Twenty-Six
ELISE INVITES US TO SWIM on a hot weekend morning near the end of October. When we arrive, towels are rolled up on lounge chairs, a spread of fruit and cheese and finger sandwiches on a low table. She hands me a glass of lemonade. “Ours have bourbon,” she says.
“It’s like I’m at an elite club.”
“We do our best.”
Nathalie and Clément go straight for the pool. “Stay in the shallow end,” I call. “No deeper than your shoulders.”
“They can’t swim?” Elise asks. Her hair’s in a bun. She wears a black bathing suit, a robe open over it. Huge sunglasses.
I shake my head.
She wanders to the food, plucks a cherry from its stem, works it in her mouth, spits the pit neatly into a bowl. “I’m going in,” she says. “Time for lessons. Who’s going first?”
Clément volunteers, and Nathalie calls for me, left out, so I go.
The water’s nearly as warm as the air. Years since I’ve been in a pool.
I ease myself back and float. Palms and hills, rush of water in my ears, hand closing around my ankle.
Nathalie, smiling. I stand and she wraps her arms and legs around me.
I swish her through the heavy water. “I remember us doing this when I was little,” she says.
“When I was maybe three or four.” I search my memory and realize, at the same time she does, that it’s impossible.
Her face crumples, she clings to me. “I’m sorry. ”
“I’ve loved you for your whole life,” I say.
“Even before I met you. And I’ve loved Delphine for my whole life.
We’re both your mothers.” Her arms are strong and tight around my neck, her fingers digging into me.
Clément is kicking, holding on to the side of the pool, Elise focused on his form, paying no mind to us.
“Sweetheart,” I say. “What is it?” Nathalie doesn’t answer me, doesn’t loosen her grip.
“You think you can go have your lesson?” She nods and I carry her over. She lets go.
Later, we’re all out of the pool, sitting on towels and eating.
Elise says, “I’ll need you to bring them back, tomorrow or the next day.
They need to learn to swim. It’s unsafe not to.
A few lessons at the bare minimum, just for floating and treading water and making it to the edge of a pool in the event that they fall in. ”
“I feel like I’m in trouble,” I say.
“You are. Tomorrow then?”
“Yes!” they say, holding each other’s hands, jumping up and down. “Tomorrow! Tomorrow!”
A month passes, and Felix phones me at a little after ten at night. “I’m out having drinks with a few people,” he says, noise in the background. “A nice group. I might bring them home after. We could be quiet, wouldn’t wake the children. Would you mind that?”
“I’d love it,” I say, looking around. The house isn’t exactly tidy, but it’s not too far gone, either, and once the children are sleeping they sleep until morning, no matter what’s going on in the other rooms.
“I thought so. Maybe you could mix us all up some drinks. They’ll adore you and you’ll adore them. I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll make whiskey sours. I think I have everything,” I say, stretching the phone cord to check the fruit bowl. “Oh wait. Can you pick up a couple oranges?”
“You got it.”
“Okay then,” I say, noticing the brightness in my voice.
I take down my set of cocktail glasses, make a quick batch of simple syrup over the stove and check for ice, and then I’m straightening the living room, pulling the kitchen chairs in, making sure the lighting is right.
I neaten the stack of magazines, choose a jazz record and start it.
I light a new taper candle in the wall sconce, tall and white against the living room’s blue walls.
Voices in the yard now, and the door creaks open and here’s Felix, taking off his hat, and a tall white man with a mustache after him, and a red-haired girl carrying a bag, and Ginny. I’m faint at the sight of her.
“Odette, hi,” she says, apologetic.
Felix frowns. “You know each other?”
“Ginny works at the plant,” I say. “And she’s Lionel’s good friend.”
“Oh,” he says, dismayed. “I didn’t realize. I’ve known Patsy for a time, but I’m afraid I didn’t even get your name earlier.”
The redhead, Patsy, takes Ginny’s hand and leans into her shoulder. “How rude of me,” she says. “I forgot to introduce you.”
Ginny’s eyes are still on Felix. “I didn’t catch yours either,” she says. “But it’s fine. I’m discreet.”
“All right,” Felix says. “Yes, okay. Of course. And so is Odette. She’s a gem. She isn’t shocked by us or anything.”
“I imagine not,” Ginny says.
I escape to the kitchen and mix the drinks, wishing I could call Elise.
She’d gasp and ask me what I was going to do, and I’d say, I have no idea.
Tell me. She’d come up with something surprising, irreverent, something I would never think of myself.
When I’m back in the living room everyone’s comfortable, talking and laughing.
I hand them each a glass—faint again, when Ginny takes hers from me—and we toast. As soon as the conversation picks back up, I say, “I’m going to check on something outside. I’ll be back in a moment.”
I step onto the patio, shut the door behind me, lean against the house.
Tonight’s moon is just a wisp, like the tip of a fingernail, lying on its back in the sky.
I’ve never seen the moon quite like this before and it fills me with a longing so sharp I can’t breathe.
The door opens. Ginny shuts it softly behind her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had no idea until I got here, and then it was too late.”
“It’s all right.” I keep my gaze on the sky and she follows it.
“Look at that moon.”
This moon is mine. She shouldn’t speak of it. “It’s the same as every night,” I say.
“I’m fairly certain that the moon is always changing.” I ignore her and she sighs. “He still has no idea about you?”
It sounds absurd, coming from her, spoken aloud like this. “I don’t appreciate being interrogated,” I say.
“It isn’t an interrogation. I’m only making sure I understand.”
“That night with you,” I say. “It’s behind me.”
“Behind you?”
“That part of my life is over.” It comes out forceful, too intense.
I’d meant to state it simply. “It was a mistake, what happened with you, just something that got away from me.” I’m angry that she’s here, at my house with another woman.
But I also know it’s unfair of me. “You were very persuasive, you know,” I say, voice softer.
“You weren’t that difficult to persuade.”
And then I’m back in the bar with her, she’s putting her hands around my waist, and my knees are weak, and I can’t be out here with her anymore. “Your girlfriend’s probably wondering where you are.”
“It isn’t serious. I only met her tonight.”
“She looks at you like it’s serious.”
“Maybe she’s serious. I’m not.”
“Ginny,” I say. “Stop. Go back inside.”
“You don’t need to live this way,” she says. “With so much fear. You’re starving yourself, and you don’t have to.”
A flame, burning against my eyelids. “Go back inside,” I say, and this time she does.
The night passes, tears me up. I want them to be here, want Felix to know that he made the right decision, but I have to endure looks from all of them—Felix hesitating before he puts his hand on James’s thigh, Patsy holding a magazine—my magazine—in front of her face as she leans into Ginny for a kiss.
Meant for a laugh, but real enough to sting.
We’re all here together but they don’t know if we should be, if I should be here in my own home.
Ginny steals looks at me, serious, concerned, and it makes me want to scream.
I would love nothing more than to grab my magazine out of her girlfriend’s hand and push her out, push all of them out.
But also, I want them to stay. Ginny’s looking at me again and okay, all right—what I would like most is for her to take me by the hand and lead me to my bedroom and close the door.
It’s well past midnight, and Ginny and the redhead are getting ready to go.
“See you at work, Odette,” Ginny says, and I go to say something like, It was nice to see you outside of the plant, but I trail off.
Such a charade and for what? No one’s paying attention to what I’m saying anyway.
No one except Ginny, so why fake it? Patsy takes my hand and tells me how delicious the drinks were, how sweet my home is.
“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she says. “Joking around that way. It’s new to me, to be in mixed company like this,” and I see that she’s sincere and thoughtful, and I hate her for misunderstanding me, but I also hate myself for insisting on being misunderstood.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. “I’m so glad you had a nice time.” Ginny looks at me once more on her way out, and I smile brightly at her, fend off her concern.
Now it’s just Felix and James and me, and they’re watching me from the fireplace, the wood burning, the room warm and beautiful—I made it so beautiful—and they’re hopeful and a little nervous and I say, “James, I hope you’re staying. The sofa is plenty comfortable enough for me.”
“No,” they both say. “No, we can’t have you on the sofa.” But I wave away their protests.
“James, I’ll show you where the washcloths and towels are,” I say.
“And let either of us know if there’s anything else you need.
” James smiles. A crinkle by his eyes that pleases me.
A kindness to him. After I’ve shown him around, I return to the living room, where Felix has been waiting.
I say, “I’m glad about tonight. Truly. This is our home.
Yours and mine. You should be able to live in it. ”
He embraces me. His heart beats hard, there’s a dampness to him. He’s nervous or emotional, I don’t know which. I could tell him now, about Ginny. About me. He’s sharing himself with me and I could give him this in exchange. But the bathroom door opens and I let him go.