Mom came over from the sink and kissed me on the head. When she’d walked away, I tried to go back to my cereal. Such a boring breakfast after the great ones on vacation.
“I’m turning your phone off now,” Mom said.
“Wait!” I said. They both looked at me. “I mean…you could do it from yours. But tell Julia it will be off. In case she needs something. She should know.”
They both nodded.
“I’ll do it now,” Dad said. He took out his phone for a minute. “There.” He put the phone back in his pocket.
The three of us went still.
The house was so, so quiet.
Finally, looking into my bowl of disintegrated cereal, I said, “We got the lumberjack every day. Well, most days.”
Both Mom and Dad looked interested. They had heard almost nothing about the trip. About what their girls did together when they spontaneously set off into the world.
Mom looked thoughtful. “The closest thing to a lumberjack available at Chez Applegate is eggs. You can make your own toast.”
“Deal.”
“Scrambled?”
“Over easy…please.”
My head felt woozy and my throat scratchy as I packed my swim bag.
I shouldn’t have been nervous for time trials.
Maybe it was because I’d missed so much?
Had to face Piper and Liana?
I refolded my towel and stuffed it into my bag, zipped it slowly.
I was going to do fine. It was better than not showing up again. Maybe I’d have to have bad lanes for a couple meets until I got my times down.
I sat down on the bench by the door in the mudroom and buried my face in my hands.
Mom came to make sure I was ready.
“Oh, Cassie…you don’t look good.”
“I’m fine.” I stood up and wobbled. I tried to swallow but my throat was still scratchy.
“Sit.” Mom put her hands on my face.
Dad showed up, took his keys off the hook. “Ready?” But then he turned around and saw us. “Uh-oh. Thermometer?”
Mom nodded.
“I can’t miss it,” I said.
“We’ll see, honey. If you’re sick…”
Dad stuck the thermometer in my mouth and we waited. It beeped; Dad took it back and checked. “One hundred two. Tylenol and bed.”
* * *
—
Later, my bedroom door creaked open.
“Cassie?”
“Liana?”
I peeked at the doorway.
“I came to see if you were okay. I mean, you must not be, to miss time trials, but I mean, I came to see if you were upset.”
“Oh. Thanks. I was. Now I feel too icky.”
She held out a bakery box. “So…you probably don’t want these?”
Cupcakes. Four of them. With letters frosted across: Get Well Cas sie.
“Not right now.”
“I’ll help. You can have one tomorrow.”
“Liana…what are you doing here? I mean, your mom…”
“I told her it wasn’t contagious.”
“Um, today it probably is contagious.”
Liana laughed. “I don’t mean that.” She pulled my desk chair into the opposite corner, as far away from my bed as she could get it, sat down, and started unwrapping a cupcake.
“Did you really tell her that?”
She laughed. “No. I told her you are my friend and I missed you. That you didn’t do anything wrong. That what happened to Julia had nothing to do with you. When you weren’t at time trials, I told her I wasn’t waiting another day to be your friend again. She said okay, I was right, and she took me to pick out something for you and dropped me off. She doesn’t want me to get sick, though, so I have to stay far away and she’s coming back in forty-five minutes.”
I sank into my pillow, cozy but nauseous. Then I sat up.
“Liana! What about your time trials?”
She laughed again as she started on her second cupcake. “That was another whole thing. I worked it out, though. Coach will get both our times in a couple days.”
I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. “It’s not the same, to get them separate. It’s not a race.”
“It will be. That’s how I got permission. We’ll race each other. I mean, you’ll probably be ahead, but still, it’s better than by yourself. And who knows, maybe ’cause you missed a week of practice, I can kick your sorry butt.”
“Keep eating those cupcakes.” I rolled over to try to get more comfy.
Liana licked her fingers. “I left you the ones with your name. So when you eat them, you will just be Cassie, already well.”
“Thanks.”
The fan whirred and whirred and blew the hot off me.
“Where’s Piper?”
“Piper wouldn’t miss time trials for a million dollars.”
But Liana would.
Liana would miss them for me.
“She’s probably hoping to get ahead of you this summer,” Liana said.
It was the best and worst thing about swimming—having to be competitive with your own teammates.
“Liana?”
“Yeah?”
“Find out what she got today. When I’m back, let’s both beat her.”
“Deal.”
In the morning, my fever was gone. Which got me out of a trip to the doctor, but both Mom and Dad agreed I couldn’t go back to swimming yet.
Which made the day mostly boring.
They let me sit on the back deck, under the umbrella. I brought the cupcakes with me and ate them slowly. C-a-s, s-i-e.
“You sure cupcakes are a good idea?” Mom asked.
“Yeth,” I said with my mouth full. I swallowed. “I never threw up.”
Dad sat next to me and held up a deck of Uno cards. I nodded, and he started shuffling.
“Do you think Julia and Addie got sick?” I asked.
“It’s easy to pick up a bug while you’re traveling, but maybe you caught it on the airplane.”
I texted Julia: I got sick. Did you guys?
Dad and I had played a couple hands by the time she texted back: We didn’t! All good here. Feel better. <3
Dad watched me read, so I told him, “They’re okay.”
“Good….Thanks.”
After I beat him again, he said, “Your birthday’s coming up. How do you want to celebrate?”
It would be weird to have my birthday without Julia. If she wasn’t back by then.
“Just a cake, I guess.”
My birthday always meant that school was around the corner.
“Can you take me to the art store? I need to pick out a scrapbook or something for my journal for Mr. Connelly.”
“Now? Are you too tired?”
“I’m not too tired.”
* * *
—
At the store, I wandered the aisles, Dad trailing behind me with a basket.
I looked at journals. Scrapbooks. Sketchbooks.
Nothing seemed right.
So I wandered farther than I’d meant to.
I came home with a wooden box with a latch and key, paintbrushes, acrylic paints, and a small mirror.
“That’s not a journal,” Mom said when I spread everything out on newspaper on the dining room table.
“Of course it is,” I said.
I painted the outside of the box periwinkle. On the inside of the lid, I glued the mirror and, in multicolor, I painted, “A Journal by Cassie Applegate.”
* * *
—
The next day, when the box was dry, I took it up to the desk in my room. I filled it with photos and medals I took off my bulletin board. I took the photo of Addie from the back of Jul
ia’s journal, and a couple photos of us from when we were little. I could put them back later.
Then I got out a stack of fresh lined paper and also some colored stationery pages.
And I wrote.
I wrote about all my swims from my trip with Julia, each on a separate sheet. I folded them up tiny, tiny, and threw them into the box.
I wrote about canoeing with Dad at the lake, folded it up, and tossed it into the box.
I wrote about the day I met Addie. I wrote about waiting for Addie. About feeling her kick in Julia’s stomach and teaching her to kick in the pool. About her waking me up in the morning and saying good night to her at bedtime.
I wrote about my best swim meets, and my worst swim meets.
I wrote about Liana and Piper. I added my broken anklet to the box.
I searched for the hide-and-seek numbers Julia had given me, and threw in the ones that had been savable. I wrote about our game.
I wrote about eating oranges in Julia’s lap so long ago the memory was fuzzy. On a different sheet of paper, I wrote about picturing the other little girl who would sit in her lap.
I wrote about flying by myself.
When the box was stuffed, I stirred everything that was inside.
Why should my journal be in order when life didn’t always seem to be?
A few days later, I spotted my name on the pile of mail in the hall.
A bright yellow envelope. The postmark was smudged. No return address.
I opened it.
It was a birthday card. Sort of the opposite of a belated birthday card. The front said, “Happy Almost-Birthday!”
No one had signed the inside.
Instead, there was a small, flat card.
It said:
13
It wasn’t hot enough for the air conditioner that night.
Which is why I’d been sleeping with my window open.
Which is why I heard the car.
It pulled up close and its engine turned off.
I flew downstairs and out onto the front lawn in my bare feet and pajamas.
And then I was in her arms, and she was spinning me.
“Julia…Julia…”
“Fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”
She stopped spinning us. I put my finger to her lips.
“You’re right,” she said. “No rush.”
“No,” I said.
We were always hiding, always seeking.
Always finding.
“Addie?”
“In the car, silly. Sleeping.”
Lights had come on in the house. Two silhouettes stood in the doorway.
Julia glanced at them, then back at me.
“I’ll get her,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, you go.”
She paused. “They mad?”
“Um…” I bit my lip. “Your bed is made. And Addie’s. Always ready for you.”
Julia let out a long breath. “That’s good. Thanks.”
I squeezed her again, tight. “Welcome home.”
When I let her go, she headed to the front door.
I went to the car.
Addie.
Sound asleep, drooling, head tipped to the side.
Looking bigger, even though it hadn’t even been two weeks.
I unbuckled her carefully, eased her out, and rested her head on my shoulder.
“There, Addie-girl, it’s okay. You’re home.”
She stretched and squirmed against me.
“Don’t wake up. Shhh…shhh…shhh.”
Did she remember our house? Did she remember me?
How long did babies remember things?
As I brought her inside, I blocked out the sound of Julia and our parents in the kitchen.
It was her night, not mine.
I’d already said what I needed to say.
It was her turn.
* * *
—
I woke to a weight on my chest, and little patting hands on my face.
“Morning, Cass.”
I opened my eyes.
“Surprise.” Julia lay down next to me on her side, blocking Addie from the edge.
Addie smiled and laughed. She shrieked and put her fingers in my eyes.
“You’ll stay?” I asked Julia.
“Yep.”
“You want to?”
“I do. I think things will be a little different now.”
“Good.”
I sat up and flipped Addie onto her back so I could tickle her stomach. Then I lay back down and settled her between me and Julia.
“Want to have a perfect day?”
Julia ran her finger down Addie’s stomach. “I have to go to Carter’s. I have to…explain. And he really needs to see Addie.”
I nodded.
“But,” she said, “want to have dinner tonight? Just the two of us?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She scooped up Addie and headed to the door. “Oh. I printed this for you.” She set something on my desk.
After she’d shut the door, I got up and went to see what it was.
The picture of me and Addie at the waterfall.
I picked it up. And the little card that said 13.
I looked at my painted journal-box.
Then I looked at my almost-bare bulletin board.
Ready to start over with the new layers of my life.
I tacked both to my bulletin board. Stood back. And smiled.
The end of the summer. Regional championships.
I stood behind my lane, waiting for the last heat before mine to finish.
I read the heat and lane Sharpie’d on my arm again, just to make sure.
I was in the right place.
I had a good entry time, so I had a middle lane.
I suctioned my goggles again, just to make sure.
Straightened my suit straps.
Shook my arms.
Hopped.
Just to make sure.
Top eight would swim again tonight. For medals.
I looked down the row of starting blocks; Liana was waving at me. She was in my heat, in an outside lane.
I waved back.
It was nice to know I would have a friend in the water. Even though I would race just me alone.
Piper, who had already swum, was outside the fence, wrapped in her towel. Watching to cheer us, but also to see if her time would hold for the top eight.
And there were Mom and Dad, having moved to the fence for my race.
And in the stands behind them, Julia with Addie on her lap, Julia’s hand waving Addie’s. Even though I knew Addie couldn’t recognize me from so far away in my cap and goggles.
I wouldn’t see them from the water.
I wouldn’t need to.
Here or not, I knew they were always cheering for me.
Even if my race was just me alone.
The water was cleared.
“Step up.”
I looked all the way to the end of my lane and back.
I was going to seek out my own perfect.
I got this.
“Swimmers, take your marks….”
I would like to acknowledge the existence of my siblings, Bean, Bobbie, and Alex.
I owe a special note of thanks to Bobbie and Alex, who gave me permission to borrow their game of counting to thirty very, very slowly.
They have been counting since 1999.
Alex?
Bobbie says:
19
Suzanne LaFleur grew up with her three younger siblings. They went swimming every day. Now they live up and down the East Coast and team up for road trips h
ome to Mom and Dad. She is the author of Love, Aubrey; Eight Keys; Listening for Lucca; Beautiful Blue World; and Threads of Blue. She lives in New York City. Visit her online at suzannelafleur.com, and follow her on Facebook at Suzanne LaFleur Author.
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Counting to Perfect Page 13
