bathing suit in electric orange. A teeny-tiny, two-piece maternity suit. “I didn’t know they made bikinis for pregnant women.” She held up the top and bottom to universal clapping.
And last but not least, Rufus pulled out a slim envelope.
“A ticket to the Bahamas?” Sarah joked. She slit the envelope open and read the contents, “This confirms your registration in the Adult School ‘Light Water Aerobics’ class for pregnant woman and those rehabilitating from injuries.’”
“Isn’t it great!” Wanda had exclaimed. “It’s tonight, and Lena and I have signed up, too! It’ll be like a continuation of our workouts here!” Then she squealed.
That should have been a tip-off, Sarah thought as she now stood in the women’s locker room on the second floor of the Grantham Middle School. Goose bumps appeared on more exposed skin than she cared to think about. She picked up her towel from the bench and wrapped it around her waist. There might be less of her on display to the world, but she was afraid she now looked like a beached whale in terry cloth.
Indeed, the whole idea of lowering her inflated body into a chlorinated swimming pool was just not all that appealing to her at the moment. Any sane person in a similar circumstance would be home, curled up in a comfy chair, watching the rerun of Comedy Central’s Daily Show and eating a grilled-cheese sandwich, better yet, mocha-chip ice cream straight out of the container.
“C’mon, dear, you don’t want to be late. If you think I’m a stickler for punctuality, wait till you meet Doris,” Wanda said.
Sarah scooped up her bathing cap and obeyed. So much for sanity. She followed Wanda and Lena down the stairs and, mindful of her manners, she held open the door to the pool area for the older women first. Wham! The heat and humidity assaulted her immediately. The smell of chlorine just about brought up the plum cake.
Sarah looked down and gulped. Finally, she risked lifting her head—and got her first look at the pool. “Wanda, I thought this class was for women only?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Wanda asked all innocent.
Sarah looked around again. Three other women in various stages of pregnancy were there, none of them wearing bikinis. Great. She also couldn’t help noticing that they all had male partners in tow.
The couples clustered together in a circle, tight enough that a take-out venti couldn’t fit in between. As Sarah walked by, she could hear them exchanging due dates and giggles. Men-and-women giggles.
Wanda and Lena moved to the side of the couples group, where they joined an older man with a vertical scar down his chest. Bypass surgery. Next to him was another man who looked to be in his fifties, almost a carbon copy of the older guy except with more hair, considerably less weight, and a hollow look in his eyes and cheeks. Father and son seemed to be old friends of Wanda and Lena, since the four of them…well…mostly the three of them, were chatting it up. The son appeared to hang at the fringes nodding at appropriate times, but adding little to the conversation.
She was about to join them and introduce herself when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start of class. The instructor, clipboard in hand, with a whistle hanging from a lanyard around her neck and reading glasses halfway down her nose, strode to the edge of the pool. She might be pushing sixty, but she looked like she could wrestle a grizzly bear with one hand tied behind her back while teaching the fundamentals of lifesaving with the other. She blew her whistle. The giggling and whispers halted.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m Doris Freund, your instructor for Light Water Aerobics,” she announced.
“Why don’t I call the roll before we get down to business.” She started rattling off names with marine sergeant precision, and when she was partway down the list she called out, “Halverson, Sarah.” She peered over her reading glasses.
Sarah waved. “Pres—”
The door to the pool swung open. Doris looked up at the clock. Everyone else stared at the door.
Sarah immediately saw a man, and from his surfer’s shorts, lanky walk and thin frame assumed he was of college age. But after a quick glance at his face, she realized he was older—mid-thirties. He had the kind of features—sharp, high cheek bones, deep-set ice-blue eyes with lines fanning out at the corners, and a wide mouth with thin lips—that hinted at intelligence, wit, and, okay, might as well admit it, Sarah said to herself, long-term sex appeal. But there was also an air of mystery, or maybe it was sadness. Which only made him more intriguing. But truth be told, the physical attribute that had caught her attention was that he was thin. Very thin, on a frame that could use an extra twenty pounds.
Cancer and the side effects of chemotherapy. Pretty rough. He was young and as an expectant father…
Sarah waited, watching the door, wondering what his wife would look like. Only nobody came. She raised an eyebrow. So if he wasn’t an expectant father…
She saw him glance quickly around and stop. His mouth opened, but no words came forth. He surveyed the group slowly, then screwed up his mouth.
“I find as a rule that the class works better if we all arrive on time,” Doris said sternly. “I’ve scheduled a number of activities, and to maximize the benefits and everyone’s enjoyment I’d prefer not to have to rush any of them, if you catch my drift?” She waited for an acknowledgment.
The latecomer breathed in and lifted his head, elevating his proud chin. “Duly noted,” he said. He blinked. “Mrs. Montgomery?”
“Huntington? Huntington Phox, is that really you? I haven’t seen you since you were in fifth grade.”
“Fourth,” he said.
Doris arched one brow critically.
“Well, maybe you’re right. Fifth.” He didn’t sound convinced but obviously was astute enough to know when to give in. “And most people call me Hunt now,” he said.
“Yes, well, Huntington, it’s good to see you after all this time. But it’s not Mrs. Montgomery anymore. Mr. Montgomery passed away some twenty years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“And then there was Mr. Dunworth.” Her voice took a reflective tone. “He was a merchant marine. But you know how they are. So now it’s back to Ms. Freund, my maiden name. But everyone may of course call me Doris.”
LIKE THAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN, Hunt thought. He noticed that all the class members nodded nervously, all except this one tall woman with straight dark-blond hair that she was attempting to squeeze into a racing cap.
Under other circumstances he might have admired her fine features, but these were not exactly normal circumstances.
How normal could it be given the fact that he was forced to stand in front of a bunch of strangers, not to mention his former grammar school teacher, wearing the only pair of swim trunks he had managed to find in the bottom of his dresser drawer. Not just any trunks, either, but some faded board shorts, half-forgotten mementos from a surfing vacation during his junior year spring break.
But enough about his laughable figure—too bad he wasn’t laughing—since his attention anyway was fixated on this real-life grown-up female. Wearing a bright orange bikini that barely held her bountiful curves.
Hunt
