like a suspicion begin to emerge.
“I thought for sure you were gone,” Bellini explained.
“I understand,” Jack said.
“But here you are.”
Bellini got up and walked toward a steel file cabinet in a corner of the cramped room. “I want to show you something,” he said.
Jack had no idea what he might be shown. All he could guess is that Mr. Bellini might have gotten a ton of applications for summertime help. He watched politely as his old boss attempted to retrieve whatever it was he felt he had to show him. The big man couldn’t get all the way to the cabinet because bags of a new grass seed blocked the way. He bent down and began moving the bags. Jack assisted, clearing the bottom bags but stopped abruptly after moving a few. A small bird, a gold finch, lay dead on the floor.
The sight of the diminutive creature, lifeless, startled Jack.
His eyes filled with a kind of sad confusion.
“You should have been outside in the open fields,” Bellini said to the creature as he disposed of it, “shouldn’t have been in here.” Then turning to Jack, “It happens every so often. A bird will come in to feed and get smothered.”
The power of Bellini’s voice snapped Jack out of it. He observed the big man gently dispose of the bird by wrapping it in a small burlap cloth which he then slid into a receptacle.
Then Bellini went to the now accessible file cabinet and looked in a couple drawers until he found what he wanted. He sat down again and handed Jack some papers. “You recognize these?” They were landscape design sketches Jack had drawn over the years working at the nursery.
“You still have these?” Jack said.
“Yeah, and I’ve used them,” Bellini said, running a finger over his thick black mustache.
“You’ve got talent for this, Jack,” said Bellini, holding up the sketches, “I’ve said it often. And if you want to, you can work for me full time. It won’t be New York but you won’t have to wait to prove yourself either.”
Jack didn’t know what to say. There was no question the offer pleased him, for he instantly felt a weight had been lifted from him. But working full time at the nursery? He never seriously considered that because of Wall Street. Yet the idea was a revelation. What if he could bypass Wall Street and have another life. He listened to Mr. Bellini explain.
“I’d have asked before,” Bellini offered, “but thought for sure you were headed to New York.”
“New York,” Jack repeated automatically.
“You’d do well here,” Bellini said.
Jack wanted to say yes but remembered his upcoming trip.
‘’I’m taking some time to visit family, Mr. Bellini. Would it be okay if I let you know after that?”
“That’s fine,” Bellini said.
Then the two walked side by side outdoors. Mr. Bellini got into his pickup truck and beeped as he drove away. Jack watched the truck disappear and wondered.
2
From the nursery Jack headed for Duke. The Year End Relay was today. He got there quickly and drove toward the aquatic center. With school just out the campus was dead and he felt like the only one there?
Underwood Aquatic Center sat at the far end of Duke’s East Campus away from the academic departments, separated from them by a stand of Magnolias. Situated on a rise, Underwood appeared to hang above the Magnolias like a castle in the air and the tops of the trees seemed to reach up toward it. At least that’s how it struck Jack this morning as he pulled into the parking lot. He had graduated two days before on June 3rd and might have felt differently approaching the center if it weren’t for two things. First, the job offer from Mr. Bellini gave him the opportunity to stay around. If he decided to, he’d be back in Durham by July still near Veronica, who’d just finished her junior year, and working for Bellini again. If he did that he’d visit the pool all the time. Secondly, even though he was officially finished with school he still had this last meet to compete in before completely ending his Duke swimming career.
Since the regular season had been delayed due to pool problems, all conference meets had been compressed into a shortened season with no time left for the traditional Year End Relay. The Year End Relay was a long-standing event at Duke where the best seniors competed against the best juniors in a medley relay. The juniors would still be at school anyway preparing for the summer Nationals. So all that was needed for the meet to occur was for the seniors to hang around a few days after graduation; they agreed instantly.
The junior class had one of the most all around talented group of swimmers to come to Duke in years with strong swimmers in every stroke. It was primarily because of them the Duke’s Men Team had won the conference title in the regular season. The seniors were good, too, but not exceptional except for one: Jack. Jack had been All Conference this past season, winning the one hundred yard breast stroke competition in the championship meet by a tenth of a second over another Duke swimmer, Phil Dayton. Dayton was a junior who hoped to replace Jack as team captain next year. The two shared a healthy, if uneven, rivalry. When you added the other strong junior swimmers to Dayton, though, the junior medley became practically unbeatable. Certainly, everyone thought the Year End Relay would be a cinch for the juniors. Everyone, that is, but Jack.
Jack had been raised precisely for the kind of contest he was about to take part in. Whenever there was a situation that somehow figured against him, he approached it with a daunting single-mindedness. It was as if all things in life other than that specific one disappeared, and all that remained on Earth was him and his goal. Perhaps, it was the need to reaffirm his parents’ assessment of him that drove him to such myopic perfection. Or perhaps it was the basic nature of him as a person that compelled him to bear down, zero in, and forge ahead. Whatever it was, Jack was at his dazzling best whenever he or the team he was on was assigned the role of underdog.
As he came into the facility this morning he thought to himself briefly, this would be the last competition he’d ever participate in at Duke. That thought brought a momentary shudder. He paused, and then proceeded through the large glass entrance doors to the natatorium. Once inside Underwood, nothing bothered him. His focus became the meet. He went straight to the locker room. As usual, he was the first one there. He suited up and strode to the pool deck by way of a connecting door. He walked to the far side of the fifty meter racing pool and began his pre-meet ritual. He gazed down the pool, following the almost undetectable sway of the blue-white water. Duke Water he called it since above the pool Duke blue and white flags spread over the water in streamers adding their tint to the clear water. Jack bent down, took his hand, cupped it, and pushed the cupped hand out away from him. The water felt colder than usual today. He watched the ripple he’d made until it reached the dividing wall at the far end where the racing pool adjoined the diving tank. He was flat on his stomach, level with the pool, and so close to the water he got a good whiff of chlorine. It acted like smelling salts, bringing him up out of his deep concentration.
Standing up, his vision ranged past the racing pool to the diving tank beyond. His eyes climbed the highest platform and he imagined looking down on the race from up there. Visualizing his race before it happened, he saw himself start, saw where he would hold back, how he should handle the turns and stay under as long as possible, and where he must accelerate to eat up water. They’ll dictate the pace so I must be stronger longer he said to himself. He tapped himself twice over the heart with V-ed fingers.
His swimming senses were so tuned into the physical conditions of the pool and his own body, that he noticed how the hair he’d let grow out, just slightly, absorbed the pool’s moisture more than it ever had before. He was totally zoned-in and ready to get in and warm up.
Entering the water, he heard the chatter of his teammates who had now arrived and were milling around the coaches office. Then, he heard something unusual: Bursting from the P.A. system exploded the full throttled energy of the Beatles singing