The Winner's Game (19 page)

T
HE SUMMER SUN
is still high in the sky when I lead Tanner to the back deck and cross the small patch of grass to the beach. When we reach the sand, I let go of his hand, because what I am about to share is definitely going to make my palms sweat, and holding sweating hands right now would only be a distraction.

My tangled nerves don't go unnoticed. “What's going on?” he asks. “You're acting different all of a sudden.”

No kidding
. “I am different,” I tell him flat out. “That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” His look of confusion doesn't come as a surprise. “Can we walk?” Without waiting for an answer I slip off my flip-flops and toss them onto the grass behind me.

He nods and removes his shoes as well.

Side by side we high-step through the loose, dry sand. Once we reach the cooler, wetter stuff near the water, I set a course for the tide pools on the south side of Haystack Rock. We are halfway there when he finally asks what this is all about.

“My dad's crazy,” I say, not really answering the question. Or maybe that's the perfect answer. “I think most lawyers probably are, but he takes it to an extreme sometimes. You were right about what you said about him being overprotective. He's very afraid of me getting hurt. But with him—with me—it's not just the normal overprotectiveness that your dad mentioned. My dad is sort of
over-
overprotective, which is why there's something I need to tell you, so you know what you're getting into when you hang out with me.”

Tanner stops walking, making me think I've already said too much—or the wrong thing, or…who knows. There is nervousness in his eyes. And doubt.

Maybe he's just realized he'd be better off asking out the younger of the Bennett girls.

We stand there, quietly staring at each other, sinking into the wet sand. Finally he clears his throat. “My mom says bad news doesn't get better with time.”

At least he knows it's bad news.
“My mom always says not to beat around the bush, but this is a very big bush, and maybe the only way to get around it is to beat it a little.”

Frowning, he says, “Just tell me already.”

“Fine. For the record, though, I'll totally understand if you change your mind about our date.”

“Why would I do that?”

It's all I can do to answer, but eventually the words come out. “Because I lied to you.” I wait to see how he's going to react, but Tanner's face is granite. “I made you think I'm this carefree, do-whatever-I-want kind of girl, but I'm not like that at all. In fact…I
can't
be that kind of girl. I have limits, you might say. Some self-imposed, others simply as a precaution. Do you remember you said you wanted to teach me to surf, and I thought that would be totally cool, and I told you I'd always wanted to try surfing?”

“Yeah. That was a lie?”

“No, that's all true. It does sound cool, and I would love to try it sometime. But the truth is…I can't. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't swim.”

“But you said…”

“Oh, I can swim. I'm a fantastic swimmer. I just can't swim right now. I was a competitive swimmer a couple years back, but then…everything changed.”

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath. There are tears just waiting to let loose, but I won't let them fall because crying right now would prove that I still feel sorry for myself, and that's not what I want him to see. “My toes are cold,” I whisper and then ask if we can go back to the warm sand. Without waiting for Tanner to respond, I make a beeline for higher ground, hoping he'll follow. Once I find a nice spot, I carefully smooth out the sand with my foot and then sit down facing the ocean.

Tanner quietly takes a seat next to me.

I have to take another deep breath or I might faint. The coastal breeze fills my lungs to capacity as I focus on the horizon. When I stop to listen, the volume of the world somehow turns up a notch, which is exactly what I need right now. I take solace in the chorus of waves and wind and gulls, all singing and crying just for me. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”

“The best.”

“I can't imagine anything more inspiring. Lately, when I look out past the waves, I find myself wondering how far I can see. From here it looks like the water goes on forever, but I know there's an end out there. Somewhere.” I pause, then whisper, “Everything has an end.” Inside, I can feel my emotions rising quickly now, like the tide, but I press on. “And I know that on the other side, there's this whole great big world out there, full of sights and sounds I've only dreamed of, and there's probably some girl over there, just like me, staring back this way right now wondering what's going on over here, wishing she could see what it's like. But our worlds are just too far apart.” I take another long look, from north to south, soaking in the majesty. I'm stalling, and I know it, but that's infinitely better than leaping straight to the part of the conversation where I tell him everything, and then, out of fear of being with a time bomb, he cancels our date and walks away.

Tanner is very quiet. Just when I start to worry maybe he's already lost interest, he says, “Ann, whatever it is you need to say…just say it. It can't be that bad.”

I actually laugh at the comment! Not only can it be that bad, it couldn't be worse. With my finger, I draw a heart in the sand between us. While slowly tracing my drawing, I finally get to the point. “The last time I went swimming was during a swim meet. I was winning. I had a seizure, right in the water.” I trace the heart again. “Drowning really sucks.”

“Whoa.”

It's so hard to speak…I have to pause so I can swallow. “It was all fuzzy, but I remember not being able to help myself, because I had no control of my body. I sank to the bottom of the pool. I thought for sure I was dead. In fact I did die, in the technical sense, but they resuscitated me and took me to the hospital.”

“Oh my gosh. Was everything OK?”

Still tracing the heart, making it ever bigger, I shake my head. “They ran tests on me…and found something bad. A hole, actually. Not a big one, but big enough. I guess holes in your heart don't have to be big to be a big problem.” I can't look at him. Won't. Instead, I listen for the telltale signals that I expect to hear—a gasp of horror, a dramatic sigh, or a pathetic “I'm sorry”—anything to show that he pities my feeble existence. I stay motionless for several seconds, but he remains mute. I poke the sand right in the middle of my sketch to make a hole. “They tried to fix it,” I finally tell him. “But it didn't work.”

“What does that mean?”

Now I carve an X through the heart with my finger. “It means I need a new one. I'm on a list. My parents brought me here this summer just to sort of get away from things while we wait. The doctors say I need to get a new one in the next few months or things could really get ugly.”

“You mean…?”

I know what he's asking, and that particular question, coming from him, is the one that my defenses can't resist. Tears begin running down my face—some are tears for everything that might never be, but others are simply from embarrassment that I feel so stinking sorry for myself. I nod, but again refuse to look at him. This is the moment where I'm sure he'll find some graceful way to bow out of any presumed interest he might have had in me. Who knows, maybe he'll even stop by the house on the way back and take Bree up on her offer. After all, my little sister is whole, while I am defined by a hole.

A moment later, Tanner grabs my hand. “On the bright side,” he says sweetly, “you're on a list.”

Something about the way he says it makes me laugh, even through my tears. “Yeah. Great.”

“Nah, I'm serious.” He motions toward the horizon. “Just look out there, Ann. Right now there's this incredible ocean between you and the world beyond, but that doesn't mean you won't eventually get to meet the girl who's over there looking back. Once you reach the top of the list, you're on top of the world.”

I want to giggle at his earnestness, but when the sound mixes with crying, it comes out as a wimpy snort. “That was deep.”

With a wink, Tanner waves a hand very seriously at the ocean. “Like the deepest trench of the deep blue sea,” he says in a ridiculously deep voice.

Now I laugh for real. Something about his humor helps quell my tears. “More like deep quicksand, and I think you're in over your head. Since when are you so poetic?”

The deep voice continues. “Only when trying to impress a really cool girl.” He pauses briefly, then goes half an octave lower. “Is it working?”

My laughing abruptly stops. He said it in a funny voice, but I can tell he's also being semiserious. “Did you hear anything I told you, Tanner? I need a new heart.
Soon
. And you still want to impress me?”

His normal voice returns. “You're not impressed?”

I shrug. “I'm just…yes. I'm impressed that you haven't walked away yet.”

“Walk a—? Why would I do that?”

“Gee, I don't know. A heart defect is a pretty good reason. Don't you get it? Right now, this very minute, I could have a heart attack and die. Doesn't that scare you?”

“Does it scare you?”

“Yes!”

He checks his watch once, then looks away, and then he checks it again. “Well, that minute is over and you're still here.”

“Huh?”

“You didn't die that very minute.”

“But I could have. If not that minute, then the next one or the next, or maybe tomorrow or the day after that.”

“Or maybe never, because you're on a list.”

I don't have a comeback to that one. “So after hearing this about me, are you sure you still want to go out on that date?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

I smile up at him, admiring his wavy hair and warm smile. A rush of something courses through me. All at once I'm excited and confused and deeply, deeply impressed. Before getting up, I wipe away the crossed-out heart in the sand and quickly replace it with a new one, bigger than the original and without a hole in the middle. “I don't know,” I whisper, “But I'm glad.”

Glad? Did I just say I'm “glad”?
Oh my gosh, “glad” doesn't begin to describe how I feel right now. I'm so happy I could kiss him—in fact I would, but I'm afraid my parents might be watching. Instead, with a giant smile on my face, I take him by the hand—sweaty palm and all—and we head back to the house, where Tanner confirms to my parents that I've told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

Before Tanner leaves, my dad pulls him aside for a final “man to man” chat. It's supposed to be private, but I can hear every word from the other side of the room.

“I just want to make sure we're clear,” Dad says. “I'm not too keen on Ann having you around, but seeing her happy like this is…a nice change.”

“OK. That's good.”

“Yes…for now.”

“For now?”

Dad nods. “What I'm trying to say is,
don't blow it
. Don't hurt her. If you're thinking you can just have a little fun for a while, then break her heart later, just get out now.”

“Dad!” I yell across the room.

He holds up a hand. “Just a sec. I'm almost done.”

“Don't worry,” says Tanner. “That's not going to happen.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then, I'm holding you to it. I am a lawyer, remember, and what you and I just entered into is a verbal agreement. Don't let me down.”

That's all I can stand. I quickly cross the room and pull Tanner to safety. “That's enough legal-talk, Dad. You're on vacation, remember?” I turn to Tanner. “Sorry about…
that.
” I motion with my head to my dad, who once again has that stupid scowl on his face. I think he's trying to look mean, but it's not working. “Anyway, thanks for tonight. I know you have to get going, but I'm really looking forward to Wednesday.”

“Me too,” he says. “See you then.”

It's a little stalker-ish, I know, but I watch him through the front window until he is completely out of sight. Then I rush upstairs to write every little detail in my journal. Most of the days from the past couple of years I'd just as soon forget, but this one I want to remember forever!

P
SST
. ANN.
Mom wants us downstairs.”

My sister is lying on her bed, writing in her journal. She looks up and smiles with that same dumb smile she had on the day she first met Tanner. “I'm busy.”

“No, she says come now. Dad just jumped in the shower.”

“At eight o'clock at night?”

“Yep. He said he needed to wind down after dealing with your boyfriend.”

Normally she would yell at me for saying “boyfriend,” but instead she repeats the word, like she's trying it on for size. “‘Boyfriend.' He's not, but I like the sound of it.”

“Just come downstairs. Mom's waiting.”

“Fine.”

She follows me to the living room, where Bree and Mom are waiting.

“Got your notebook?” asks Mom.

“Do I need it?” asks Ann.

“I want to tally scores while your father is in the shower.”

Ann rolls her eyes, marches back upstairs, and is back down pretty quick. “Do we even need to count?” she asks when she reaches the bottom step. She's flipping her notebook open to her current sheet. “I think we all know who won again.”

“Not you,” says Bree. “You were too busy with
Tanner
to do much of anything else.”

“Yeah,” Ann says lightly. “I was…and you weren't. Sorry, Sis.”

Bree's face turns red, but she doesn't say anything. She just takes a deep breath, and opens her scorecard. “That's one more point for me,” she mumbles, “for not punching your lights out.”

“Girls,” says Mom, raising her voice slightly. “Take it easy. Up until tonight you've all had a really great week. Have you noticed? You've gotten along better this week than I can ever remember. Don't spoil it now.”

Ann is still smiling, but now her smile doesn't look quite so nasty. “Mom's right. I'm sorry, Bree. That was mean of me.”

I let out a loud sigh to get everyone's attention. “Can we just find out the score already?”

Bree snickers. “Why are you so anxious? You have the least chance of all of winning.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, holding up my notebook. “I've got eighty-nine points. How many do you have?”

Bree's eyes scramble to recount her marks. Finally she blurts out, “No way. You cheated!”

“Did not.”

“Did too! I only have fifty-three. There's no way you beat me by that much.”

“Oh really? How many chocolate chips did you find on your pillow this week?”

“Like twenty.”

“See!”

“You can't—Mom, can he take a point for every single chocolate chip? I didn't even want them!”

“It's the thought that counts,” says Ann. “I thought it was sweet. Cade, thank you for all of those. You deserve every point you took.”

I glance at Bree; her face is red again. She's staring at Ann. “So let me guess…you're fine with him having those points because you beat him anyway. Am I right?”

Ann shakes her head once and says, “I wish. He beat me by a mile. You beat me too, by the way. I only had forty-nine points. I guess I really was caught up with Tanner this week.” She pauses. “But next week, I promise, I'm bringing my A-game, so watch out.”

Bree seems to relax. “I really beat you?”

“Really. But you still lost to Cade, so it doesn't really matter.”

“Oh, it matters,” she says. “It proves you're beatable.” She turns and looks directly at me. “Now I just have to get you to enter an honest score, and I've got this game in the bag.”

I don't care what she says, I earned my points fair and square. “Oh yeah? Well I—”

“
Shhhh!
” Mom has her finger over her mouth.

“What?” I ask.

Then Dad calls from the bathroom. “Emily, can you grab me a fresh towel from the laundry room? We're all out in here.”

“OK, scorecards away,” Mom whispers. “He's almost out of the shower. Cade, good job this week. Keep it up, everyone.”

Ann and Bree head off to their room upstairs. Mom goes to the linen closet to find a towel. When she comes back through, I stop her just long enough to ask, “Do you think Dad will play the Winner's Game?”

“Pray for it, Cade,” she says sincerely. “That's what I'm doing.”

Later, with the lights out in the living room, I slide out of my sleeping bag and kneel beside the couch. “Dear God,” I whisper in the darkness, “Mom told me to pray, so that's what I'm doing. I guess I just wanted to say that…my dad's not a loser. So if the Winner's Game is for winners, then please let him want to give it a try.” I pause, unsure what else God might be interested in hearing. Eventually I finish with a simple, “That's it, I guess. Amen.”