CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I slept pretty well that night. I realized it when I woke a little after four, according to the red digits on the clock radio. It defied logic, my dreamless sleep, because as soon as I was awake the dread hit me, like a power that had been stored up and waiting.

I wasn’t going to be able to go through with this. I put both feet on the floor, but did not stand up.

A voice in me said: Stay here.

Don’t go.

It was damp-warm outside, dark, but too cloudy for meteors. Besides, the annual Perseid shower, the sight of which had so excited Dad that early morning, wasn’t due yet. I didn’t bother with stretching exercises, just jogged in place on the sidewalk, then kicked into an easy stride, uphill, toward the fading stars.

I was running well when I hit the overpass, the Warren Freeway already packed with traffic I could have easily outpaced. I passed the home where Denise and her parents lived, the au pair girl’s cottage nestled among Monterey pines. I used to love running with Denise; she can jog hours without complaint. I had gone out of my way to stop by the iron-spear fence of her front garden, but there was no sign of her.

I took a flash shower, toweled dry, and had milk and egg protein powder, no banana, no toast. Myrna sallied forth to greet the morning and accepted a scratch on her head. Some people think animals are a lot like people. I think they are nothing like us, except that they like attention.

I tossed what I needed into the gym bag. I took the shortest route, but I made myself stop and give my greetings to one of the local terrors, a Great Dane. The beast planted both paws on the cinder-block wall that protected the neighborhood from his wrath and gave a ragged bark, half threat, half hi.

There was no way I was going to be able to do it. I nagged at myself, aware that I was trying to fool myself, and it wasn’t working. I was afraid.

One of the custodians was unlocking the arena, whistling a tune. He did not act surprised to see an athlete here so early. He said, “Good morning how are you,” in a rush, the words all together, maybe one of those people who understand English but don’t like to speak it.

I wondered what happened if you suffered a subdural hematoma in the same place after a recent injury, how much damage it would do, how much permanent harm.

The locker room was dark except for the twenty-four-hour glow from the coach’s booth, where the fire extinguisher and bales of clean towels are stored. The overhead fluorescence stuttered on, slow to wake. The locker room has a strangely yeasty smell, clean cotton and disinfectant. A drip somewhere splashed, tap tap tap. My swimsuit did not feel as tight as usual, as though I had lost weight.

Poolside was dry. My feet whispered on the rough surface. I didn’t look at the tower as it approached.