A Cold and Quiet Place

by Alison DeLuca

  A COLD AND QUIET PLACE

  Alison DeLuca

  Myrddin Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 Alison DeLuca

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrival system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1680630787

  ISBN-10: 1680630787

  Cover design by: Ana Maranovic bit.ly/chapova

  Published by Myrddin Publishing

  contact us at myrddinpublishing.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to wonderful

  and loving fathers everywhere,

  especially Richard DeLuca and Carlos Alfaro.

  It is also dedicated to all victims of abuse.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Afterword

  1

  Lily is about to jump into freezing water. It’s 5:30 in the morning, a numb and silent time devoted to her training schedule. Nothing is worse, she thinks, than early practice when all of her friends are still sleeping in warm beds. They didn’t stay up late to finish homework the night before, working on assignments that didn’t get done due to a hectic training schedule.

  The huge natorium is silent, as though everything is waiting for that first and dreaded cold plunge. In a moment it will be just her and the underwater black line painted on the bottom of the pool for lap after exhausting lap.

  ◆◆◆

  Yet months later Lily will remember this as the last moment when she truly owned herself, one final tiny fragment of freedom before her world crumbles away like sand from a clenched fist.

  ◆◆◆

  She’s been awake since her phone blared an alarm at 5, yanking her from deep sleep into autopilot. Yasmin, her roommate, muttered a few curse words as Lily felt blindly for swim stuff and her sports bag before stumbling out of their dorm.

  A tiny voice at the back of Lily’s mind whispers, “It’s cold out there. Just turn around, head back to campus and crawl into bed. No one will know. You can start back in tomorrow and it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about speed – take it easy. Your main competitor is yourself. Who cares? No one besides Mom and Dad is about to watch you anyway…”

  Shut up, Lily thinks. Just shut up.

  Except for her, the pool is empty. Lily considers waiting for Coach Robert and her teammates, but that’s a slippery slope. If she doesn’t jump right in, it means she’ll have to sit around, overthink things, and find reasons for blowing off practice. It’s far too easy to forget it and head to breakfast… those homemade cronuts are about to come out of the oven at the school store…

  Lily’s suit is damp, snapping against the chilled skin of her shoulders - her own fault, since she was too tired to hang it up to dry the night before. And now she’s about to spend the next 90 minutes following the black lines on the pool floor as she pushes her body to the end of practice. The actual swim isn’t that bad, although as the first swimmer in the lane, she’ll the other swimmers drafting off her strokes and creating pull.

  Even without Coach Robert, she knows what to do. Start with a four hundred, free IM. Then four 50’s descend. Each 50 has to be faster than the one she just did. Next she will scale back with a bunch of 25’s sprint.

  As she repeats the memorized practice, someone else enters the pool area. It’s Tyler with his slow smile, long arms, and perfect swimmer’s body – the guy who’s been haunting Lily’s dreams for months. Not only is he the best-looking senior at Prescot, Tyler is a rising star in the swimming world.

  She pretends to ignore him and checks her goggles as he climbs onto the block next to hers. “Bet I’ll beat you to the other end,” he grins.

  His challenge startles her. Usually the swimmers are far too exhausted to talk to each other. Lily swallows and retorts, “It’s practice, not a race.”

  “It’s always a race.” Tyler dives in a split second before her.

  Her lips tightening, Lily snaps into the air. As soon as she enters her lane, she forgets everything else. It’s just her and the water.

  In swimming there’s a split second when kinetic energy takes over and everything becomes weightless. Lily is surrounded by bubbles in a cold and quiet place, one beautiful instant when the water is all hers and anything could happen.

  It disappears as Lily resurfaces into the stroke she’s trained to do since preschool. Her legs and arms weave a sinuous trail, more eel-like than fish. Three dolphin kicks propel her forward so she can cut through back to the surface to find her rhythm of arms, movement, and breath. Just as she gets it right, her turn comes up in one moment of controlled disorientation before she heads back to the other end.

  Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Each stroke has a thousand variations. She has to control each muscle with precision, including her lungs since one misplaced arm or badly timed breath could knock her out of finals. With hundredths of seconds at stake, Lily relies on all of her hard work to get her to the top.

  As in chess, Lily has to make a series of split-second decisions: two dolphin kicks, not three, good breakout. Don’t breathe too much. Keep going without air. Get ready for the turn, snap your legs, that’s it…

  A quick flip as the universe swirls around her, and she’s on her way back. One stolen gasp for air, just enough to feed her starving lungs.

  Don’t fall behind, she tells herself, but don’t die at the same time. Ahead of her she can see the bubbly torpedo shape of Tyler as he slices through the water.

  Water has been Lily’s element since she was four. It represents constant physical pain as well as a kind of freedom that non-swimmers will never understand. Lily fights to carve milliseconds off her times as she heads into her second turn and kicks off from the wall. Her body can feel the slightest deviation from perfect form.

  The polyester straps of Lily’s suit chafe her shoulder, her thigh muscles ache, and her right shoulder is on fire. The Prescot swimmer’s cap squeezes her skull like a medieval torture device. If she wants to hit the goal practice time Coach Robert has set and keep up with Tyler, she won’t be able to take another breath for another ten seconds. Already her lungs protest, burning from the lack of oxygen.

  Lily pushes through the pain until all she knows is speed, water, and triumph over gravity. Everyone on Prescot’s swim team races the clock for a spot on the Championship team. Her own struggle has paid off, and already Lily’s been picked to represent Prescot in four individual events at Prep School National Championships. Haddigan, another prep swimmer and Lily’s teammate, will swim the 100 backstroke.

  And Tyler. Of course Tyler will also represent Prescot at Nationals.

  Arms piston through the water. Legs kick in perfect balance. Lily’s core controls all motion, her back and abs padded with muscle. It’s an ongoing war against time, water, and herself.

  Her eyes burn from chlorin
e. She’s only eaten half a power bar, so her body’s about to cannibalize its own fat and muscle tissue.

  On Lily’s final lap her swimmer’s high kicks in. She’s about to break the 54-second barrier – a lifetime practice goal. It’s there in front of her, a sunken treasure she can just brush with pruned fingertips.

  It’s always a race, Tyler said. Well, she’s about to show him exactly what she can do.

  She reaches the final turn. The moment her feet push off against the back wall, Lily’s stomach cramps up so violently she nearly sucks in water. It’s a punch to the gut, a swimmer’s sudden agony, and she struggles to finish. For one perilous minute she feels she might drown.

  Injuries are part of any sport, but the pain in her belly is impossible to fight. She’s just able to make it to the edge where she hauls herself out of the pool and flounders to a bleacher seat. Its metal bars dig into her wet skin, and she shivers despite the heated atmosphere in the huge pool area, built by a former Prescot student who went on to medal at the 1964 Olympics.

  Across the enclosure, Tyler has also climbed out of the water. He and Coach Robert, who has entered during the impromptu race, face each other like determined bookends. Although she can’t hear them, it looks like they’re in the middle of an argument. Lily gropes for a water bottle in her swim bag, ignoring the usual ache in her biceps and the velvet feel of chlorinated water as it drips down her skin. The nausea slowly eases, and she’s able to relax.

  Tyler frowns at the coach and crosses his powerful arms, head tipped back in a cocky attitude. Other than their shared New Jersey, roots Lily has no other connection with him. By a trick of fate they’ve both wound up here at Prescot, the top-rated private school on the east coast.

  Lily could try to start a conversation or ask him how practice went. “Hey, gonna visit your family? I’m heading to Jersey this weekend,” or “Hey, Tyler. What did you think of the new weight machines?”

  She could say that, but she won’t. She’s in ninth grade and Tyler’s on the brink of graduation with a scholarship offer from a D1 college. It’s easier and less embarrassing to ignore him.

  He approaches her after Coach Robert dismisses the team. Lily pretends to search for something in her swim bag, not looking up until he clears his throat. Tyler stands in front of her, all powerful shoulders and wide chest. “Looked like that last lap hurt.”

  Lily doesn’t want to admit how much pain she was in. “Yeah, but don’t they always?”

  What if Tyler wants to hook up? His eyes have the intense look of a guy who’s interested.

  She’s meeting up with James after practice. Should she text him an excuse? They’re going to the library for extra study time before class, so she can’t use homework to get out of it.

  “Not me.” Tyler’s chin tilts up so he can look down at her from an impossible height. “They don’t hurt me. If you’re a real swimmer you don’t feel pain.”

  He’s crossed the line into asshole territory. Despite his athletic beauty, it turns out he’s kind of a dick. “Thanks for the tip,” Lily blurts.

  “Are you going to finish early?” Tyler’s eyes are so dark she can see her reflection in them, her face tipped up to his. “Winners don’t quit, you know.”

  “Your wisdom is amazing. You should print that on a t-shirt.” Lily’s protesting stomach swoops when he laughs, and she stalks back to the pool to finish practice.

  “Where’s your head, Batista?” Robert shouts. “From where I’m standing it isn’t in the water.”

  “Sure it is.” Lily jumps in and surfaces to grin at him.

  Robert kneels down and smacks the surface to send a wave into her face. “Belly all better? Good. Get back in the game and start over.” He stands up, and starts to slap the day’s practice printouts onto a line of kickboards at the poolside.

  Lily swims over and looks at one of the papers, held onto the kickboard by water tension. Eight 200’s on 2:30. With a dramatic groan for the coach’s benefit, Lily swims to the end of the lane and gets ready to start in on the main set.

  A few other swimmers have arrived, making the pool water swirl with their strokes. Haddigan waves a silent “Hello” to Lily. “You’re late,” Robert screams. Haddigan makes a face, plunges in, and catches up with the others.

  Staci wanders over to ask if she can leave early, a plea Robert waves off in scorn. “No, you can’t leave early. I tell you what you are gonna do, you’re gonna get your butt in the pool and finish the set.”

  “What, are these on the interval?” Staci asks, right on cue.

  Lily giggles and climbs back onto her block. She snaps into the air, executes three dolphin kicks, and manages to swim with enough concentration to make Robert shut up. He’s a rarity in swimming, a black guy who swam for his high school and made it into the Olympics before his decision to retire and coach. The swim team’s lucky to have him.

  Back and forth. Lily, Staci, Haddigan, and the other swimmers follow the lane lines, breathe, turn, and when they finish, climb out for the next 200. Lily shakes with hunger by the time they finish the set, and she gulps down most of her sports drink.

  “I have to meet up with my tutor,” Haddigan tells Robert when she reaches the starting block.

  “You said the same thing yesterday.” He doesn’t even look up from his time sheets. “And the day before. And I just went through this early dismissal nonsense with your little friend over there. Don’t even start.”

  Haddigan expels a long, aggrieved sigh and gets ready for the next 200.

  ◆◆◆

  Lily swims through the rest of the main set, struggling through the 200’s since she’s better at sprints. With a sigh of relief, she makes it to the 100’s.

  Robert never stops blowing his whistle to get their attention, calling out sloppy turns and lazy strokes. He mimes the motions he wants at the poolside, his arms bent into a dancer’s pose. It’s the only way he can communicate, since the swimmers can’t hear underwater.

  When it’s time to haul her body out of the pool and change into sweats, Lily’s knees are shaking with exhaustion. She hasn’t even started the dry land stuff yet. Her feet slap the cement, splattering little rainbows and bubbles of pool water. It’s a huge relief to change into clothes and hit the warm gym, even though it stinks of rubber and sweat.

  Lily starts on the weights and tries not to think about food. The effort blows up with Tyler sits next to her on one of the machines, clanks slabs of steel onto the weight pile, and lies down to start his chest and shoulder workout.

  “I’m starving,” he pants. The muscles slide under his skin with each rep. His dark body is so sculpted it’s crossed the line from human to art.

  Lily forces her gaze onto her own machine and her mind onto the task. “Me too,” she says. “And guess what? I’ve got time for either a shower or food. Not both.”

  “The struggle is real.” Tyler tilts his head to wink at her and laughs when she grins at him. His good humor is infectious, brightening the dark morning routine. “You like Tribeck’s?”

  “Are you kidding? I love Tribeck’s.” It’s the only deli in the little town next to Prescot, famous for homemade soup and gourmet sandwiches. When Lily swims well at a meet, she treats herself to the bacon and pesto special. “Don’t even talk about it now, though. You’re so mean!”

  “We’ll go later, like this weekend. Or next, whenever.” He doesn’t wait for her answer. “But right now, power bars just aren’t gonna cut it.”

  Lily sees the other swimmers are listening in. Nothing gets their attention like food, but she’s concentrating on his implied invitation. “You got that right,” she says. “Cronuts at the school store?”

  Tyler lets down his stack of weights. Lily’s poisonous little temptation kicks in immediately: You could go right now. Just blow off the rest of the workout and go and eat. Bet if you asked, Tyler would be up for it.

  But Nationals are around the corner. “We should eat egg whites and kale,” Lily says mock-seriousl
y.

  “Oh, hell no,” Tyler gasps around a massive stack of ten-pound slabs. “Cronuts.”

  Any talk of food always makes the other swimmers join the conversation. “Eggs Benedict,” Staci offers from her perch on a reverse gravity machine. “With bacon and those crispy potatoes cooked in butter.”

  “Pancakes,” Haddigan adds, “with strawberries and a buttload of whipped cream.”

  “Chocolate first though,” Lily insists.”

  “Nah.” Staci shakes her upside-down head. “Bacon comes before sweet stuff.”

  Tyler nods. “Absolutely.” Lily looks at the toes of her sneakers and concentrates on her lats.

  When her circuits are complete, Lily dashes into the locker room and pulls off her stinky workout gear. Sweatpants and t-shirt hit the floor with a slap as she steps into the shower to sluice away pool chemicals with soap and dechlorinating shampoo. Legacy of a German grandmother, the blond ends of her streaked brown hair will turn green by the end of the season.

  Hot water eases the tightness in Lily’s back. She’s had too many worries about practice and the upcoming meet. Lately she finds herself lying awake from the nerves until she passes out from exhaustion. Yasmin, her roommate, has developed a habit of throwing a pillow across the room when Lily dolphin-kicks in the middle of the night. The combination of sore muscles and competition worries make it difficult to sleep and give her strange nightmares.

  Lily also obsesses about Tyler, something she doesn’t like to admit to anyone – even herself. Other girls talk about his body, that chest, those long eyelashes. She notices the way he tilts up his chin when he talks, like a young prince who expects Lily to be flattered when he pays attention to her.

  If she’s honest with herself, being around him makes her nervous – totally unlike James.

  If Tyler is an arrogant prince, James is the classic nice guy. Everyone at Prescot says so. Lily met him in her American Lit seminar in September, and he offered to help her with the first project. They’ve hung out a few times in the dining hall, and once he took her out for yogurt. His kisses are as nice as he is – soft, undemanding. He’s polite and comes from what Lily’s mom would call ‘a good family.’