Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I put Jordy to work clearing a section along the back fence. He complains a lot. The gloves are too itchy, there are too many spiders, that sort of thing. I ask him to help me cart mulch from my truck into the yard instead. He struggles lifting a bale of pea straw out of the truck bed and drops it. The twine breaks open and straw spills into the gutter.
He sulks instead of apologising. I tell him to find a solution.
Lyle brings chilled water to the deck, and I take a pit stop at his side while Jordy balances bales in the barrow and wheels them down the side of the house to the back fence.
“How haven’t you flipped yet?” Lyle asks.
I laugh and take a few gulps of my water. “A few selfish thoughts keep my spirits up.”
“Selfish thoughts?”
“Finally, I have proof.”
“Of what?”
I lean in and whisper close to his ear. “You’re not entirely perfect.”
He elbows my side. I side-eye him, and he side-eyes me, and we hold it for three long beats before breaking apart on a smirk.
Five minutes later, Lyle disappears inside and Jordy gives the wheelbarrow a boot as yet another bale of straw topples off his haphazard stack. He’s done.
I dig in my pockets and pull out a folded twenty.
“What? Just this? I worked for hours.”
“You didn’t even hold out the hour. That’s over minimum wage.”
His mouth drops open and he snaps it shut again, stiffening his shoulders. “Whatever.”
He stomps over the deck to the back door but before he can step inside, I clamp a hand on his shoulder and steer him back. “Shoes off. Respect his space.” I lower my voice. “Him, too.”
“Why do you care?”
I laugh. “Simple human decency, mate.”
“Fuck this.” He rips himself away from me and treads through the house in his shoes. I toe off my boots and head in to hear him yelling at Lyle, “Your place is worse than Nan’s.” He grabs his bag, and the front door slams.
I wince.
Lyle is standing in the middle of the living room, palming his head.
I stop beside him. “Did I make it worse?”
He jerks his head up. Shakes it. “Believe it or not, this probably means he’s taking it all in.”
“Do you need to follow?”
He rushes into the hall, grabs his keys, and hops into his clean sneakers. “Would you mind locking up when you leave?”
I wave him off; he mouths his thanks and races after Jordy, and I head back to the garden and tackle the lavender beds. Turned out to be quite the eventful morning, with one shiny silver lining: I temporarily forgot about the swimming thing.
That anxiety returns, of course. Returns, and peaks, five days later.
“How are you feeling?”
Nervous, clammy, excited, sick.
“All right,” I say as I pull up my new navy swim shorts. The smell of chlorine hits the back of my nose with every breath; there’s no zoning out what’s waiting for me out there.
Robin’s toes curl and tense, and I think he might be about to say something, but then he walks away.
Grabbing my gear and towel, I slip out of the changing room and stride after Robin to the pool.
Just look at the man. He’s all smooth, tan skin, save for the green and blue shorts that—unfortunately—leave room for the imagination.
Water splashes over my feet as some guy doing butterfly stroke finishes a lap. He pops up out of the water with his goggles on and smiles a self-satisfied smile as he looks at the clock.
It isn’t just him out there either. Almost all the lanes are in use by at least one person. All swimming. Swimming well.
Butterfly guy starts a new lap. He looks so much younger than me.
I don’t realise I’ve stopped until Robin backtracks and stands beside me. “That could be you one day.”
I want to shake my head. That will never be me. “One step at a time, right?” I say, because that sounds rational and clear-headed and far more attractive than hyperventilating.
All you have to do is get in the water and finish this lesson. Then you can say, well look, we tried.
Robin bumps shoulders with me, his skin cool against mine. “Come on, we can start in the kiddie pool.”
The kiddie pool.
Heat rushes to my face as I force myself to nod and follow him. The shallow pool is almost empty; through the still water, the bottom is clear to see. On it are colourful murals of kids splashing and laughing. There’s even a picture of a tween coaching his baby brother to swim.
“The very first step is to hop into the water,” Robin says, chuckling. I flush even more.
“Yeah, right. That . . . that probably makes sense.”
There are four shallow steps, and Robin is already on the last one, his back to me. I take a moment to swallow back my nerves before stepping in after him.