Page 50

It was absurd, and somehow that made it wonderful. Paul Ellsworth, who folded his tie before putting it in his drawer and kept peppermint gum in his glove compartment, splashed me in my parents’ pool while The Eagles drifted from the radio.

For a few minutes, I was simply twenty-three. Not fifty inside twenty-three. Not a woman trying to decide whether to save a marriage she hadn’t lived yet or chase the man whose kiss she still wanted. Simply twenty-three, laughing in the pool with a good-looking guy who liked me and remembered things I said.

Paul swam better than I expected, long easy strokes from one side to the other. I beat him twice only because I cheated and pushed off early.

“You left before I said go,” he said, breathing hard at the wall.

“I anticipated.”

“You cheated.”

“I prefer anticipated.”

“That sounds like something your father would say after winning at cards.”

“My father absolutely cheats at cards.”

“I knew it.”

His laugh came out breathless, and when he looked at me, water streaming down his face, he looked so happy that I had to look away.

We floated near the deep end, the water moving gently around us. The sky had deepened to violet, and the smell of chicken wafted from the main house. Normally my parents ate early, but once in a while they mixed things up and enjoyed a late dinner.

Paul brushed water from his eyes. “If you wanted to stay in Madison for a while, we could.”

I held the side of the pool. “For a while?”

“Yes.”

“And Side A?”

“I don’t understand your job at Side A. You have a college degree.”

He sighed. “But I don’t have to understand it to know you like who you are there.”

“Did you write that down?”

“I may have practiced in the car.”

I smiled despite myself.

His stood in water up to his chest, serious again. “I don’t want you to feel pushed.”

“Into moving to Cleveland?”

“Into any of it.”

The patio lights shifted across his face, making him look older for a second, or maybe I put the years there myself. I thought of fifty-year-old Paul reaching for checks, filling the gas tank before I noticed it was low, highlighting medical pamphlets beside Claire’s hospital bed, knowing which allergy medicine didn’t make me sleepy.

He’d loved me, I thought suddenly. Maybe not in a way that had set the air on fire. But Paul had loved me in tire rotations and bread baskets and standing between me and whatever inconvenience he could take care of first.

“Anything?” I asked.

He looked confused. “What?”

“You said you don’t want me pushed into any of it.”

“I don’t.”