Page 84 of How to Walk Away

I looked at him back. “I worked really hard all the time.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

“I’m not sure you’re qualified to judge, triathlon guy.”

“I’m fun,” Ian protested.

“You are the opposite of fun,” I said.

“You might not say that after tonight.” He raised his eyebrows a little, as if to say,Listen up.

I squinted with suspicion. “What happens tonight?”

“I’m taking you swimming.”

I stared for a second. “There’s a pool?”

“A therapy pool.” He nodded. “In the basement.”

I looked around the room. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Yes, you do,” Kitty sang out. “Mom packed you one.”

Ian nodded at me. “Sounds like you do.”

“But you could also just skinny-dip,” Kitty suggested.

Suddenly I remembered my donor sites. And the third-degree burns on my neck. “Wait!CanI swim?” I gestured at my whole collarbone-neck-jaw area. “With these?”

Ian just gave me a little shrug. “Let’s go find out.”

***

AN HOUR LATER,I was wearing my least favorite swimsuit—a retro polka-dot two-piece that I hadn’t worn in years—and sitting on the edge of the pool with my spaghetti legs dangling in. It was something I’d done thousands of times before, but it was different now. For one thing, my sensation was spotty below the knees, so I could feel the cold water in some places, but not in others. For another, I could not kick my legs, so they just draped like wet towels over the edge.

The therapy pool was deserted at nine-thirty at night, and it reeked of so much chlorine it was like sniffing a straight bottle of bleach. The fluorescent lighting gave it a slight public-bathroom vibe. I had a distinct feeling we were not supposed to be here.

I was waiting for Ian while he changed, wondering if he kept a swimsuit at work for last-minute swims just like these.

No, it turned out. He appeared in just a pair of regular cotton cargo shorts. No shirt. The sight of his naked shoulders and his torso was so shocking, I could only stare.

“You’re going to swim like that?” I asked.

“I could skinny-dip, if you prefer.”

“Did you just make a joke?”

“I never joke,” he said. Then he cannonballed into the far end of the pool. When he surfaced, he shook out his hair like a dog and then freestyled over to me.

I put my hands out as he approached. “Don’t get me wet.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’ll be weeks before your donor sites heal up. Check with the doc, but I think it might be up to a year before you can swim after a graft like that.”

“Ayear?” I had not gotten that memo.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t use the water, if you’re careful.”

“I’ll be careful, Cannonball Run.Youjust be careful.”

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