Page 27 of Still The One

My eyes are already on him, Mags.‘Hi,’ I say when he stops poolside. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, glancing at Matty on one side of him and his physical therapist on the other.

Despite the IVs hanging from a pole that Matty is pushing, and Foster’s hand secured onto the hospital-issue cane, he looks better than I’ve seen him all week.

‘I asked him where he wanted to walk and he asked to come here,’ his physical therapist says.

‘Really?’

‘I thought you had to be sixty-five to take this class?’ Paul hollers over the music, obviously miffed over the potential newbie the ladies both have their eyes on.

‘I may look thirty-five, but I assure you, I’m a spry sixty-five,’ Foster says with a smirk, earning a chuckle from Dolly and Margaret. Paul’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

‘Not sure “spry” is the word,’ Matty says. ‘It took us thirty minutes to get here from his room.’

Matty has been in and out of Portland since Foster’s accident. This time he can only stay twenty-four hours, but I’ve noticed how Foster seems happier when he gets calls from buddies back home and especially when Matty shows up. He’s his stand-in father after Foster’s real dad proved a long time ago that he wasn’t reliable – with anything. We understood each other in that way. Each of us had an absent father (mine not until I was a teenager), so I guess that would mean that we share some of the same issues – daddy ones.

‘I was almost dead last week,’ Foster reminds him. ‘I feel like a thirty-minute mile should be celebrated at this point in my recovery.’

‘I agree,’ his physical therapist says, thrusting a fist in the air.

‘You seem pretty lively today for someone who was on death’s door last week,’ I say.

‘Lively,andsexy,’ Dolly murmurs behind me.

Foster chuckles, his cheeks growing pink at the attention of the two women not trying to hide their approval of his exterior.

‘Well, you know me, always making a grand entrance.’ Foster winks, his crystal blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

I can’t help but smile at his jest, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. Despite the circumstances that brought him here, his charm and humor are as present as ever. It’s refreshing to see him in such good spirits.

‘Well, you’re just in time for our grand finale,’ I say.

‘Welcome to the water ballet,’ Paul takes over, motioning to him and the two ladies. He then touches his fingers above his head and turns in the water, his yellow float tube acting as his tutu as his spin turns sideways and he ends up in an uncontrolled wobbly float.

‘You’ve probably got to have life insurance for this class, huh?’ Foster kids.

I laugh. ‘I haven’t drowned anyone yet,’ I say, grabbing onto Paul and steadying him once again.

Despite the playful banter around us, there’s an unspoken understanding between Foster and me that goes beyond words. It’s been happening all week. We haven’t really had any conversations about us or the last time we were an ‘us’, besides briefly alluding to the topics and realizing they were still too hot to touch. We’ve just existed and focused on him recovering. His eyes hold a hint of gratitude and warmth that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s moments like these where I wonder if we’ll ever have those conversations we probably both need to get closure from this mess. Do I want to relive that fresh hell? For closure? Maybe.

‘Take a bow, ladies, you’re the stars of the show,’ Paul says when his feet are once again solidly on the bottom of the pool.

‘You guys can go ahead and free-swim,’ I tell the group, swimming to the side and hopping up, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my shoulders.

‘Floating it is,’ Dolly says, shoving off of the shallow end and bobbing into the deep end. Paul and Margaret follow suit.

‘Is there a reason for this visit?’ I ask Foster.

‘The guy torturing me wants me moving and I needed a change of scenery.’ He shrugs his one shoulder, grimacing when the other one moves too.

‘A change of scenery to Paul?’ I point at my elderly swimmer. ‘Who, under that water, is wearing a very tight leopard print speedo?’

Foster’s eyes jet to Paul, who gives him an obnoxious thumbs up. He looks back at me with a shake of his head, a grimace on his face. ‘I’m more here for the pretty blonde instructor.’

I swish my feet in the water below me, unsure what to say about him calling me ‘pretty’ again. The basement is filled with the thick scent of chlorine, humidity and steam as warm water meets the coolness of the walls.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

Trust me, Fost. I’ve already noticed your half-bare chest.

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