Page 78 of Meet Me in the Garden

“Were you hiding all of this from me before?”

“Maybe, a little. So you’ll come swim?”

“I’d like to bring my kids. They’d love it here.”

She sighs. “Fine.”

I don’t listen to the radio on my drive home. Instead, snippets of the night’s conversations come back to me as I glide down the hill and through the city. Until I reach my street, my tall fence, my garden steps, my little house. And I’m glad for the rest of the quiet night to myself—Nathalie and Clément tucked in safe at Adele’s house, Felix hurtling through the Northwest on his train—a little more time to be who I am tonight.

TWENTY-SIX

ELISE INVITES USTO SWIMon a hot weekend morning near the end of October. When we arrive, towels are rolled up on lounge chairs, a spread of fruit and cheese and finger sandwiches on a low table. She hands me a glass of lemonade. “Ours have bourbon,” she says.

“It’s like I’m at an elite club.”

“We do our best.”

Nathalie and Clément go straight for the pool. “Stay in the shallow end,” I call. “No deeper than your shoulders.”

“They can’t swim?” Elise asks. Her hair’s in a bun. She wears a black bathing suit, a robe open over it. Huge sunglasses.

I shake my head.

She wanders to the food, plucks a cherry from its stem, works it in her mouth, spits the pit neatly into a bowl. “I’m going in,” she says. “Time for lessons. Who’s going first?”

Clément volunteers, and Nathalie calls for me, left out, so I go. The water’s nearly as warm as the air. Years since I’ve been in a pool. I ease myself back and float. Palms and hills, rush of water in my ears, hand closing around my ankle. Nathalie, smiling. I stand and she wraps her arms and legs around me. I swish her through the heavy water. “I remember us doing this when I was little,” she says. “When I was maybethree or four.” I search my memory and realize, at the same time she does, that it’s impossible. Her face crumples, she clings to me. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve loved you for your whole life,” I say. “Even before I met you. And I’ve loved Delphine formywhole life. We’re both your mothers.” Her arms are strong and tight around my neck, her fingers digging into me. Clément is kicking, holding on to the side of the pool, Elise focused on his form, paying no mind to us. “Sweetheart,” I say. “What is it?” Nathalie doesn’t answer me, doesn’t loosen her grip. “You think you can go have your lesson?” She nods and I carry her over. She lets go.

Later, we’re all out of the pool, sitting on towels and eating. Elise says, “I’ll need you to bring them back, tomorrow or the next day. They need to learn to swim. It’s unsafe not to. A few lessons at the bare minimum, just for floating and treading water and making it to the edge of a pool in the event that they fall in.”

“I feel like I’m in trouble,” I say.

“You are. Tomorrow then?”

“Yes!” they say, holding each other’s hands, jumping up and down. “Tomorrow! Tomorrow!”

A month passes, and Felix phones me at a little after ten at night. “I’m out having drinks with a few people,” he says, noise in the background. “A nice group. I might bring them home after. We could be quiet, wouldn’t wake the children. Would you mind that?”

“I’d love it,” I say, looking around. The house isn’t exactly tidy, but it’s not too far gone, either, and once the children are sleeping they sleep until morning, no matter what’s going on in the other rooms.

“I thought so. Maybe you could mix us all up some drinks. They’ll adore you and you’ll adore them. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll make whiskey sours. I think I have everything,” I say, stretching the phone cord to check the fruit bowl. “Oh wait. Can you pick up a couple oranges?”

“You got it.”

“Okay then,” I say, noticing the brightness in my voice.

I take down my set of cocktail glasses, make a quick batch of simple syrup over the stove and check for ice, and then I’m straightening the living room, pulling the kitchen chairs in, making sure the lighting is right. I neaten the stack of magazines, choose a jazz record and start it. I light a new taper candle in the wall sconce, tall and white against the living room’s blue walls. Voices in the yard now, and the door creaks open and here’s Felix, taking off his hat, and a tall white man with a mustache after him, and a red-haired girl carrying a bag, and Ginny. I’m faint at the sight of her.

“Odette, hi,” she says, apologetic.

Felix frowns. “You know each other?”

“Ginny works at the plant,” I say. “And she’s Lionel’s good friend.”

“Oh,” he says, dismayed. “I didn’t realize. I’ve known Patsy for a time, but I’m afraid I didn’t even get your name earlier.”