Sunlight pours into the solarium, shining off the water, giving the room a cheerful, almost Victorian feel, a steampunk-like blend of modern and antiquated. Time and sunlight has baked the large wood beams that support the glass windows, and we’ve preserved the look and feel even while upgrading the pool systems.
“You have this whenever you want,” Carol says breathlessly. “So nice.”
“Now that it’s fixed, bring Jeffrey and Tyler over whenever you like!” I urge her.
“Oh, trust me, I will.”
“I mean it. I’m stuck on bed rest. I need the company.”
“Speaking of which,” Shannon says sternly, “get in the pool and quit standing.”
The two of them find their suits in the closet, then go into the small rooms off the pool deck, one a bathroom with a shower, the other a small room for changing. When James created this indoor pool, it wasn’t for fun.
It was for achievement.
A single lane, fifty meters long.
A pool Andrew’s mother never saw.
After his mother died, and Andrew’s deathly wasp allergy was evident, he stopped all outdoor sports, but James was adamant he have a sport, so Andrew switched to swimming. Turned out to be outstanding at it.
And if nothing else, James McCormick loves achievement in his children, even if he doesn’t love them in normal ways.
Hence the long, narrow pool attached to our house.
“Oooo,” Shannon says as she finds the ladder and slowly steps in. We added a ladder when we first bought the house. Andrew wanted to put in a regular pool, but I stopped him.
There’s something very unique about this one.
Other than the ladder and the conversion to saltwater, we haven’t made big changes.
I wait until Carol comes out of the bathroom and change slowly into my suit, taking the time to pee and stretch before climbing into the water. Shannon hands me a floatie, my arms going to the sides of it, my body weightless.
The babies feel so weird like this.
“I wonder if this is what it feels like for them in me,” I mutter.
Lefty moves, pushing down, making Righty shove up against my lung.
Until I was in the water, I didn’t realize how much pain my hips and lower pelvis had been in. The relief is palpable, and I sigh with contentment.
Shannon swims slowly all the way down the lane, keeping her head above water, her lazy breaststroke drawing my attention. When Andrew uses the pool, he’s a model of ruthless efficiency, long torso like Michael Phelps, strong and swift strokes moving him though the water like he’s oiled up and shot from a rocket.
Shannon’s form is like watching a raccoon take a swim from the shore to a rock.
“How are you?” Carol asks, treading water. She’s letting her hair get wet, the ends turning dark. Like Marie, she’s a natural blonde. Unlike Marie, she’s still her natural color. For whatever reason, Marie’s gone lighter over the years.
At this rate, she’ll be bright gold by the time she’s seventy.
“I’m… I don’t know. I feel useless.”
“You’re baking babies. What could be more useful.”
“I know.”
There’s more to say, but I can’t find the words. Being asked how I am is a mine field. It’s much easier with a full stomach.
And good friends.
Shanon swims halfway back, then calls out, “Carol! Aren’t you swimming?”
“I am!”
“Swim swimming!”
“Nah. I like treading water.”
“You need to bring Ellie over,” I tell Shannon.
“It’s summer. Plenty of outside time at the pool,” she says. “Mia takes her to the club almost every day.” Shannon and Declan found the best nanny through an agency Andrew’s insisting we use.
Two nannies, he says, plus a night nurse.
Unlike Shannon, I am all about taking all the help.
“Sure. But I’m bored and you don’t have to put sunscreen on here here. Come here,” I insist, earning a laugh from Carol.
“Done.”
“Do you hear that?” Carol asks, arms moving at shoulder level, her ability to tread water for long stretches quite admirable. I feel pathetic clinging to a floatie, but I also don’t care.
My job is to just be.
And let these babies cook.
“Hear what?” Shannon calls out.
“Nothing! I hear nothing! We left our cell phones in the main house and no one can bother us!”
The laughter that echoes up and pings against the solarium glass is the sound of tired women who feel like they’re getting away with something.
I get the strong sense I’m going to laugh like this a lot for the next eighteen years.
For the next half hour, we swim and float, the water easing tension I didn’t know I had in my joints, our conversation drifting to the mundane.
Until Shannon turns, Carol right after her, and they look at the door from the house to the pool.
“There you are!” Andrew shouts, voice flooded with relief. Immediately, he speaks into his phone. “Found her.” Then he taps the screen, shoves the phone in his jacket pocket, and walks swiftly to the pool’s edge by me, crouching down. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Scared?”
“You didn’t answer your phone. So I tried Shannon. No answer. Carol. No answer. Gina called Dave, who told her Declan said Shannon was coming here.” He gives her a harsh look. “None of you bothered to bring a phone in here?”
“Why would we?” Carol answers. “It’s bliss without it.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, trying to reach out to touch his hand but wobbling in the water, my shoulder dipping in.
Worry and concern is etched into his features, so much so that first Carol, then Shannon, reach the ladder and climb out. Both know where the towels are, still stacked neatly in a closet the maid service handles.
“It’s - it’s fine.” He smiles. “I’m relieved. I’m also surprised to see you in here.”
“I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were in New York. And you could have sent security to check on me.”
“I hadn’t left Boston yet. We were on 95, headed to the helipad, when I realized you weren’t answering phones
