Chapter 11
11
EVE CASSIDY
I don’t know how to describe that first conversation we had after Foster woke recently. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. He seemed stunned when he found out I was engaged, and then relieved when I admitted I wasn’t still. What was that about? If he had something to say, I’d have hoped he would have done it back when I needed to hear it. But he didn’t. He just disappeared. No phone calls. No texts. Not even a freaking note. Just the once-a-year comment that he does still exist via FB anniversary reminders, each one spearing through my heart like an hors d’oeuvre skewed by many toothpicks.
Wake up, Eve. You’re attempting your routine again, remember? This morning is elderly water aerobics day.
I snap to, forcing Foster out of my mind. Pop music of the sixties blasts through the room’s speakers.
‘Paul, you’ve got no rhythm,’ I kid, counting along to the beat of the song. ‘One, two, three, four, five,’ I count with him, a hand on his shoulder, leading him along, but I don’t think Paul’s seventy-something body will allow it.
I’m back on my schedule again. Sort of. I’ll spend the hours I’d usually work with Foster until he’s released from the hospital. Otherwise, I’ve got to get back on track before I lose my mind. Work would help take my mind off things, but when you love someone the way I loved Foster – blindly and with my entire soul – turning your back on them for a second time isn’t an option. I have regrets and I have a feeling he does too. No, I don’t believe in fate, but something is telling me to follow this through.
‘I got it!’ Paul waves me away like I’m an annoying fly.
What kind of nonsense will leave these folks’ lips today? I glance around at my three attendees. Usually there are six, but we lost Freddie a few months ago – he passed peacefully in his sleep while his wife slumbered next to him. Wanda, Freddie’s wife, moved into a home recently. I was sad to lose them because even though I no longer believe in love, those two kept a piece of my heart filled with hope. But back to my morning crew here. Jeraldine called in ‘tired’ last night after going through a bout of insomnia that had her ‘homicidal’. Pretty sure she was kidding when she said that, but I advised her to stay home and sleep in for my own safety.
My other attendees today are eighty-four-year-old Dolly and her little sister, Margaret – a young seventy-nine and one year. Her words. Paul is seventy-seven and has on a leopard print speedo and definitely can’t hide his wandering eye. Honestly, he’s really doing great in this class after his stroke.
‘That’s it, Dolly, let’s march it out for ten more seconds,’ I say, modeling the correct way to water march – knees high – hitting my palms that are sitting just on top of the water. Though they’re trying, no one’s knees are reaching the waterline in this group.
My group are sporting brightly colored swim caps and goggles, floaties and life jackets. They mimic my moves, swaying and stretching in almost unison.
‘Good.’ I come to a standstill, feet planted on the bottom of the pool in the shallow end. ‘Let’s go for a stroll,’ I say, now jogging in place – still with the Strangeloves playing in the background.
The three of them each attempt to not let the ‘elderly float’ – as I call it – overtake them, forcing their feet to the bottom with enough force that the water sloshes around us.
‘You ladies know how to skip any more?’ Paul breaks the silence a minute into the jog, his voice loud enough it’s startling when it reverberates back to us in the otherwise empty pool area of the hospital gym. ‘It’s harder than you think,’ he continues. ‘My great-granddaughter challenged me on the TikTok.’
‘Lord, Mags, he’s got a TikTok,’ Dolly says, the two women laughing.
‘My failure to skip got thirty-seven thousand likes, girls.’
‘Impressive,’ I say to Paul, causing him to scrunch his face like my voice makes his skin crawl.
He’s not looking for my approval; it’s the women next to him he’s trying to impress – with skipping, at that. Unusual card to play but now when I leave here, I’m going to need to make sure I still know how to skip so I can pass this challenge when it’s my turn. I don’t think I’ve done it since I was in grade school.
The heavy door into the pool area opens, earning our attention, and I glance to see who’s invited themselves in.
‘Oh, my,’ Dolly says. ‘Who is this stud?’
‘Me?’ Paul says, pointing to himself. ‘My name is Paul Westwood.’
‘Not you,’ Margaret says, now pointing toward the edge of the pool where my eyes are also on the three men walking our way. ‘Him, in the middle.’
My eyes are already on him, Mags. ‘Hi,’ I say when he stops poolside. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, glancing at Matty on one side of him and his physical therapist on the other.
Despite the IVs hanging from a pole that Matty is pushing, and Foster’s hand secured onto the hospital-issue cane, he looks better than I’ve seen him all week.
‘I asked him where he wanted to walk and he asked to come here,’ his physical therapist says.
‘Really?’
‘I thought you had to be sixty-five to take this class?’ Paul hollers over the music, obviously miffed over the potential newbie the ladies both have their eyes on.
‘I may look thirty-five, but I assure you, I’m a spry sixty-five,’ Foster says with a smirk, earning a chuckle from Dolly and Margaret. Paul’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
‘Not sure “spry” is the word,’ Matty says. ‘It took us thirty minutes to get here from his room.’
Matty has been in and out of Portland since Foster’s accident. This time he can only stay twenty-four hours, but I’ve noticed how Foster seems happier when he gets calls from buddies back home and especially when Matty shows up. He’s his stand-in father after Foster’s real dad proved a long time ago that he wasn’t reliable – with anything. We understood each other in that way. Each of us had an absent father (mine not until I was a teenager), so I guess that would mean that we share some of the same issues – daddy ones.
‘I was almost dead last week,’ Foster reminds him. ‘I feel like a thirty-minute mile should be celebrated at this point in my recovery.’
‘I agree,’ his physical therapist says, thrusting a fist in the air.
‘You seem pretty lively today for someone who was on death’s door last week,’ I say.
‘Lively, and sexy,’ Dolly murmurs behind me.
Foster chuckles, his cheeks growing pink at the attention of the two women not trying to hide their approval of his exterior.
‘Well, you know me, always making a grand entrance.’ Foster winks, his crystal blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
I can’t help but smile at his jest, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. Despite the circumstances that brought him here, his charm and humor are as present as ever. It’s refreshing to see him in such good spirits.
‘Well, you’re just in time for our grand finale,’ I say.
‘Welcome to the water ballet,’ Paul takes over, motioning to him and the two ladies. He then touches his fingers above his head and turns in the water, his yellow float tube acting as his tutu as his spin turns sideways and he ends up in an uncontrolled wobbly float.
‘You’ve probably got to have life insurance for this class, huh?’ Foster kids.
I laugh. ‘I haven’t drowned anyone yet,’ I say, grabbing onto Paul and steadying him once again.
Despite the playful banter around us, there’s an unspoken understanding between Foster and me that goes beyond words. It’s been happening all week. We haven’t really had any conversations about us or the last time we were an ‘us’, besides briefly alluding to the topics and realizing they were still too hot to touch. We’ve just existed and focused on him recovering. His eyes hold a hint of gratitude and warmth that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s moments like these where I wonder if we’ll ever have those conversations we probably both need to get closure from this mess. Do I want to relive that fresh hell? For closure? Maybe.
‘Take a bow, ladies, you’re the stars of the show,’ Paul says when his feet are once again solidly on the bottom of the pool.
‘You guys can go ahead and free-swim,’ I tell the group, swimming to the side and hopping up, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my shoulders.
‘Floating it is,’ Dolly says, shoving off of the shallow end and bobbing into the deep end. Paul and Margaret follow suit.
‘Is there a reason for this visit?’ I ask Foster.
‘The guy torturing me wants me moving and I needed a change of scenery.’ He shrugs his one shoulder, grimacing when the other one moves too.
‘A change of scenery to Paul?’ I point at my elderly swimmer. ‘Who, under that water, is wearing a very tight leopard print speedo?’
Foster’s eyes jet to Paul, who gives him an obnoxious thumbs up. He looks back at me with a shake of his head, a grimace on his face. ‘I’m more here for the pretty blonde instructor.’
I swish my feet in the water below me, unsure what to say about him calling me ‘pretty’ again. The basement is filled with the thick scent of chlorine, humidity and steam as warm water meets the coolness of the walls.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Trust me, Fost. I’ve already noticed your half-bare chest.
‘Is this your longest walk?’ I ask.
‘Yep,’ he says, a proud look on his face. ‘The doctor mentioned going home tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
That’s quick. I mean, it’s not really but it feels quick.
‘The details haven’t been ironed out.’
‘Well, that’s – amazing.’
‘Yeah?’ he asks, his tone unsure.
‘Very. When you were first brought in, I was worried we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.’
‘You worried?’ he asks as if he’s not sure he believes me. ‘For real?’
I nod. ‘Since the moment you were wheeled into my trauma room, Fost.’
He cracks half a smile, looking suddenly shy but also relieved to hear it.
‘Ready to head back?’ his physical therapist butts in, motioning in the direction they came from.
‘Yep,’ Foster says, nodding. ‘I think I’ve pushed my luck far enough for today.’
Matty gives him an appreciative yet gentle pat on the back. ‘You did great, buddy.’
‘I’ll see you later?’ Foster asks, shooting me a charming grin before turning to follow his physical therapist.
‘Yep, I’ve got a bag full of bedside activities in my locker. Just got to get through my baby swim class next and after the toddlers, I’ll probably make it up to your room for lunch?’
‘Perfect,’ he says, flashing me the smile that has always been hard to say no to.
‘See ya then,’ I say, watching them walk away, his IV pole clinking softly with each step. As they disappear through the heavy door back into the hospital corridor, I smile. Am I excited to see him for lunch or at the news that he’s being discharged soon? I’m not sure.
Dolly elbows me in the calf playfully. ‘Hot lunch date, huh?’
I roll my eyes, trying to hide the smile that threatens to break through. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Nothing but longing gazes and unresolved tension?’ Margaret chimes in with a smirk.
I give them both a look. ‘You got that from the last two minutes?’
‘A girl never forgets those looks and at our age, seeing it is a rarity. Who is he?’
‘His name is Foster, and we were once married,’ I say, tossing my towel aside and hopping back into the pool with them.
‘Marr ied ?’ they say in unison, bobbing on floaties in front of me. ‘Why the past tense, darling?’
I’ve never actually tried to explain this part. ‘We got married impulsively in a five-minute ceremony after only a month of knowing each other. We threw our cares to the wind, and we jumped all the way in. Which was so, so good as it was happening, but in the end, love wasn’t enough. He had his life and I had mine. It was destined to fail.’
‘A serendipitous moment that wasn’t meant to be?’ Paul asks like he’s experienced it before.
‘Exactly,’ I say, realizing he’s described it perfectly.
I’d never want to have not experienced it, because it was great in the moment. But reality had different ideas and considering that’s where we live most often, I had to listen because I deserved to be happy too. And I wasn’t.