Page 72 of A Class of Her Own

“Because you’re his baby girl, so he pays more attention to you. Willow is the middle child of a habitually distracted man. Let’s just be glad he isn’t callingherby the wrong name all the time.”

“What did you think of Steve?”

“I’m . . . impressed, I think.”

Ash gasped dramatically. “Wow. High praise from you, Big Sis.”

“Well, he’s really . . .”

I wasn’t sure how to describe him. Steve was articulate and confident but didn’t need to be the center of attention. He seemed cheerful and flexible and willing to take what was thrown at him. He owned an auto part store a few blocks from Willow’s boutique, and they’d met at a city business owners’ meeting, which told me he had a good head on his shoulders and wasn’t flaky. I’d been happy for Willow, who in the past had only dated odd-balls who mostly forgot she existed—basically she’d been dating versions of our father.

“He’s put together,” I finished.

Ash, immediately understanding that this was the same as me saying he was a superhero, sighed. “Willow needs put together.”

“We all need that.”

“What did everyone get for gifts?”

“Willow gave me the dress she’d loaned me for Lizzie’s bachelorette party. It’s a really pretty dress, and it looks good on me, which is hard to find because I’m somehow short and tall at the same time. It’s an expensive dress.”

“Did Dad pull something together?”

I told her about the cutting boards, and the fact that I’d actually snapped at Dad. “So, you might get a Forest Atwood original cutting board in a few years. Maybe.”

“Poor Dad,” she said. “It’s got to be hard to live in a world that moves so much faster than you do.”

I’d never heard either of my sisters describe Dad that way, and I’d certainly never had the thought myself, but, as I pondered those words, I found it gave me a new sense of empathy for him. She was right. Even though his actions had hurt me deeply over the years, Dad probably wasn’t having a great time, either.

“What did Jake give you?” I asked brightly, changing the topic like the pro I was.

“Well, it’s a gift that I’m not sure how to feel about, actually.”

Interest peaked, I sat up. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s scuba diving lessons.”

“Oh.” I instantly understood her hesitation. The Atwood family did not do water, and there was one solid, simple reason. Our mother, Judith, had died in a drowning accident at Hyrum Reservoir on a sunny family beach day. Deep water had always been the enemy. “Where would you even go diving in Boulder, Colorado?” I asked.

“I mean, assuming I’d be brave enough to do it, there is a reservoir here.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see. “Does he know? About Mom and water?”

“Yeah. He knows.”

“So, why the gift, then?”

“He wants to help me overcome my fear.”

I cleared my throat. “I guess that’s kind of nice of him.”

“The thing is, Mer, I don’t really have any memories of Mom at all. I was only two when she died, so I don’t remember her drowning. I just remember not having a mom. I’m only afraid of water because I was raised to be afraid. I don’t like that about myself. It’s strange to be traumatized about something that you didn’t actually experience.”

“Understandable.”

“And yet, even knowing all that, it doesn’t make the trauma less real. I’m truly frightened of big bodies of water.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

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