“They’re ready,” Curtis says. Maddy walks away the second her father walks beside her, and we both turn to watch.
“She’s just mad because she thinks you’re forcing me to do this,” I say, giving my attention back to him, his brow low and his eyes not blinking until his daughter steps outside.
“Yeah, probably,” he says, shaking his head and turning to me, our feet squared with one another as I stand straight. He puts a palm on either shoulder and brushes out twice before patting and squeezing. When he’s done, though, he doesn’t let go, and the way he looks me in the eyes feels off, but then again, so does everything in my life.
I reach forward with my right hand and pat his arm, squeezing and nodding to let him know I’ll be okay, and his mouth curves into a tight smile.
“I’m happy to help, Curtis. You taking a shot on me…that means everything, and if I can help you in return, I’m glad,” I say.
His cheeks tick higher, and while his mouth smiles, his eyes dip and look sad. His hands fall from my shoulders. I nod to him one more time before sliding around him and moving to the deck area, which is now covered in lighting equipment and a play-back station on a cart. The chair I’ll soon be sitting in is centered on the TV screen. Maddy is sitting in one of the chairs by it, her feet pulled under her legs and her hands in her lap, twisting.
I stop just long enough to run my hand along her back and bend forward to kiss the top of her head. She grabs my arm as I walk by and her hand slides down from my elbow to my fingers, clinging to them until I step completely away. That one touch fills my lungs, and I know I can do this.
The Cumberlands are standing nearby, and as I slide into the tall chair and raise my chin to let the nervous college-intern guy clip a mic to the inside of my tie, I see Curtis move between them, the same look on his face as before. I wait for his eyes to hit mine, and when they do, I smile and give him a thumbs up. He reciprocates, but the hard line on his face doesn’t change at all. I know the look—it’s guilt. He thinks he’s making me do this, but what he doesn’t get, what no one gets, is I make myself do these things. I was allowed to survive. I owe the universe many favors.
“Will, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Donna Morris,” a tall woman says as she reaches her palm forward to shake mine. We shake, and her grip is strong. My lip ticks up on one side.
“Former swimmer?” I ask.
She chuckles and nods. She looks to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties.
“I had my time. College, but never the big stage. I wasn’t as good as you and Maddy Woodsen,” she says, pausing before sliding into her chair to glance up at my eyes. “Or your brother,” she adds.
That’s obligation speaking. Evan was talented for a college swimmer, but he was never Maddy. Death makes people greater than they were.
I nod politely and glance over to Maddy, her thumbnail between her teeth and her eyes intent on the TV screen.
“We’ll start slow, some general questions about your training and workouts here, then move into a little bit of your history. The questions will sound weird because this airs with next weekend’s race, and portions with the trials, so we’ll be pretending it’s the future, sound good?” she says, not really looking at me. She’s focused on the stack of cards in her lap with subjects she’s been told to bring up—the gory ones people tune in for.
“Whatever,” I shrug, shifting in my seat enough to put my feet on the ledge below and folding my hands in my lap. Future—how does that sound? I glance back to Maddy and think the word in my head, my mouth following my thoughts, curving up as my chest warms. I haven’t looked forward to a future in quite some time, but I do now.
I catch a glimpse of my uncle near the far back just beyond Maddy, and he holds up a hand. I nod to him, glad to see where he is—just in case I need to look someone in the eye that I know, without doubt, is in my corner.
The lights adjust, and Donna runs through a few sound checks. I lift my hand to loosen my tie, but catch myself, knowing I can’t touch a thing now that I’m miked up. Prison begins in three, two, one…