Page 98 of Diving In
“Yep.”
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath. “It’s OK, Sam. I’m right here. Austin’s here. We’re going to give you lots of space. But you can do this. You’re safe. Everything’s going to be fine. I want you to count with the pair of us. Ready?”
“Can’t breathe, Kath,” Sam tells me again, and the sound of his panic makes my heart hurt.
“Let’s count from ten down. Nice and slow. I’m going to start now. Ten.” I pause. “Nine. Eight. And let’s all take a breath here.” I stop for a second, listening to Sam’s breathing. “OK, now seven.”
We keep counting down, and I hear his voice join back in with Austin’s.
“Now that we’ve done that, let’s count to three and then hold. You guys ready?” I hear a shaky yes come through the phone. The seconds seem to stretch impossibly long, his voice a wobbling echo of my own. I clench my spare hand tight and keep counting with him.
“You look better,” Austin comments eventually.
“I feel better,” I hear Sam’s voice say, and I sigh in relief. “Still a bit shaky. God, I have more adrenaline now than I did during that race.”
“Austin, could we have a moment?” I ask.
“Sure, let me pass this over.”
I wait until I hear the shower door shut again.
“Hey,” I say to Sam. “You OK?”
“Better.” His voice is still quiet. “I’m so sorry, Kath. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’m sorry. I’m just… It’s stupid.”
Just hearing his voice transports me back to being a child again. Right now, I’m not even angry with him, despite the last few years. Maybe I will be in a fewhours once I’ve thought about it properly. Scratch that, I definitely will be. But right now I’m worried, not angry.
“It’s not stupid! You’re under so much pressure, Sam. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m here to help. I’vealwaysbeen here to help.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I don’t deserve you. I’ve never deserved your friendship.”
“Just focus on feeling better.”
I sit in silence for a few moments, just listening to him breathe.
“How’s it feeling?”
“My chest doesn’t hurt.” His voice sounds stronger. “I think it’s better.”
“Good.” I look down and realise that my hand is still clenched. The adrenaline of the call is beginning to catch up with me. “I’ve still got a few hours left of my shift. Can I ring you after the medal ceremony and interviews to check in, from a medical perspective? I usually go to sleep at about 10 a.m. and wake up at 6 p.m. when I’m on nights.”
“I’d really like that,” he says. “And I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realised you were at work. Where are you working?”
“Emergency department.”
“That sounds rough.”
I look down at my bitten fingernails and decide to deflect. Itisrough. “Congratulations on the medal and the record. You should be really proud of yourself.”
He pauses. “Thank you, Kath.”
When I hang up, I try to work out how I feel. Worried for him? Angry with him? Angry with myself for answering? That even after all these years I still pick up when he needs me. That some ancient part of me still sparks and says yes before my brain catches up with the reasons it shouldn’t.
I understand now why they tell doctors not to treat the people they care about. The second I heard his voice, terrified and struggling to breathe, any objectivity I had vanished.
I swallow the burn in my throat. He doesn’t get to waltz back into my life like nothing happened. He doesn’t get all of me so easily. Not again.
Still… he’s hurting, and I’m not the sort of person who can sit with that and donothing.
