ups never think kids can hear them.

We pull into a parking space, and I’ve already unclicked my seat belt and grabbed my swim cap and goggles. I push the door open and hop out.

‘Gracie Lynn, I told you no getting out of the car until I say it’s okay!’ Mama nags.

I take a step back to the car obediently. I forgot the rule.

‘Come on, let’s go now,’ she says, guiding me forward by my shoulder. ‘I was just saying, sometimes the car isn’t turned off completely, and it’s not safe for you to just go bounding out.’

I follow Mama to the pool, walking very quickly because I’m worried I’ll be late and that Coach Grant will be angry. We walk up to the table to sign in, and I see Becky’s mama at the booth. She has a cute orange cat on her shirt. I like cats.

‘Hello, Mrs McGovern.’ I smile politely.

‘Hey there, Gracie!’ she says, smiling too. ‘You ready for the meet today?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I reply, holding up my goggles so she doesn’t think I’ve forgotten them like I did that one time.

‘Great, you can head on over to your group,’ she says, and then she turns to Mama. ‘Hey, LeeAnn, do you have a second?’

‘Sure, Paula, what’s up?’

I ignore them and speed walk over to Coach Grant and Becky and the rest of my team because you’re not supposed to run next to the pool.

‘Am I late?’ I pant as I reach them.

‘Just in time, Gracie,’ Coach Grant says. ‘Go ahead and hop on in and start your warm-ups.’

I gingerly dip my toes in the water, gradually the way I always do before I get into any pool. I don’t like any surprises when it comes to the temperature. Then I sit down and put my legs in. The side of the pool is so hot I worry it’ll burn my bottom, so I hop in the water faster than normal.

‘Hey, Becky,’ I say, paddling over to her.

Becky smiles. Her hair’s already wet, so she must’ve been practicing her flip turns. I’m jealous because she’s better at flips than me even though I’m a faster swimmer.

‘Hey, Gracie,’ she says. ‘You didn’t miss anything, except Greg cannonballed into the pool and got Coach Grant wet and he got mad. But it was funny.’

I’m surprised that Greg did that. I’d be too scared of making Coach Grant mad to ever cannonball in the water, even if it was funny. Coach Grant has us practice our flips and finishes; Becky’s still better than me even though I’m improving. Then we dive off of blocks a couple of times, just to get the feel of it. Then it’s my favorite part – the practice laps. Since we are swimming the butterfly and breaststroke today, it takes a little bit longer than freestyle, but I don’t care because the butterfly’s my favorite stroke in swimming. I close my eyes and picture myself fluttering down the lane. If only I had my shimmery purple swimsuit with the cool silver squiggles instead of the boring plain blue one I have to wear. Then I could look like a pretty butterfly while I swim the butterfly.

I swim two practice laps and am faster than all of the people on our team – Becky tells me good job and Coach Grant says I can go last in the meet to help the team make up for any lost time. I’m very proud and look around for Mama to see if she saw me. But she’s not in her usual seat.

It’s really hot out so maybe she’s sitting in the shade somewhere – but there’s not much shade in the bleachers. I keep looking, and then I see her back. She’s standing in front of some people and she’s hunched over. I can’t see who they are, but Mama seems tense, like when she’s having a grown-up discussion with Grandfather and makes me sit in the chairs by the front desk at the home. I hoist myself up on the side of the pool to get a better look, but I can’t see, and Coach Grant calls me back in the water.

‘Okay, guys, line up in your order, meet’s about to start!’ he shouts.

I practice one more flip before pulling myself out of the pool and taking my place in line.

4

LeeAnn

‘What exactly are you doing here?’

It isn’t meant to be an accusation, but it comes out that way. Just when I was lulled into the safety of forgetting Dan existed thanks to the busyness of my routine, there he is, sitting in the stands at Gracie’s swim meet with Corrine ‘it’s Bryant now’ Carter practically on his lap. It feels like a bomb has gone off.

The instant we arrived, late as usual, Paula pulled me aside. ‘Dan’s here,’ she whispered, and everything around me came crashing to a halt. I couldn’t meet her eye or the eyes of the other moms there; they all knew the hurt those words caused me.

Panicked, I rushed toward the bleachers, scanning the crowd for those broad shoulders, that dimple. And now here he is, hunched over, embarrassed, looking like he wishes he could curl into a ball. Not this time. This is my turf. He has to go.

Standing in these bleachers with Dan so near is giving me extreme déjà vu. When we were in high school, I used to cheer him on from the bleachers as he ran onto the field. He’d look out into the crowd and brush his thumb against his nose twice, our signal that he was thinking about me. It gave me a glow. So much about Dan made me feel light and warm and special, until it didn’t. Until it made me feel just the opposite.

‘I’m here to watch Gracie’s swim meet,’ he says now in a voice filled with fake confidence.

‘Like hell,’ I spit back.

‘Now, LeeAnn,’ Corrine interjects, giving me a saccharine smile and reminding me that she is perfectly sausaged in the middle of our domestic drama. ‘Dan has every right to see his daughter compete.’ She places her hands on his arms and gives him a compassionate squeeze. I feel like I’m about to vomit.

‘Why don’t you mind your own business?’ I snap at her as more heads start to turn. I can feel the heat rising from the concrete, up through the bleachers, and all the way up my neck. My whole life is spent trying to avoid spectacles like these, trying to make it through, to survive unscathed. I glance at the pool, relieved to see Gracie is facing away from us.

I turn back to see Corrine purse her lips and give several parents knowing looks. There goes that bitter, shrill hag who drove her husband into another woman’s arms.

‘How did you even find out about this?’ I ask him, ignoring her hand on my husband’s arm.

‘I saw it on the school’s website,’ he says quietly.

‘It’s not on there, Dan,’ I hiss back. ‘Why don’t you tell the truth for once?’

‘Okay, fine, I signed up for the emails,’ he mutters. ‘Is that such a crime?’

‘I can’t believe you would come here,’ I whisper back, furious, but desperate not to let the other parents hear me. ‘We haven’t seen you in months. Today is supposed to be about Gracie, and you’ve once again found a way to disrupt her life and make everything about you.’

Corrine leans forward, insistent on inserting herself. ‘He is her fa-theeer,’ she cries out like she’s Nancy Grace, clinging to Dan and causing even more of a spectacle.

Dan wiggles away from her grasp, ducking his head away from me as he stands up.

‘No, she’s right.’ He averts his gaze. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I’ll go now.’

He pushes his way past a shocked Corrine, whose mouth is literally hanging open, as I try to keep my cool.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles, still unable to meet my eyes. ‘This was a bad idea.’

He rushes down the steps and past the crowd of curious parents, all watching us.

‘Well, I hope you’re happy.’ Corrine loudly tuts her clear disapproval at me, her oversized teeth glinting in the sunlight.

I ignore her, turning back to the pool. Gracie is flipping around with Becky, giggling. Relief sweeps over me. I may have made a fool of myself in public, but at least she didn’t have to deal with seeing Dan right before her big meet.

Once again, I saved my daughter.

5

Gracie

The trick is to have more strawberry yogurt than Reese’s Puffs. You scoop your spoon through the strawberry yogurt – if you’re lucky you’ll get a strawberry chunk – and then you pick up about three or four Reese’s Puffs and you place them into the middle of scoop of yogurt. Then you open your mouth very wide and put the entire spoon inside. This is my favorite thing to eat for my snack after swim meets.

Sometimes if I ask really nicely, Mama will even let me have it for breakfast. It takes a bit more time to eat than a normal bowl of cereal, but normal bowls of cereal are boring. I call it Strawberry Surprise because the surprise is the sweet, crunchy Reese’s Puffs. Mama says Strawberry Surprise is gross and not very healthy, but she still lets me eat it a few times a week. I think it also helps that I know how to make Strawberry Surprise myself, so Mama doesn’t have to cook anything like the grit, even though I liked the grit. Mama doesn’t like to cook because she says it’s never ‘as good.’ I don’t know what she’s comparing it to, but Mama seems certain, so I guess she must be right.

I crunch my Strawberry Surprise and hold up my first-place ribbon that I got for swimming the butterfly in my meet. I can’t wait to show Grandfather.

‘Mama, can I bring my ribbon to the home tomorrow?’ I ask, putting down my spoon and wiping my mouth off. I need to make sure we’re going to the home because tomorrow is the day I want to tell Grandfather about my plan and go on our adventure.

‘If we go to the home, then sure, sweetheart,’ she says, distracted.

At least she’s not saying no. Grandfather says that no ‘no’ is as good as a yes, which is kind of confusing, but I get it.

‘Can you pin it to my backpack?’ I ask, waving it through the air to get her attention.

‘Give Mama just a second, sweet pea,’ she says.

I sit quietly for a moment. Mama is looking at her computer, and she looks upset.

‘What are you looking at, Mama?’ I ask.

She closes her computer and shakes her head. ‘Um, nothing, baby girl. Just preparing for work,’ she says, and presses her hands against her skirt like she’s trying to get out the wrinkles. Her eyes have purple circles under them and she forgot to wear earrings again, but she’s still beautiful. Mama has to go in to work today for a few hours, even though it’s a Saturday. But I get to go to Becky’s house, so it’s okay.

Mama seems to be worried most days – worried about my unruly hair, worried about Daddy, worried about Grandfather. Not only does she have purple circles under her eyes, but they are also starting to get little lines around them that crinkle when she’s upset. When I look at the lines, I imagine cracks in paint.

Once, when I was five, I helped Mama paint my room. I got to pick the color out myself – Luscious Lavender, like one of my favorite flowers. We painted over cracks in the paint, and I asked Mama what caused them.

‘Time, Gracie,’ she said. ‘Over time all of our cracks start to show.’

That scared me. I looked at my arm, to see if there were cracks. I thought I saw some, but Mama said those are just veins and they have blood in them. It’s weird that there’s blood in my arm. I can’t feel it. Once I got a bloody nose, and I could feel the blood then. And that’s not what my arm feels like.