Swim Butterfly Ch 16

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 16

I Fly

January. I did it. Rather, I did it again. I made a travel plan without Pete, but this time I'm taking the kids.

"You never seem this excited to visit my parents," he says, watching me check the directions to the hotel for the third time on my phone.

"Oh, just excited to try out the shore in the wintertime. A new adventure, you know, winter rates," I mumble. "You'll like a quiet weekend alone."

Pete still stares at me, so I put down the phone, "We'll be at the pool most of the time, anyway, and you don't like pools."

"Have a good time," Pete sighs and leaves my side.

After he disappears into the den, I turn and head to June's room. I stop by her window to watch the pines and naked maples swaying in the wind of an oncoming storm and shiver, wondering what it would be like to always live outside in the cold. I realize that I have no idea what room Jimmy will be in. Does that matter? He won't be alone.

Don't think about that.

I snap back to the task at hand, packing a weekend bag. I dig out June's little bathing suit from the back of a drawer, wondering if it still fits. We'll see. Next, a few pairs of pants, shirts, socks, undies and a sweater. I pack a bag for Rudy, then I pack for myself. I need to get gas and buy groceries, too, because eating out all weekend would cost a fortune. Then something else I wanted to pack... a twinge in my back startles me, then I remember Jimmy's red blanket, losing its irreplaceable scent. September, October, November, December. Four and a half fucking months since I've seen him. I shake my head; this situation is crazy; crazier than me, crazier than Jimmy, crazier than the two of us together.

***

Saturday, finally!

Pete helps me pack the car, brushes off his hands, and promises to fix the hole in the kitchen ceiling, caused by a leak from last night's storm. I feel a pang of guilt, so I pat him on the cheek, and tell him to relax and do whatever he needs to all weekend. He tilts his head a little, but says nothing.

June and Rudy wave to their dad as we head out late on that brisk, overcast morning. I take deep, controlled breaths frequently during the drive down 47, flanked by brown fields and gray forests. June and Rudy trade doodads and snacks in the back seat of the car, so I turn on the radio and zone out for a while, melting into the hum and vibration of the car.

We reach Cape May by early afternoon, stop at a pizzeria for lunch, and visit the beach. Beachside parking is free this time of year, so I let June and Rudy run around for a while, chasing seagulls and throwing stones and oyster shells into the playful, frothy surf. I stand back, breathing deeply the cold, salty air, watching the kids burn off energy along this endless strand. My shoulders feel so light, and for a rare moment, I couldn't care less what time it is. If I died now, I'd be okay with that. The expanse of sky and sea takes everything away, and when I feel as if a finger taps me on the shoulder, I smile and turn to look. No one's there.

3:30pm. My peacefulness at the beach takes leave of me. I call Rudy and June to come on back to the car. They protest and I tell them we'll come back tomorrow. I feel queasy as my feet slip in the sand, slowing me down. I can't wait to check in, yet dread it. Sweet-n-sour anticipation.

I pull into the Seawinder Hotel parking lot and haul the kids and my pocketbook into the lobby of rich woodwork and stuffy, Victorian-looking sofas. The hotel clerk smiles broadly and I try to follow her directions to our room on a paper map while simultaneously ordering June to stop skipping in the lobby. I hear something about room 108, first floor, opposite side. I nod and smile

yes okay

, then coerce my wild progeny back to the car so we can park closer to the room. Disemboweling the car by myself, I lug overnight bags, food, toys, coats, trash. All this for one friggin' night? I used to be a working woman with a job in the city and a closet full of trousers. Now I'm just a pack horse. Oh well, murky choices, murky results.

The kids break loose along the veranda in the biting cold. They laugh and run and shout, white breaths in the air wrapping around their faces. I should make them carry in some of this crap, but I smile; sometimes it's easier to haul everything myself, plus I want to wear them out.

Put them to bed early

, someone said.

I find our room and open it with the key card--a cute place! Wood floors, beach decor, two full beds, a little bistro set by the small bay window, a kitchenette complete with dishes and cookware, and a bathroom with a full bathtub. Perfect. Rudy and June with rosy cheeks stomp in, breathless, and make a quarrelsome dive for the TV remote.

"Don't get too comfy, guys," I warn them, "Swimming soon!" I unpack the bathing suits while they hunt for the Cartoon Network, and I wish I had a bottle of chardonnay, but shake it off. I toss June and Rudy's bathing suits onto their heads. The suits slide off their silky hair and they don't move, their eyes glued to

Gumball

.

I step outside, leaning back against the closed door and scanning the parking lot for cars with New York plates. Not that I can make out all of them from here. Some cars are new, some are older, mostly mid-range cars and vans. But then, maybe his 'companion' is from northern New Jersey, or even Connecticut? I don't know.

A red sedan pulls in, but it's a middle-aged couple--no Jimmy. I watch my breath in the air. Should I hang a sign on the door? I chuckle at the thought, then return inside and lie down on the bed. Of course, Jimmy and I could call each other and find out what's going on, but where's the fun in that? No room for simplicity here.

During a commercial break on TV, the leprechaun tries to sell me Lucky Charms, then my tongue is tempted by the Magic Snow Cone maker. Yuck, really, who eats that shit?

Teen Titans Go

comes back, and Robin bounces across the screen with his cape flowing.

The red blanket!

I sit up, hop across the room, and dig the blanket out of my bag. I lay it over the back of a bistro chair, right in front of the bay window, and arrange the curtains so the blanket peeks out beneath, visible to anyone passing by.

I lie down again, crossing my ankles and closing my eyes. Eventually I peek at the clock. 4:52pm. "Hey guys, remember, at five we shut off the boob-tube and head to the pool."

Rudy snickers, "Boob-tube? Don't you mean 'YouTube'?"

"YouTube? What's that? No, I meant boob-tube. Haven't you ever heard of that, goose?"

Rudy laughs obnoxiously, "Goose?!" which annoys June, who whips him with her bathing suit.

I ignore them and dig out my three-year-old purple bathing suit, which still fits and change in the bathroom out of my jeans and piled tank top. I check myself out in the mirror--eh, still I look okay. I won't ever grace the cover of Sports Illustrated, but honestly, I don't think I'd want millions of eyes ogling my tits-n-hips. One man is good enough for me. Well, apparently two. Besides, who knows how much spunk glues the pages of those magazines together? Ick.

Around five the advertisements return and the TV goes off, despite the duet of disappointment from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. I mean, really, who bah-humbugs going to a nice indoor heated pool in Cape May in the middle of a dull winter's day? Well, Junie's excited because she likes to swim. Rudy not so much, but he'll survive.

After scuffles and prodding and changing clothes and snatching away the potato chip bag, we shuffle in flip-flops, bathing suits and long T-shirts out the door, bracing against the cold, to the other side of the hotel to find this pool, likely under the huge atrium over yonder. I swear my heart beats harder with every step, and I manage not to puke when the keycard lets us through the sliding glass doors to the pool.

Whew! Hot, humid, and chloriney enough to burn a hole through a copper pot. June and Rudy race-walk ahead of me while I glance around the pool. No Jimmy, but it's early yet. I take a deep breath, tighten my grip on our pool bag, and take a step into the little world of smiling families, a hot tub, and lots of cushy lounge chairs and tables. I glance around one more time.

Oh, relax!

If he had to cancel, he would have told me. I think.

I stake out a loveseat and table and the kids hop into the pool. I walk with short steps along the wet deck to grab some extra towels from the rack by the wall. A few of the adults sip beverages from coffee mugs and paper cups. Rules on the sign state no alcohol at the pool, but I imagine the hotel turns a blind eye. I almost wish I had one of those mystery cups, but I probably couldn't keep it down.

A balding, middle-aged man with a comb-over keeps checking me out, his wife beside him, her nose buried in a book. I nod at him briefly, politely, and glance away, treading steadily on the wet floor back to the loveseat whereon I drop the towels.

"Mom! Mommy! Come play with us!" June calls, bouncing up and down in the water, waving.

Yes, I want to play.

***

Swimming is the closest I will ever come to truly flying. I used to have dreams when I was a child that I could run down a hill, flap my arms, lift off, and soar above the neighborhood, over familiar houses and parks and trees. I never had that dream again when I grew up. What happened?

The three of us play a version of tag with a small red rubber ball, splashing and laughing. I almost forget Jimmy, when out of the corner of my eye, I see an older fair-haired woman in a long turquoise cover-up sweep through the door. A bald man follows her. I bite my cheek by mistake. The sting and nip of blood must have changed my demeanor, for June shouts, "What's wrong, Mom?"

I catch my breath, "Oh, just saw a ghost, that's all!"

"What?"

I rush up to June, catch her in a bear hug, and whisper, "Just kidding... tag, you're it!" June laughs and struggles to get away from me, protesting the trickery. Rudy tells us to keep playing. I don't want to turn around, but Rudy keeps shouting, "Come on, let's play!"

I let June get some distance away, then slowly turn just as Rudy beams me on the shoulder with the ball. "It!" he screams. Past Rudy, I can see the bald man, but his back is to me and I shouldn't stare, but

fuck, is it or isn't it him?

The perfectly coifed older woman with silver blond hair busies herself rooting through her bag. The bald man turns a little, narrows his eyes when he sees me, and smiles just a little. Jimmy. He turns back to resume some conversation with the woman. She then settles back in the lounge chair with her feet up, opens a book, and sips a drink.

Jimmy takes off his shirt, and wearing a loose pair of dark swim trunks, strides to the corner of the shallow end. I picture him in Speedos and try not to smirk. He steps into the pool, glides by looking at me sidelong, and shallow-dives in the deep end.

Rudy splashes me, getting the top of my bathing suit wet, which thankfully has some foam up top. I keep up the game of water tag, stealing glances at Jimmy, and sometimes at the woman. His mother, maybe?

Oh Jesus, Caroline, really?

She never looks up, and I don't think anyone's watching me, except Comb-Over, still sitting next to the Reading Wife. I wonder what are these women reading? Romance? I chuff; that'd be ironic, considering what's going on right under their noses.

Comb-Over doesn't read, doesn't swim; he watches. Is he a private detective? Am I paranoid? It's a little extreme to precede someone going to the pool rather than following them, but then, where else would a mom with children go in this hotel? And what private eye brings his wife along unless they work as a couple? I suspect that's why Jimmy doesn't approach me immediately. It would look unusual.

During my rumination, I lose interest in water tag, and June and Rudy lose interest in me. They drift to the other side of the shallow end, attracted to an ongoing game of Marco Polo. My hands slowly tread water, the lithe fluid flowing past my fingers, which stiffen as Jimmy draws close.

Caroline, don't pee in the water!

He passes by, close behind, then rests his back against the side of the pool, his elbows resting on the edge. Water trickles down his smooth chest, "So, ma'am, those your kids?" he nods slightly, looking at me from beneath his brow.

My heart beats faster, "No, I just found them here."

God, I wish I could touch him.

He watches them play. "Ah, I see. What's their names?"

"Flotsam and Jetsam. I'm kicking them back out to sea tomorrow."

He smiles, "Oh really? Speaking of back out to sea, have you seen the beach?"

"Yeah, we played on the beach this afternoon, before check-in." I toss an errant ball back to June, to the farthest end of the shallow side.

"Have you ever been to the beach, say, around eleven at night?" he watches me steadily.

"No."

"Try it." Jimmy drops his arms from the side of the pool and walks towards me. As he passes by, almost touching me, he says in a low tone, "Make sure they're fast asleep," and with a swirl of the water, he's gone in the woman's direction, who since has lifted her nose from the book, sees Jim, then reads again. She doesn't even look at me, which is good, because I want to stare at her, then drown her and take her chair. Or I could just sit in Jimmy's lap.

I play with kids again for a while and even steal a couple of laps in the deep end. I see Jimmy pour the woman more of something from a water bottle,

good boy,

while they talk. He glances my way occasionally. Maybe Comb-Over could hook up with the woman and the Reading Wife could babysit the kids while Jim and I fuck in the changing room. That would be okay, wouldn't it? Everyone happy, everyone busy.

Jimmy stretches out on a lounge chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. He interlaces his fingers and rests his hands on his abs, watching me as the ever-changing blues and greens of the silky water bend and curve around me. I float on my back and close my eyes. For a moment, I fly.

***

After a while, I see the woman say something to Jimmy. His face seems to drop, and I look away and down.

Don't go!

They gather their things, Jimmy drags his shirt back on, and they flip-flop out. Wow, she's a basket of fun, whoever she is--didn't swim, didn't even go in the hot tub. Why did she even choose this hotel, infested with chill parents and laughing children? Oh, what do I give a shit? As Jimmy passes by, he barely nods to me and mouths what looks like 'Eleven'. I give him a quick thumbs-up. He grins, hiking the woman's bag higher on his shoulder.

I blink hard against the chlorine burn as soon as Jimmy passes out of sight. Rudy says he's hungry, and even June languidly swirls the water with her hands. I pray that an afternoon on the beach and an evening in the pool will wear them out, but who the hell knows? I'm champing at the bit for eleven pm, and willing to wring necks to get there.

June and Rudy hold their towels tightly around their slender bodies, trudging back to our first-floor hideout. I shake my head, glad that Pete's not here to see us wet and out in the cold.

I melt once we get in our cozy, warm room, and I wonder what the beach will feel like late at night.

Well, duh, probably colder.

Clouds rolled in about an hour ago, bringing damp air and probably rain. I can wrap Jimmy's blanket around me when I go to meet him.

Uh, where is the blanket?

Junie has it wrapped around her slim, soft shoulders, "Mommy, this blanket's warm!" I smile wanly, seeing a blanket that's been through so much wrapped around the shoulders of a child just six years old. Part of me wants to snatch it from her and pout, 'That's mine!' But why? She's a little girl cuddling in a blanket for warmth.

"Yes, it's a nice blanket, June. It looks cute on you, but you both are gonna get a bath and wash off that pool water." I receive two 'awws' in stereo. "Too bad. We all need to wash off, even Mommy." Yes, even Mommy. I picture Mommy sitting in the bathtub, Jimmy sitting behind me, scrubbing my back, with silky suds, then pulling me closer to him, his hands roaming underneath my bathing suit and over my breasts, then down my bathing suit...

"Rudy! Put. Down. My. Dolly!" June screeches and pounds Rudy with a pillow. And so, early evening with children begins.

***

7:32pm. From the bathtub to pajamas to the bistro table laden with fruit, chips, milk, cold cuts, and hot bowls of Ramen. No more sugar today, and no TV until after teeth get brushed. I can't throttle them or cover their faces with a pillow, so drugging them with fun, food and heavy down comforters will have to suffice.

"Mom, do I have to share the bed with June? Yuck!"

"Yes," I point to their bed, "kid zone--that bed, adult zone--this bed."

Rudy sighs, his shoulders drop. The TV comes back to life and he's laughing again within minutes. I stretch out in the adult zone, smiling at SpongeBob's antics. My stomach rumbles, but I can't eat. I set my phone timer for two and a half hours, look to the curtained window, and with the TV yammering in the background, close my eyes, feel my body drifting.

...my feet, one before the other, sand between my toes, heels sinking, eery white surf closer and closer...

My leg jerks, my eyes open. 10:27 pm. Shit! The phone timer gave up about ten minutes ago because I slept through it. Not a cool time to lose control. The kids collapsed under their white comforter like snowy lumps, mouths open as they breathe softly. I turn down the TV volume and turn out the lights.

Creeping outside, I turn my eyes up to the townhouse rooms, above and far away, wondering if Jimmy is staying in one of them. Some are dark, some have lights on. I watch to see if anyone passes by the windows, but the few times they do, I can't discern anything. The wind picked up and I go back inside.

I sit on the edge of the bed and think what a perfect time for a bottle of wine with the quiet, the dark, the privacy, listening to the children's light, regular breathing. The dragon ring which I rotate around and around reacted in the pool and left a blackish wedding ring for me and Jimmy, our vows drawn from deceit, sin and lies. Perhaps, but the blood pulsing beneath that ring of tarnish is still the same color as the blood beneath my ring of gold.

As I contemplate Jimmy's ring, I remember I haven't spoken to Pete since we left this morning. My hesitant hand picks up the phone, then puts it down.

Call him. Now.

"Hello?"

"Hey Pete, just calling to let you know all's well. Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, just fell asleep. Do anything today?" I hear him yawn.

"Sure. We got pizza for lunch, went to the beach for a while, checked in, swam in the pool, watched cartoons."

'Okay."

"Yeah, so, uh, I'm gonna read for a while, then hit the sack." I look at the red blanket hanging over the chair again.

"Okay, well, nothing new here. I'll see you, what? Tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes, late afternoon." I reply.

"Okay, stay out of trouble."

I gulp.

10:46. Butterflies. No, maybe moths. Luna moths with their frantic nocturnal drive to mate on this cloudy night, void of moonlight. The kids sleep soundly, barely stirring. I keep the TV on with the volume low in case they wake up. If I'm not in the room, I figure they'll watch TV and not come looking for me. I hope. Honestly, they'd be thrilled at the chance to watch Adult Swim without Pete barking, 'No! Too late! Go to bed!' I love my kids more than anything, and I know I should stay here, but I resent intrusion on my free time, so fuck it, I'm doing this. Adult Swim.