Whisper Privileges (34 page)

Vic went first and the kids filed in behind
him while Sam brought up the rear. “Anyone have to use the
bathroom?”

“We just went!” a chubby little brown-haired
girl protested.

“Just checking.” When she lowered to the
metal seat she asked, “You sitting with us, or hanging out with
Prince Charming?”

Vic glanced down over the row of small heads,
as though he, too, were interested in her answer.

“I think I’m going to float.”

“You can float?” the older Latino boy asked
in amazement.

“
Hector
.” Sam gave him a light elbow.
“She means ‘hang around,’ not that she’s actually going to
float
.”

His enthusiasm fell. “Oh.”

Sydney chuckled. She wasn’t sure if he was
more disappointed over the fact that he asked a silly question or
that she wasn’t actually going to float.

“So how will we know when it’s Q’s race?” Sam
asked.

“Listen for the name Rutledge and then watch
the board.” She pointed to the scoreboard overhead of the pool.
“They’ll give you his lane number and then post times after the
race.”

“Got it.”

Satisfied Sam and her troop were settled in,
Sydney jogged down the stairs and took up residence on the opposite
side of the pool as Clay. She doubted he’d walk over and stand by
her, though when it came to Clay, no move seemed too bold for the
man. In between heats at the moment, she looked up at the
scoreboard to see the names lighting up. No Rutledge. Swinging her
gaze back down, she landed square on Clay.

He was watching her. She glanced away, but
unable to ignore him, returned to face him. He smiled, and she
found it to be an
I-know-what-you’re-doing
smile. Well what
if he did, she mused. She didn’t have to play on his terms. She
could play on hers. Though she felt a bit stupid as she turned away
once more, walking like she had somewhere to go.

Sydney checked her watch. She contemplated
the venue, the crowd. Excitement had crested to new levels. The
games were winding down and energy was winding up. She knew no one
needed anything at the moment but felt like she needed something to
do. Standing idle wasn’t helping. But uncertain as to exactly when
Q’s race was set to start, she didn’t want to walk off and miss
it.

She stopped and crossed her arms. She
surveyed the pool deck, the entrance area. She shifted her weight
from heel to heel. And despite her intentions otherwise, her gaze
drifted back to Clay. His family sat in the stands behind him, they
appeared stately figures among a backdrop of Middle America.
Charlie and Trish were next to them, yapping about who knows what.
Clay’s parents on the other hand were subdued as they chatted
between them. Then there was Clay. He was standing like her. His
arms crossed, like hers. And staring—at her, like she was staring
at him.

She groaned inwardly.
This was
awkward
. But when he smiled, it became downright ludicrous.
They were two grown adults standing on opposite edges of the pool
making eyes—or who knows what—at each other across the proverbial
crowded room. And why? Because they liked each other? Had the hots
for each other? She whipped her head away. This was insane.
Immature. Memories of their kiss tiptoed into her mind, creating a
jumble of want, unease and longing. His mouth had been so warm, so
moist, his touch so tender... When he slid his hand up her thigh,
she reacted. When he grazed over her underwear, she reacted.

Sydney swallowed and looked around,
uncomfortable with where her thoughts were going while standing in
this venue. No one knew what she was thinking. Nobody seemed to be
paying attention to her at all. Everyone seemed intent on the next
race, their next competition. But she knew what she was thinking.
She hadn’t felt that kind of anticipatory desire in a long time and
her body churned with recollection. Her body had been swollen with
want at his mere touch. An image of Trish’s legs popped into her
reverie and made a sticky mess of everything. Sydney shoved the
images from her brain, the feelings brewing down below, and headed
toward the pool office. She didn’t want to be in the position where
pleasurable recall mingled with the reality at hand. Thoughts,
memories, feelings, people... She just wanted to watch a race.

The race. She stopped, turned and checked the
scoreboard once again. A burst of nerves erupted in her belly. Q
was in lane four! Her gaze swapped scoreboard for Clay and was
comforted by the fact that his demeanor had grown sober. Gaze
fastened on his son, this wasn’t about her anymore. It was about
Q.

Shooting a glance toward Sam, she glimpsed
sight of Vic pointing to the board. Sam gave her a brief wave and
thumbs-up to let her know the kids were aware this was the one.
Sydney’s chest tightened. She could feel the pulse of the crowd rev
up. Before each race there seemed to be a lull in noise, a quiet
expectation as the swimmers took their place, then applause and
cheer would erupt as they rooted their swimmers on. She located Q
and wondered how he was doing. Was he nervous? Scared? Perched in
place, he pulled the silver mirrored goggles over his head and
adjusted his black swim cap. She hoped her pep talk would help. She
hoped it calmed his pre-race jitters. But she couldn’t tell. As he
adjusted the straps, fiddled with his hair, she had no indication
how he was feeling. Her heart squeezed.
You can do this, Q. You
can do it
.

She scanned the roster of swimmers.
Competition was fierce today. The gold was at stake and, odds were,
it would be close. When up against an easy opponent, her emotions
never rocked the way they did when she believed it would be a tough
match. Then her emotions screamed. Her nerves screamed, her mind
honed to a finely tuned point. Now, everything was about the
win.

Sydney watched the swimmers get into final
position. Goggles on, a few took the opportunity for a last minute
muscle stretch. This group of swimmers was older and obviously more
advanced than some she had seen. A few races proved more doggy
paddle than swim. But not this one. This one was about the gold and
felt every inch as serious.

Sydney checked on Clay one last time. He was
rock still. Behind him, his parents sat attentive. His mother held
a video camera, his father sat ready to watch. Even Charlie and
Trish were paying attention now. Once again, Sydney was struck by
her appearance. Sweeping locks of shiny blonde hair, make-up
applied to perfection, a body most would kill for, Trish was beyond
attractive, even from this distance.

Franklin Stevens, lane one
.
Jeremy
Brown
, lane two. Swimmers stood tall as overhead announcements
continued.
John Adelman, lane three
.
Charles Rutledge the
Fourth, lane four
. Her pulse kicked. Okay, Q, it’s show time!
Sydney moved to the side of the pool as the rest of the names were
called out. Swimmers and visitors meandered about the deck, most
pausing to watch as Q and the others took position.

“Swimmers, take your mark,” blared the
announcement.

Sydney saw the timer had been reset. Double
zeros glowed across the board.

“Get set.”

She held her breath. Her pulse continued to
thump.

The horn sounded. Bodies dove.
They were
off
!

Sydney took several steps forward, adrenaline
kicking through her limbs as she watched Q dive into the water.
Breaking the surface, he launched into an easy rhythm. Fluid and
calm, the boy was a beautiful sight to behold. His moves were
smooth, his timing like clockwork as he seamlessly cut through the
water, stroke after stroke.
Q counts his strokes. That’s how he
keeps track of time
. She recalled Clay’s words and felt like
she was watching them in action. Fans yelled all around her. Young
girls shrieked at the tops of their lungs. Q was totally in charge
as he swam with the pack. Her heart kicked into high gear.
He
could definitely win this thing
.

Closing in on the wall, she watched his head
dunk, his body flip for the turn and just like that, he was on his
way to the opposite wall. She cupped hands to mouth and shouted
over the others, “Go, Q! Go!” Distance was beginning to form
between him and the other swimmers. “Go, Q!” But not the boy in
lane three. Heartbeats pummeled through her chest. He and Q were
near dead even.

She flashed to Clay. He was shouting,
cheering his boy on. His parents were on their feet now as were
most of the spectators around them.

“Go, Q!” Sydney yelled, pulling her thoughts
away from his family. “You can do it! You can do it!”

Bodies flipped at the wall and headed back in
the opposite direction. Swimming the 200 meter freestyle, they were
halfway home, yet Q and the other boy remained near even. C’mon, Q.
“Push yourself,” she whispered aloud.
Push
.

Three-quarters of the way down, Q began to
pull ahead. She jumped in excitement, heart hammering in her chest.
“Yes, Q! Yes!” she shouted. Fans around her shouted, but she only
had attention for Q.

He neared the wall first and flipped, quickly
followed by his challenger. When heads emerged, Q was almost a full
length farther than the other boy. “You got it!” she cried and
pumped a fist in the air. He was going to do it. He was going to
win! She moved closer to pool’s edge. “You can do it, Q!” Throat
scratched and raw, she continued at the top of her lungs. “You can
do it! You can do it!” It became a chant across his team.

Q’s lead began to widen and people went
crazy. It was the last lap. The last fifty yards. Everyone was
paying attention to the two battling for the lead. “Go, Q, go! Go,
Q, go!”

Yes
, Q. She clenched her hands
together and silently urged him on.
You’re golden
.
You’ve
got it
.

Q’s arm flew up, his body twisted. Sydney
gasped as his head slapped the water, then with a grotesque jerk,
he went under.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sydney’s heart lurched. “Oh my God—”

The horn blared. Clay shoved between people,
dove into the pool.

Sydney watched in horror as swimmers
continued to swim while Clay swam beneath them. One by one, they
hit the finish line but the crowd was silent. Hands grabbed the
coping. Heads turned to check the scoreboard. But no one cheered.
They stood shock-still, mouths agape.

Clay reached Q and in a quick tangle of
bodies, maneuvered him to the surface. His blond head whipped
about. Medical personnel ran to the pool and Clay immediately
pushed his way heavily through the shallow water. Clutched within
his arms, mouth clenched, Q’s head twitched with repetitive jerks
to one side.

Fear clamped down hard and Sydney forced
herself to move. She pushed people out of her way and ran toward
Clay. Bodies bumped at her passing, lumbering in disbelief. A few
elbows jabbed her accidentally. But none of it would prevent her
passage.

Two medics dropped to their knees and hoisted
Q’s body out of the water, his head continually jerking in the
rhythmic manner. One of them gingerly laid him down on his side as
Clay climbed out and crouched beside them. Murmurs swept across the
crowd of onlookers and Sydney stopped short.
Should she go
there
?
Was it her place
?

One medic checked for his pulse. Another
wrapped a band high up on his arm. A woman and two others appeared
on scene to consult with the first two. Sydney’s arms turned
feather light by her side.
What happened
?
Was he
okay
?
Was he
—?

She sought Clay’s face for clues and froze.
His panic-stricken expression said it all. Blood pulsed between her
ears.
Was he dead
?

Sydney didn’t know what to do. She wanted to
help Clay, to help Q—but she was helpless, her limbs a shredded
mass of nothing. Sam appeared by her side and grasped hold of her
arm. “He’s gonna be okay,” she whispered.

She didn’t know that! She couldn’t be sure.
Transfixed by the events unfolding, Sydney trembled. A medic tapped
the inner crux of Q’s elbow, then inserted a syringe. Another held
a stethoscope to his back, then his chest. At least his head had
stopped its dreadful movement.

Medics reeled off comments, words. They
turned Q flat on his back. Clay was a statue amidst them.

The sight made her ill.

“Don’t worry.” Sydney felt a warm arm slide
around her shoulders. Sam pulled her close and she strained for
strength to return. “He’s in good hands. He’ll be okay.”

Sydney wanted it to be true. She willed it to
be so. Please. Let him be okay, she prayed.
Please
.

More medical staff arrived, stretcher in
hand, awaiting instructions. Nudging Clay to back off, the group of
them made space for the mobile stretcher. In one swift coordinated
show of movement, the men gently lifted Q’s body from the cement
ground and onto the thin cushion. Grasping handles on either end,
their squatted bodies rose in unison, lifting the stretcher with
them.

Clay hovered close, eyes riveted on his son.
The pain etched in his face unraveled her even further.
What
must he be thinking
?
What was he feeling
?

People backed out of the way in a wave of
response as the medics carried Q from the pool. No one made a move.
Friends, fans, volunteers all stood immobile. Clay followed the
team out through the pool foyer, his parents on his heel. Events
were manned by doctors and nurses, specially trained to deal with
the needs of the athletes. Sydney knew there would be an ambulance
outside, the hospital only minutes away. It was the best they could
hope for.

I’ll call Jen,” Sam said. “She can meet us at
the hospital.”

Sydney turned, her mind numb. She heard the
words, but couldn’t fully compute them.