It was so Jamie-like to fall in love with her tutor. There was no point asking the serious questions until new love had been discussed. “Okay, tell me about him.”
As usual, Jamie had no lack of stories to tell about her new beau. It had, apparently, been impossible to study with Michael because of his eyes—so brown, Mom, they’re like, amazing—and his voice had presented a problem as well—He kind of whispers, like some old jazz guy. It’s totally sexy.
Finally, when she’d run down the battery on new love, she came back around to the point. “Anyway, I don’t need a tutor anymore. I need time to study. That’s why I want to quit swimming. Dad’s making buttloads of money now—he told me that—so you guys can afford my tuition, right?”
“One point at a time, kiddo. Don’t even try to smoke me about study time. Do you want to quit so you can spend more time with Michael?”
“Get real, Mom. I’ve been balancing boys and sports since Little League.”
“So, what’s really going on here? Why do you want to quit?”
“Bottom line?” There was a pause, then, “I’m not good enough.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached at those softly spoken words. She wanted to argue the point, to tell Jamie that of course she was good enough … that being good enough wasn’t the point anyway, trying was. But that was the easy road. A childhood answer to an adult question. “Go on.”
“These girls have talent, Mom. Hannah Tournilae is Olympic material. To be honest, I might have quit a long time ago, except Dad came to every swim meet, and when I won, he acted like I’d cured cancer. But he’s not on the sidelines anymore. He doesn’t even call and ask how I did.”
“Your dad loves you. You know he does. Neither one of us cares if you swim. We just want you to be happy.”
“So, you’ll tell him I quit?”
Elizabeth laughed. “No way. You’ll have to talk to Dad about this yourself, but I’ll tell you this, honey, it’s dangerous to quit something because you think you’re not good enough. That can be an ugly pattern that repeats itself throughout your life. Believe me, I know.”
“You want me to finish out the season.” Jamie came to the conclusion so quickly Elizabeth knew the answer had been there all along.
“I’m sure your coach would appreciate it.”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend to agree with me and then lob some grenade of common sense.”
Elizabeth smiled. It was a perfect description of motherhood. “I’ll support whatever decision you make.”
“All right. I’m quitting at the end of the season.” Jamie tried to sound strong and self-assured, but hesitation caused a little vibrato in her voice. “I don’t suppose you’d tell Dad that for me?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.”
She knew her daughter was angry with her, just as she knew that the anger wouldn’t last. Jamie was like her grandfather, a volatile, larger-than-life personality. She could hate you one minute and adore you the next.
“Jamie?” Elizabeth said, waiting for the waspish, “Yeah, what?”
She knew what she wanted to say, but not how to say it. With Jamie, a serious conversation was like driving on the Los Angeles freeway. You had to change lanes with extreme caution. “Do you think you want to quit swimming because you’re depressed about Grandad?”
It took Jamie a moment to answer, and when she did, her voice was soft, trembling. “I miss him all the time.”
“Me, too. I still talk to him, though. It helps a little.”
“You live by yourself right now. I’m surrounded by thousands of students—tons of whom are probably psych majors. They’d lock me up if I went around talking to my dead grandfather.”
“You’ve never cared what other people think. Don’t start now. But if you’re embarrassed, talk to him at home. Stephie won’t laugh.”
“Stephie who?” she said bitterly.
So, that was part of the problem, too. Stephanie was busy getting ready to graduate; Jamie hated to admit that she’d miss her big sister. “She’s too busy to spend much time with you, I take it?”
“Tim the wonder boy practically lives here. And he brings her flowers when she aces a test. Flowers. Hell, she’s aced every test since they asked her to recite the alphabet in kindergarten. Our apartment looks like the flower store in Little Shop of Horrors. It makes me sick.”
“You mean jealous,” Elizabeth said gently.
A pause. “Yeah. Now they want me to tag after them on spring break. Barbie, Ken … and Skipper. Yee-ha. The only thing worse would be to stay in the apartment by myself and watch her stupid flowers die.”
“Why don’t you come home, hang with me?” Elizabeth said automatically. Then she realized what she’d done.
I’m getting the house ready for renters. Could she say it out loud, face to face?
“Home? And where’s that, with you or Dad? And speaking of that, when are you moving to New York? Dad sounded lonely the last time I called him.”