Whisper Privileges (13 page)

Upon closer inspection, she realized they
were checking the schedule. With a cursory glance around the pool
area, she joined them to look for Q’s name. Nudging in as two
teenage boys departed, she slid her index finger down the list,
scanning the small print in search of Rutledge. Finding it, she
glanced at her watch. One o’clock.
Damn
. Missed it. Sydney
continued her search until she found another. Q was set to race
again at four. Doubt peppered her chest.
Would they be here
now
?

Hazarding a glance back toward the pool,
Sydney idled in place. They must remain on site as other members of
their team raced, right? It wasn’t like they had anywhere to go. A
couple of female volunteers walked by, clipboards in hand,
credential passes dangling from bright orange lanyards. Sydney
glanced up at the scoreboards to see if any of the swimmers
belonged to South Carolina. Dismay filtered in. There was no sight
of his team. A group of kids wearing matching orange shirts walked
by and one of the girls waved. Sydney waved back in automatic reply
before realizing it was the same girl from last night—the one who
had tapped her on the shoulder in a gesture of encouragement.
Sydney gave a “thumbs-up” sign and the girl responded
enthusiastically with one of her own. With a smile, she mouthed the
words
thank you
. But more interested in keeping up with her
fellow athletes, the girl missed it. Disappointment spiraled down
through her, ending in a sharp stab of remorse. She should have
thanked her last night. It was the least she deserved. Now, who
knows if she’d ever see her again?

Meandering the outskirts of the action,
Sydney felt self-conscious. Without something to do, she was out of
place. Maybe it would be best to try and catch up with Clay and Q
later. She had other events that needed attending. Wasting time
wandering around the pool only made her feel foolish. Besides, she
didn’t want to work this hard to see Clay—
it made her look
desperate
! She stopped, browsed the groups of swimmers, skimmed
the far line of red shirts in search of Clay and her heart skipped
a beat. Clear down the other end of the pool, there he stood decked
out in red T-shirt and khaki shorts, his hair casually combed to
the side. From his side of the cordoned-off section, he was saying
something close to his son’s ear. Parents weren’t allowed inside
unless they were part of the coaching staff.

The sight gave her pause. It reminded her of
the days when her dad used to do the same. He attended every game,
told her how great she was, how easily she could whip the rear ends
off the other team—so long as she didn’t lose focus. He’d tap a
finger to his forehead and tell her,
winning comes from
here
. It’s about wanting it so bad you can taste it, so bad
you’ll work night and day to get it. Winning is about mental
discipline. You focus on the goal and the goal alone. You can do
it, Sydney. You have what it takes.
Just keep the focus
.

Those pep talks between father and daughter
meant everything to her. Knowing he believed in her gave her the
self-confidence she needed to win, to
believe
she could do
it. Then he and her mom divorced and he left—disappeared—taking her
self-confidence right along with him. It had been a crushing blow
to her at the time...to know that when she needed him most, he let
her down. Nowadays, the two barely spoke. Unless of course, he
needed something.

Clay lifted his head away. And even from this
distance, his affection was clear. Sydney longed for such
connection again such genuine love and affection. It was clear
parenting came easy to Clay. Father and son had a natural rhythm,
one you couldn’t pretend. They were connected by the kind of love
that only grew stronger with time. The kind that deepened through
hardship and sacrifice. The kind she only read about in books. As
though he sensed her presence, Clay homed in on her. She couldn’t
make out his expression, but when he didn’t look away, she took it
as her cue to approach. Now was as good a time as any, right? She
couldn’t avoid him forever.

The acceleration of her heart said otherwise.
But the next step belonged to her, not him. Circling around the
pool, Sydney forced calming breaths through her lungs. She walked
toward the group of South Carolina swimmers intent on going to him,
but Clay left them and met her halfway. “Glad you could make it,”
he said, his tone smooth and supple.

Nerves scurried across her stomach. “Part of
my rounds today.”

“Q will be happy to see you.”

Really
?
When he barely knew
her
? She glanced toward him, currently huddled together with
his team on the bench. “How’s he doing?”

“So far so good. Won his heat in the
backstroke earlier.”

“Wonderful,” she replied with a nod, eager to
extract herself from the tension coiling around her, the polite
pretense enshrouding their small talk.

“It’s not his best stroke,” Clay said, his
gaze split between Sydney and Q, “so he’s quite pleased with his
performance. I just worry he’s going to throw his arms out before
the freestyle.”

“Spoken like a true father.”

He smiled. “It’s next on the list and it’s
the one that has him worked up. Some of the kids from Ohio have
scores better than Q’s and I think he’s worried he might lose.”

“Oh,” she said, curious as to how he would
deal with the stress. She glanced over at Q. Seated in the midst of
his teammates, shiny mirrored goggles worn like a necklace, he
seemed calm. He appeared like any normal athlete, surrounded by his
fellow swimmers awaiting his next event.
Was it difficult for
him to handle
?
The pressure, the expectations
? Were
special needs athletes any different than others? But the thought
was fleeting. Sydney slipped her hands into the front pockets of
her shorts, her right hand enclosing around her cell phone and
said, “Listen, about yesterday...”

Clay peered at her expectantly, but didn’t
say a word.

“I’m sorry about being so short with you.”
She balled her hand around the slender edges of her phone. “I
just...”

“You just what?” He said the words so softly,
the breath caught in her chest.

“Well, I was kinda rude to you after the show
and—”

“Kinda?”

She stopped. Her heart thumped.
Was he
trying to make this difficult
?

“Was there any reason in particular you felt
the need to push me away?”

Suddenly flustered, she replied, “Look, I
made a fool of myself, is that what you want to hear?” Yanking
hands from pockets, she crossed arms over chest. Heat rose up the
back of her neck. “I totally blew it and I didn’t feel like
sticking around and was on my way out when I saw you and
well...”

“I don’t think you made a fool of
yourself.”

Anger boiled to the surface. “Don’t patronize
me.”

“I’m not. You were nervous. It happens.” He
moved his hands forward on his hips. “Doesn’t make you a fool.”

Sydney’s ears flushed hot. “I’m sure you’re
the only one who feels that way. The point is—”

He shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Yes, well, that’s nice of you to say...” her
voice trailed off as she latched onto an elderly couple walking by.
But entirely untrue
. Clay was just trying to be nice—which
she didn’t need. Being on the wrong end of someone’s pity was not
her gig. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize. It’s not like me and...”
The excuse petered out beneath the hard edge of his stare.

Did he think this was easy for her? Did he
expect more? “What?”

“Do you have a second?”

“For what?”

“I need some fresh air. Will you join
me?”

She looked around them. She released her
arms. She heaved a sigh. “I don’t understand.” Nor did she have
time to try. She had to get back to work, not stroll outside for a
breath of fresh air.

Clay lightly touched her elbow and pointed
toward the rear exit. “Five minutes?”

She checked her watch as though five minutes
might break her schedule.

As she hovered on the verge of refusal he
persisted. “Humor me?” He worked to snare her gaze. “Five
minutes?”

Humor was the farthest thing from her mind at
the moment, but with no plausible excuse, she acquiesced. “Fine.”
Five minutes wouldn’t kill her.

Clay led the way out the back of the building
and into the bright midday sun. Above them clusters of flaming
blooms sat heavy in Royal Poinciana trees, the blossoms brilliant
against the palette of green. He paused, seeming to take in his
surroundings. Sydney waited, curiosity gnawing at her.

“Walk with me?”

She’d come this far. May as well find out
what he was after other than exercise. “Sure.” She followed him
through a gate. Tucked between two low cement walls, it led to a
well-manicured path cut between a thick carpet of St. Augustine and
eventually opened up to reveal a pond. Across the water were four
residential buildings.

Clay stopped beneath a palm tree. Taking in
the water, he turned back to her, his expression quiet. “When my
wife left me,” Clay began, “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to
manage without her. There I was with a young son who needed special
attention and I didn’t know the first thing about caring for him.
Hell, I couldn’t boil water at the time.”

Sydney couldn’t imagine Clay worried about
anything let alone his abilities as a single father. Confusion
tangled in her midsection. But why was he bringing this up?

“The first few months were the most
difficult. I never changed a diaper, couldn’t bake a chicken... We
ate peanut butter and jelly for two weeks straight.” He tipped up
his chin with a sheepish grin. “I was the proverbial male
chauvinist, I guess. It was easier to leave the domestic stuff to
my wife while I went out and earned a living.”

“You work with your family, right?”

He nodded and sharpened his gaze. “But with
my head wrapped up in Q, my role within the company couldn’t be a
major one. My younger brother took over most of the heavy lifting
when it came to the management side and I moved to board member
status, consulting with them on the finances.”

Suddenly intrigued by this piece of his
personal life, she asked, “Does it bother you?”

“What—that I’m not more active in managing
the company?”

She shrugged, not wanting to rub it in. She
understood a man’s career made up a large part of his identity.
What did it do to Clay that his was sidelined?

“Not really. Everyone has something to
contribute to this world. You, me...Q.”

The words drifted between them.

Not sure where he was going with this, she
gave him the space to say what he wanted to say. She had a few
minutes to spare. Sydney resisted the sudden urge to check the
time. Why not hear him out?

“In the beginning, I was sure I’d fall flat
on my face. Make a total mess of things for my son.” Pulling a
dangling palm frond blade, he twisted it within his fingers. “And
at first, I did.”

She watched him, wondering what he meant by a
“total mess.”

“I lost my patience, became angry...” The
breeze kicked up and tossed blond waves about his face. “I’m
ashamed to admit that for a while, I even blamed him for my
divorce.”

Blamed the boy
? She couldn’t conceive
of Clay thinking in such terms. He seemed so logical, so
even-keeled, so measured in everything he did. But the concept
seemed a normal one. People sometimes projected their feelings
about a situation in completely off ways. Why not Clay?

Quiet, calm, he looked directly into her eyes
and it felt like he was opening a door, granting her access to a
private part of him. An important part. “Eventually I pulled it
together. It was tough, but I managed.” He tossed the leaf to the
ground. “I made my peace with the ex, I accepted my lot with the
business and I realized that I was still a good father, despite my
early failures.” He paused. “I know you’re bothered about what
happened last night. No one likes to feel like a fool.”

Her insides clenched. So this little chat was
about her performance last night.

“But there’s no such thing as failure. There
are only results. Some are better than others, some are easier to
handle, but none are anything you need to run from. You excel in
volleyball, you’re on top of your business game, you freak at
public speaking.” He lifted his shoulders and opened his hands with
a half-smile. “It’s just the way it is. Life calls you up to bat
and you bat. Sometimes you hit home runs and sometimes you strike
out. You can’t be good at everything.”

Ouch
. Sydney didn’t care for the scene
he portrayed. It made her failure all the more vivid and real.

“You do it, because you
have
to do it.
Life calls us to play and we do. Kinda like being the parent of a
special needs child. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know how to
play the game—like I’m in the wrong stadium. But I do it, because I
have to do it.”

“I’m not a public speaker,” she admitted, the
words feeble as they tumbled out. And though she didn’t aspire to
be one, it still pained her to admit that she came up short. That
she couldn’t succeed.

“No, but you’re an ambitious woman. And
sometimes that means tackling the tough stuff, making the hard
plays. You, of all people, should know that.” He reached for her
hands and she allowed him to take them into his own. Warm and
comfortable, the connection felt like friendship. “Think of it the
way you think of volleyball. If you need to practice more, you
practice. Or you change your game, mix up your strategy. You tweak
and fine-tune and perfect your skill set, but you never walk away
from a challenge—or a loss. No one’s perfect. You own it and you
move on.”