Page 66 of The Last Five Yards

It is so direct that it catches something in Maren. She swallows. There is a kind of tightness that comes from being wanted, not needed, but chosen.

“How could I refuse such an enthusiastic invitation?” Maren says. “I will be there.”

Rowan grins like she has just won a state title and sprints back toward her bag, announcing to no one in particular, “Coach is coming. Coach said yes.”

Maren stays where she is, letting the noise soften around her. The water is still again. The hum of the lights overhead buzzes in her ears. The smell of chlorine wraps around her in a familiar hug.

She looks toward the bleachers one last time, expecting Reese to be watching, expecting a silent nod or some kind of conspiratorial smile.

Instead, she sees Rowan and Reese walking out of the pool area hand in hand, Rowan talking so fast that Reese has to lean down just to catch the words. Something warm rises in Maren’s chest. Rowan did all of this on her own. She really does see Maren as a friend.

She gathers her clipboard, straightens the heat sheets, and slides everything into her backpack. When she turns toward the exit, the last echoes of the meet fade behind her.

For once, she does not feel like she is leaving the pool area alone.

Tomorrow, she thinks someone wants her there.

And that feels like its own kind of victory.

24

Victory Picnic

Maren pulls up in front of Reese and Rowan’s house. Glancing over, she sees the house that Reese grew up in. She remembers Reese telling her that she rented the house next door to stay close to her mother. A soft smile blooms on her face, remembering all the spaghetti dinners the Callahan’s hosted during sectionals in high school. A faded wind chime still hangs near the porch, the same one that used to tinkle during late summer nights. Maren reaches over and grabs the bag of French fries from her front seat. The smell of grease and salt hangs heavily in the air. She hasn’t stopped for post-meet French fries in years, but some traditions can fade and then come back, she guesses. She knows that Rowan will enjoy the fries just as much as she did when her mom used to get them for her.

Maren walks up to the house, stepping onto the porch, the wood creaking under her feet. As she reaches for the doorbell, the door flies open with the force of Hurricane Rowan behind it. Rowan is vibrating, and it is radiating out of every pore.

“Hi Coach,” she yells as she opens the door all the way and starts talking before Maren can even step inside. Rowan turns and continues her monologue as she walks through the house. Maren catches maybe every fourth word. There is something about a dolphin kick in there somewhere, but it is impossible to keep up. She follows the young girl through the living room and out onto the back deck.

Maren turns to slide the door closed behind her. When she spins back around, she sees Reese standing on her tiptoes, attaching the handmade VICTORY banner to the giant oak tree in the backyard. Maren walks toward the tree.

“Can I help you with that?” She asks softly.

Reese startles and spins around, not expecting to see Maren standing in front of her. The banner shifts in her hand, and she instinctively tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, steadying herself before she speaks.

“Um, hi?” Reese asks. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Maren looks at her, echoing the same puzzlement on her face. “Well, a little bird told me there was a Victory Picnic today, and that I absolutely must be here.”

Reese lets out a loud, full-body laugh. “Well, the little bird is right. There is a big victory picnic tonight, and I told her she could invite one friend.” She smiles as she shakes her head again. “I guess you are that friend.”

“Coach to friend,” Maren asks. “Is that an upgrade?”

Reese tilts her head, considering it with a light smile. “I think it might be.”

The breeze shifts across the yard, carrying the faint sound of the old wind chime from next door. For a moment, they simply stand there, facing each other in the soft evening light. The banner half-tied and swaying gently between them. It feels easy and strange at the same time, like stepping into something she used to know but finding it changed in all the subtle ways that matter.

Rowan’s voice carries from somewhere inside the house, calling for them to come look at something. Reese nods toward the grass beneath the oak tree.

“We set everything up already,” she says. “She wanted it to be perfect.”

Maren’s eyes follow where Reese points, and the sight hits her like a held breath. There, spread out beneath the low branches, is a familiar faded blanket. One she hasn’t seen in more than ten years. One she never expected to see again.

The moment lands like a shift in the water, pulling her forward before she even moves.

Maren steps closer to the blanket, the memory of it settling warm and heavy in her stomach. Before she can speak, Rowan bursts out the sliding door, charging directly towards them.

“There you are,” she says, with excitement. “You must see this thing I made for my relay. And also, I brought napkins, but they may be the wrong ones. Also, I am starving.”