Page 56 of The Last Five Yards

She turns and heads back out to the registration table, pretending to straighten up a stack of forms while keeping Rowan and Reese just on the edge of her vision. The pool lights flicker over the water, casting a soft blue shimmer across the far wall, and everything feels suspended, like water between sets.

With the last few parents drifting out and the crowd settling into a calm hum, Maren gathers the scattered clipboards and carries them back to the table. The stack is uneven, the corners bent from the breeze earlier, but organizing them gives her hands something to do, something steady.

When she straightens and brushes a stray sheet back into place, she feels it before she sees it.

That pull.

That awareness.

She lifts her head.

Reese is standing near the diving well entrance, Rowan at her side, both half-lit by the shimmer off the water. Rowan is talking, her hands moving in quick circles, but Reese is not listening. Not fully. Her eyes are on Maren.

It is not surprising exactly.

Not shock.

More like a slow recognition settling across her face, piece by piece, as if she is seeing something she did not expect but somehow remembers.

Maren holds still.

She cannot look away, even though every part of her wants to.

Reese’s expression shifts. Softer. Clearer.

And for a moment, it feels like the whole pool pauses, like even the water has stopped moving.

Then a parent calls Maren’s name, snapping the moment in half. She looks down, just for a moment, and when she glances back up, Reese has turned toward Rowan again.

But the look lingers in Maren’s chest, warm and heavy, refusing to fade.

20

Lane Assignments

Maren steps out of her office and takes a deep breath. She has always loved the smell of chlorine; it makes everything feel clean and new. It is the first day of practice for the summer season, as swimmers old and new start to make their way into the pool area. A couple of the high school swimmers came in early and are pulling the lane lines across the pool for her. She grabs the wrench off her desk and tosses it down on the deck. She has taught them exactly how tight they need to be.

Slowly, the kids start to trickle out of the locker rooms; she directs them to a set of bleachers on the deck to have a seat. This first practice is always a little chaotic, mixing the seasoned swimmers with the newbies. She goes down the row, giving high fives and checking in with each of them. As she ducks back into her office to grab a stopwatch, the door opens again. There is a rush of noise, footsteps, and commotion. Maren looks down the deck to see Rowan Callahan running right at her. Maren puts her whistle to her mouth, and Rowan slows instantly back down to a walk. She didn’t have to blow on it. That is either instinct or her mom has already warned her, Maren thinks to herself.

“Hey Coach!” Rowan yells as she gets closer. “Sorry I’m late. There was a train, it was blue and green and had eighty-two cars, and I counted them all.”

“It’s okay. Just go get yourself changed and join us on the benches.” Maren smiles. Turning towards the pool, away from the other children, Maren whispers to herself, “Guess some things don’t ever change.”

Rowan changes faster than any kid Maren has ever coached. One minute, she is hurrying into the locker room with her hair pulled into a crooked ponytail as she is trying to smash her swim cap on over it. She bounces on her toes as she hurries over to the group on the bleachers, talking at the same volume as the kids who have been here for years. Before Maren can call the team to attention, Rowan is already pointing to a stack of kickboards, at the lanes’ edge, asking if she gets one of the blue ones. Maren steps forward and taps the clipboard with her pen. “Looks like you are in lane two today,” she says. Rowan beams like lane two is the best possible thing that could have happened to her. The other kids slide from the bleachers and go to their assigned lanes. As Rowan jumps off the bleachers, Maren motions to her to come closer for a moment. Stepping into her office, Maren reappears with a small bottle of baby powder.

“Hey, kiddo, can I see your swim cap?” Maren asks Rowan.

Rowan pulls her cap off her head with a sharp snap. The sound echoes off the benches behind them. Maren opens the cap and shakes a tiny bit of the powder into the cap, then hands it back to Rowan.

“There you go. Now try sliding it on, start at your forehead and push it back.”

Rowan grabs the cap, opens it up, and lines the middle up with the middle of her forehead, pulling the cap straight back. It slides into place without any resistance. Rowan’s face is one of pure shock and amazement, as if Maren had just shared the secrets of the universe with her.

“Now all you have to do is tuck in the strays, and you are good to go.” Maren can’t help but smile down at this girl, who is starting to remind her more of herself at that age. “Go get into lane two, and we will start practice.”

Rowan walks off towards the pool, turning to shout over her shoulder. “THANKS, COACH!”

Rowan takes off toward lane two with the kind of confidence only a nine-year-old can have, weaving between the older swimmers who are stretching on the deck. She pauses at the edge of the pool and looks back at Maren as if to make sure she is really allowed to be here, then slips into the water with a small splash. Maren watches her for a moment longer than she means to. Rowan lifts her goggles, adjusts them twice, then presses her hands to the water like she is introducing herself to it. There is something almost sacred in the way she does it, a tiny ceremony of belonging, and it nudges at something in Maren, something she hasn’t felt in a long time.