Meanwhile, Timothy, apparently warmed up by his simple crawl, was doing the butterfly. I’d tried that once. Mouthfuls of water and almost sinking had given me the idea that such a feat was beyond me. I was a simplistic swimmer, a minnow, I think they called it when I was younger.
I remembered how I’d longed to pass into the mermaid group but never achieved it. At least I hadn’t half drowned, which happened to one of the girls in my group. After her traumatic rescue by two of the lifeguards, she never came back. I couldn’t remember her name, but the panic on her face had made me a bit fearful for a while, but I’d kept coming back, hoping to get better. But the summer ended, and the next year, I had to start all over again. I think they called me a goldfish then, and the elite group were the dolphins.
Fatigued, I stopped and sat down on the steps where I’d walked into the pool. I watched Timothy continue his swim for a bit, but his non-stop performance made me feel lazy and, well, like a minnow or a goldfish. I climbed up the stairs, picked up my towel, and sat down on the chair, continuing to watch the expert in the water.
It was probably no more than fifteen minutes later when the Greek Adonis, I mean, Michaelangelo’s David exited. Oh, my, the man had a body that my friends would have called eye candy. When the water dribbled down his back, it made me want to lick it off. Actually, to lick him everywhere.
Now why had I thought that? I sank down in my seat, glad he couldn’t read the thoughts flittering around my brain. They were hot and delicious.
Timothy toweled himself a moment and then came to sit in a chair beside me. “Everything you see is yours, my darling.”
I stood up, fastened my towel more tightly around my body, and took a step in the direction of retreat. “I have to go wash my hair,” I said.
“Wait. How about we walk over to the waterfall as requested. Then perhaps, a lesson in some class, a ride on one of the club’s horses, or we could check out that cake decorating class?”
I bit my lip, considering. “Yes, but I don’t know the first thing about riding. Only when . . . “I stopped. Was I supposed to discuss such things when we were outside, where someone might overhear us?
“They have an old hobby horse that is gentle as a carousel steed, except she doesn’t bob up and down. Molly, I think her name is. The only negative is that after riding, they’ll make us change clothes. Some people don’t like the smell of horses.