The lifeguard blew the whistle, and she watched as the girls and their new friend dove back into the pool. Bryte urged her to come with her into the pool to appease the little boy and continue their conversation. They gave the older woman they were awkwardly standing near a wave as they followed the little boy—she’d already forgotten his name, or maybe she’d blocked it out on purpose—over to the shallow area. She’d been thinking of getting in anyway; it was so hot, and it was only June. She’d forgotten the heat and humidity of a southern summer. But she’d also forgotten her mother’s tomato sandwiches (white bread, peeled and sliced tomatoes, Duke’s mayonnaise, liberal salt and pepper), the way peaches fresh off the tree tasted, and chasing lightning bugs at dusk, the air at night as warm as midday in Connecticut. The home of her childhood could still offer the comforts of that childhood, comforts she welcomed.
“This is so great!” Bryte said. She looked at the boy. “Christopher.” Her voice dripped with the kind of gentleness only a first-time mother can muster. “This is one of Mommy’s oldest friends. We grew up together.” She looked over at Jencey, seeking validation that her claim was true.
Jencey nodded and looked away, pretending to look for her girls even though she knew precisely where they were: on the little diving board. At their club back home, they had a high dive, a curving slide, a snack bar with waiters to deliver drinks to your chaise. She and her friends practically just held out their hands and the drinks appeared like magic. She wondered if Bryte knew the truth about why she was back. She had yet to hear that unmistakable note of pity she’d heard in the voices of her former friends in Connecticut the unfortunate times she’d run into any of them before she’d left.
She hadn’t wanted to tell anyone what had happened to Arch, including her parents. But when it became apparent that she might end up needing her folks’ help, she’d filled them in on all the gory details. Her father, good man that he was, had asked if he should come up there and kick Arch’s ass. She’d laughed in spite of herself and assured him that, no, his ass-kicking services would not be needed. The federal government was doing a fine and dandy job of that, thank you very much.
“Just know we’re here if you need us,” he’d said. The kindness in his voice had brought tears to her eyes. It had made her remember the support he’d offered before, back when the hearts had started showing up everywhere and she’d had no choice but to go somewhere that her “admirer” couldn’t find her anymore. It was her father who’d driven her up north, to a college they’d told no one about, since no one could figure out who’d been stalking her. They couldn’t afford for the wrong person to know, the wrong person to find her. That had been a long, quiet ride, the radio on low, the mood in the car pensive, not unlike her ride back all these years later.
“I can’t believe my mom didn’t tell me you were here!” Bryte said, her focus intent on Christopher instead of Jencey, which was a good thing.
“She probably didn’t know,” Jencey said.
“Didn’t know?” Bryte repeated as a question. She looked up at a plane making its way across the wide blue sky and nodded an answer to Christopher’s (incessant) questions.
“I sort of asked them to keep it quiet. That I was here.”
“Oh no, did something happen?” Bryte’s face registered legitimate concern, but in spite of that, Jencey couldn’t tell her. She could tell Bryte was trying to be her friend, but things weren’t the same between them for a lot of reasons.
She waved her arm in the air and forced a smile. “Just didn’t want a big to-do. You know, after all this time.”
“It has been a long time, Jencey.” Bryte’s voice got quieter. “I never thought you’d stay gone so long.”
Though she tried to hide it, Jencey picked up on the hurt in Bryte’s voice and attempted to lighten the mood with a joke.
“Well, you know, I met this man, and I got pregnant—oops!” Jencey grinned, expecting Bryte to laugh, but Bryte didn’t even smile over her standard joke, which usually got a better response. She continued talking, her words tumbling over themselves. “So we got married and had the kids, and things were crazy. We made a few quick trips back, but we never stayed very long. It was easier to have my parents come to us.” She took a breath. “So what about you guys? How’d you end up back here?”
Bryte watched as Christopher barely put his face into the water, then she applauded as if he’d just swum the length of the pool. “We bought a house here when I got pregnant with Christopher. Wanted him to have the same kind of childhood we both did. You know . . .” Bryte’s words died on her tongue as she realized what she was saying. This wasn’t a place full of happy memories for Jencey. For her, this was a place to run from, not to.
Bryte recovered quickly, her voice confident. “I mean, we love it here.”
“Of course,” Jencey found herself saying. “It’s nice.” She looked around at the handsome lifeguard on the stand in his Risky Business sunglasses, the rippling water, the assortment of children playing together, and the older woman who’d been so nice—JJ’s mom. If she tried to recall some happy memories of this place, she might come upon them. She might see things differently.
“Look, Mom!” she heard Zara call, and turned to see her youngest, most cautious child standing on the diving board. Back home Zara never went near the high dive or the slide, hanging out in the splash pool for babies instead and insisting that was all she wanted. Maybe this short diving board was more her speed. “Watch this!”
“I’m watching!” she called back brightly.
Zara sprang into the air and gathered her feet to her, forming herself into a compact little ball just before coming down with a loud splash into the water. All the other kids clapped as Zara popped back up to the surface, blinking to clear her vision so that she could make sure Jencey was still watching.
BRYTE
On the way back to her chair, Bryte stepped on a discarded juice box, and the remaining contents squirted her foot. She grimaced and sat down to wipe it off with her towel. Her friend Karen had arrived with her daughter, Sarah, while she was catching up with Jencey. Karen sprayed the child with SPF 100, coating the air more than the kid. Bryte waved the mist away and handed a cup of water to Christopher, who was already whining that he wanted to go back in the water.
“We need to say hi to our friends,” she coaxed. She looked at Karen and sighed with exhaustion. “Hi,” she said.
Karen laughed and pointed over at Jencey. “Who was that?”
Bryte smirked at her. How to explain who Jencey was? She didn’t have the energy to go into it now, so she gave as brief an explanation as possible. “That was someone I grew up with. She’s in town with her girls for a visit.” She made her voice sound light and carefree as she said it.
Karen checked Jencey out surreptitiously from behind her dark glasses. “She’s pretty,” she said. “Really pretty.”
Bryte flopped back on the chaise. “She always was,” she said. “And besides, her kids are older. She has more time to spend on herself.”
Karen pointed at herself. “Don’t I know it—this bathing suit?” She gestured to the plain black tankini she wore. “When I put this on today, it was the first time I’d been out of sweats in two days! When Kevin wants to have sex, I’m like, ‘Dude? Have you looked at me? Have you smelled me?’”
Bryte laughed. “Preach, sister,” she said.
Karen began the arduous process of pulling the floaties onto her daughter’s arm as Sarah twisted and whined. “You can’t go in unless you have these on,” she said. “You know the rules.” She gave up when the floaties were just above the elbows instead of at the biceps where they belonged. She waved Sarah toward the pool. “Let’s go,” she said.
She motioned for Bryte to get up, and Bryte moaned good-naturedly. “I will pay you one hundred dollars to take both kids in the pool for one hour.”