Somehow that one impromptu offer to Alec Bryson on Memorial Day weekend had turned into a standing obligation. (John had been right about her getting sucked in, though Zell was loath to admit it.) Three weeks later she was schlepping up to the pool almost every day with Alec and Lilah in tow, seeing to their sunscreen and snacks, hollering at them not to run, keeping an eye on them when it seemed the lifeguards weren’t doing an adequate job.
She scanned the circumference of the pool, hoping to spot a friendly face like she used to find whenever she came here with her own kids. Back then she’d had friends, peers in the same boat as she was. They’d share sunscreen, slathering it on one another’s kids without even noticing which child they were tending to. They’d make enough food to share, too, passing out peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches that had fermented in the heat. On Fridays they’d bring cans of beer and toast the weekend, sharing recipes for marinades and macaroni salad, the foods of summer.
They’d sit together for hours on end, griping about money and children and, always, husbands. But it was the kind of griping that brought comfort, that told her she was part of something bigger. In those endless days at home when she felt isolated and forgotten, she’d think of her pool friends doing the same thing in their respective houses and feel less alone. In the winter she’d find herself counting the days until the pool reopened. They just didn’t keep up with one another during the school year like they did in the summer. They were their own little summer society.
This summer she found herself lured back into the world of mothers and children, sitting on a lounge chair in the vicinity of these younger women (for it was mostly women, still, in spite of all the advancements society had made) because that was where Alec and Lilah wanted to be. Well, Lilah did, at least. Alec kept to himself mostly. She worried about him, wondered what kind of damage he’d sustained in all that had happened.
She felt a presence and opened her eyes, squinting from the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the pool. Alec stood over her as if she’d conjured him up. He was still dry, and the intensity of his expression was so much like his mother’s she had to look away. He’d refused to get into the pool today, sitting off to the side and watching instead. “When are we going to leave?” he asked.
“Well, Alec, we just got here,” she responded. She pointed to a group of kids in the pool, all playing some sort of strange game that involved swimming from one side to the other very fast. “Why don’t you go play with the other children? They seem to be having a good time.”
Alec glanced in the direction she was pointing, then shook his head. “Don’t wanna.”
Zell spotted a young woman in the pool playing with her little boy, and wondered if that was why Alec wanted to leave. “Well, we just got your sunscreen on, and we haven’t had the nice snacks I packed for us, and your sister seems to be having a good time. So we’ll have to stay for a little while.”
Alec sighed deeply. “OK,” he said, then started to shuffle away. He stopped short and shuffled back. “Can I go over to the playground?” A note of hope had returned to his voice.
They’d replaced the playground since her children were little. The old playground had been deemed “unsafe,” though Lord knew her kids had played there for countless hours and never been hurt. But parents these days worried about every living thing under the sun. It made her thankful that her children hadn’t had their own children yet. She wasn’t sure she was ready for all their rules and regulations when she kept her grandchildren. She’d heard stories about the special formula shipped on dry ice that cost as much as gold, the car seats that could practically drive themselves, the allergies and sensitivities and diagnoses, everything with a fancy name to it. This new generation of parents just had too much information, if you asked her. It was that Internet, fueling their neuroses, empowering them. And don’t get her started on all their devices, their heads bent down over their phones so much they could barely be sociable.
“Can I?” Alec repeated.
She glanced over at the play structure, a large wooden thing with all kinds of complicated platforms and ladders but just two little swings, located over the fence from the pool and adjacent to the neighborhood lake, which was really just a glorified pond.
“I suppose so. Does your—” She caught herself. She’d almost said “mom.” “Does your dad let you go over there?”
Alec nodded vigorously. “I’ll be careful,” he said. Lance had at least gotten Alec’s bangs cut, so now she could see his huge, brown puppy-dog eyes.
“OK, just listen out for when I call you,” she instructed. He gave an absentminded nod and walked quickly away. She wondered if perhaps he was putting one over on her, if this was something that Debra would’ve allowed. She sighed and threw her arm over her eyes. Debra had left, and Zell was here. So what Debra wanted didn’t matter anymore. It was Zell who was making sure their skin didn’t burn and that they got fresh air and had milk for breakfast. It was Zell who was worrying about Debra’s husband and making her own husband cut their grass so poor, overloaded Lance didn’t have to. It was Zell who was keeping one eye on Debra’s son on the playground and one on her daughter in the pool. It was Zell who was responsible. Sometimes she thought of just telling Lance the truth about Debra, but instead she focused on helping with the children. She told herself that was enough. Because telling Lance the truth about Debra would be telling the truth about herself.
The lifeguard blew his whistle. “Adult swim,” he hollered, then climbed down out of the lifeguard stand with a relieved look on his face. In unison, the kids all groaned loudly and exited the pool, making their way over to where the parents were congregated, the lounge chairs clustered in odd arrangements that were far from the nice rows they started out in every day.
Lilah and two of her little friends came over to Zell. “Can I have a Popsicle?” she asked, her voice sweeter than normal. Ten years old and she already knew how to manipulate. Her little friends hung back, wary, their bathing suits dripping steadily onto the cement.
“We didn’t bring any Popsicles, dear,” Zell answered.
“My friends did, though.” She gestured to the two girls with her, who tittered in response. “They said I could.”
“Well, I guess if their mother says it’s OK, then that’s fine,” she said. She reached into her pool bag and pulled out a bright-orange visor with the name of some drug written across it, a leftover from one of John’s many pharmaceutical conventions. She popped it onto her head. The sun was brutal. But her skin was getting tanner, and that made it all sort of worth it. She would have tan fat at least. She looked down at the expanse of her stomach housed in blue Lycra. Too bad John’s company never made a drug that made people lose weight without killing them in the process.
The girls squealed with glee, their voices nearly piercing her eardrums, and ran toward where the mother of the other two sat. She looked as uncertain and out of place as Zell felt.
Two chairs over from where Zell sat, a young mother walked back to a chair with a little boy, who was dripping wet and crying softly. “This is adult swim,” the girl patiently explained. “That means the mommies and daddies get to swim with no kids in the water.” She pointed to the empty lifeguard stand. “See? There’s no lifeguard to protect the little children.”
The little boy was not placated by this explanation. “But I want to swim,” he whined, his voice teetering on a tantrum. Zell recognized the warning sound.
“Well, right now we’re going to have a juice box and some strawberries. And by the time we’re done eating, it’ll be time to go back in the water.” The girl’s voice was singsongy, as if she was attempting to sound kind, but bordering on losing it. Zell recognized that as well. Parenting might’ve changed since she’d done it, but some things were still the same.