Page 54 of The Last Five Yards

Before the volunteer can answer the first question, the girl has already grabbed a pen, the stopwatch, and Maren’s watch, which sends papers fluttering in the breeze again. The mom behind the table shoots Maren a silent plea for help.

Maren steps around the table and kneels so she is eye level with the girl.

“Whoa there, buddy. Let’s do one question at a time so we can make sure you get all your answers.”

The girl moves toward her, too close, too fast. Maren takes a quick beat and adjusts her stance, so they both have a little space. She notices the girl’s T-shirt is on backwards.

“Mind if I help you flip your shirt around?” Maren asks.

The girl nods and pulls her arms inside the shirt. Maren reaches out, turning the light blue fabric to face the right way. The UNC diving logo appears on the front. She glances at it, but the meaning has not clicked yet.

“Alright. First things first. I am Coach Maren,” she says with a smile. “And you are?”

The girl thrusts her hand out for a handshake.

“I am Rowan,” she declares, shaking Maren’s hand with absolute enthusiasm. “Rowan Callahan, and I am nine and a half years old.”

The name knocks the air clean out of Maren.

She looks up over Rowan’s head just as the door opens again, and there she is. Sandy brown hair swept into a messy bun. Sunglasses pushed on top of her head, juggling a purse, her keys, and a cup of coffee. Reese Callahan steps into the hallway like a quiet hit of fresh air.

All at once, the volume of the room drops from ten to one. Everything becomes muffled around Maren, like she has gone underwater. She can see Rowan’s mouth moving and feel the questions still spilling out of her, but none of the words reach her. All she can see is Reese walking toward them, almost in slow motion.

Her heart rate spikes so fast it feels like she can hear it in her skull, a steady drumbeat pulsing through the quiet. She knows she needs a moment to get herself under control.

She reaches for one of the clipboards and takes her own pen from her pocket, placing both carefully into Rowan’s waiting hands.

“Well, Rowan, why don’t you go find your mom, and you two can fill out these forms together.” Maren keeps her gaze fixed on Rowan’s face, refusing to let it drift anywhere else. “Here. You can use my pen. It is a good clicky one.”

She gives it a few clicks, and Rowan lights up at the sound.

Rowan grabs the paperwork and takes off toward Reese, clicking the pen the entire way. “Mom, I met the coach, and she gave me this really cool pen,” Rowan announces.

Maren hears Rowan’s voice behind her as she turns into the pool area, already moving quickly toward her office. She reaches for the doorknob and is grateful she left it unlocked. She does not think she could handle walking back through that hallway right now. She slips inside and closes the door with careful quiet.

The instant the latch clicks, she lets her back rest against the cool metal. The temperature shock grounds her. She stays there for a moment, palms flat against the door, working through the tightness in her chest. Then her legs give a little, and she eases down until she is sitting on the floor with her knees pulled close under her chin.

Her thoughts start racing the minute she stops moving. She forces herself to breathe with purpose. In for four. Hold. Out for four. Again. Again. She tilts her head back against the door and waits for that floating, underwater feeling to settle into something she can stand upright in.

A small, humorless laugh slips out.

“Well, I guess this is what we are doing,” she says to no one.

She takes one more steady breath, plants her hands on the floor, and pushes herself back to her feet. Her body feels like her own again. Mostly. She straightens her shirt, reaches for the door, and steps back into the hall.

Maren steps back into the hallway, smoothing her expression into something that feels neutral. The noise has returned to normal levels. Parents are chatting. Someone’s toddler is tapping the edge of the bleachers with a plastic water bottle. The world has righted itself, even if she has not.

Rowan spots her immediately.

“Coach Maren! We finished the forms!” She shouts, already sprinting across the lobby with the clipboard held high above her head like a trophy.

Maren braces herself. Rowan reaches her in half a second, nearly skidding on the tile, and shoves the packet into her hands with absolute pride.

“We did all of it. Even the emergency contact part. And Mom said I can swim every event if I want to.”

Maren smiles softly. “That is impressive work.”

The packet is a little wrinkled, like it rode around in someone’s lap or was folded in half at some point. She smooths the top page with her thumb. The check slips out from the stack and flutters toward the floor. Rowan dives for it, snatches it midair, and hands it back to her.