This was a fun one to write :)
CH 77
My night at The Muse was not successful in terms of locating Erik, but the four members of the Carlyle Club were interested in additional members for their artistic critique group. Considering that Salon Vive was on the brink of disbanding, I made it clear to the four people I'd met that I would be interested in attending on Thursdays from four until seven. There was a bit of moaning and groaning that four was far too early. After a bit of consideration, they agreed to five in the evening starting on Thursday of the upcoming week.
Ivo shook my hand before I left the salon and gave me a hearty pat on the back. "Finally," he said. "We have a director for the salon."
"I am not by any means a director of anything."
"Well, you've already set a day and time for future meetings, which is more than any of us have been able to accomplish," he pointed out. "As far as I am concerned, you've made yourself unofficially the director. We shall follow you to the bitter end."
His flare for the dramatics made me roll my eyes. "If no one else shows up Thursday, then the bitter end you describe will be here sooner than you think."
"You have my word I shall be in attendance," Ivo vowed.
"Bring at least three more people," I told him before I strolled out of The Muse and returned home a few minutes after eight.
As I walked up the stairs, I realized my clothes smelled of smoke and the putrid odor of musk and considered stripping down in the hall so that my apartment didn't absorb the odors.
I'd already removed my coat and started to unbutton my shirt when I discovered my forgotten market items sitting outside of my apartment door with a note from Joshua that simply read, 'Elizabeth insisted I return these to you at once so that you don't starve. We enjoyed your company today. Looking forward to Wednesday night, V.J.K.'
My freezer box items were not included, most likely so that they wouldn't spoil being left outside of my door overnight as I was certain Joshua thought I was asleep in my apartment by the time he stopped by and dropped off everything.
The gesture was completely unexpected, and I found myself quite pleased as I carried everything inside, tossed my putrid clothes into the hall, and scrubbed my skin with a damp washcloth lathered in soap. Once I was clean and dress for bed, I put away all of my food and stuffed my filthy clothes into a canvas bag, along with the rest of my laundry, which I left outside my apartment door with the drawstring tightly closed.
The evening post was on the doormat, which I hastily snatched up and brought inside, practically tearing it in two as I searched for the composite sketch, which surprisingly was not on the front page.
To my surprise, it was the same image Joshua had shown me on our way to the gallery of Hamish, the man who smelled of burning hair and whose aunt brought him lunch.
"I'll be damned," I said to myself, feeling a slight sense of relief that Erik remained a mystery, at least for another day. "No more lunch from your dear aunt for a while, Hamish."
Chief Alonzo was probably beside himself with fury over the mishap, and I imagined the entire police force was in disarray over the error.
Setting the newspaper aside, I read Joshua's words one last time and placed the note in one of my sketchbooks, unable to discard the nicest and most sincere words I'd ever received from my cousin.
Elvira, who had been alone for a good portion of the day, curiously watched me go about my evening routine. I walked out of my bedroom, toothbrush dangling from my lips, and asked if she wanted to stay out a little longer.
Before I finished speaking, she spread her wings and began screaming, which was her way of demanding that I put her in bed and cover her cage so she could rest.
"You are such a crabby little vulture," I complained as she attempted to grab the blanket before I had her inside of her enclosure.
She vocalized a yawn as she turned away from me, clearly annoyed by my late return that threatened to ruin her twelve hours of sleep.
"Papa loves you," I said.
To my surprise, she didn't reply until I spit tooth powder into the sink and wiped my mouth with a towel. She whistled once before apparently going to sleep while I unwrapped the bandage from my arm and left it uncovered for the night, seeing as how the wound had not only healed, but there was no longer a scab.
Other than still very bruised, my arm looked better than I expected–not that I expected much given the extent of damage.
Exhaustion seemed to hit me out of nowhere, and seconds after I flopped onto the mattress and pulled the blanket up to my chin, my mind turned blissfully blank.
I had no recollection of ever waking in the night, which I assumed meant I was too tired to toss and turn or stare at the ceiling. I woke minutes after four, jolted from sleep by the imaginary alarm clock in my mind that demanded I wake at four in the morning.
To my knowledge I had not dreamed–or I had no dreams that were memorable. Instead, I woke up with thoughts of Gyda.
I didn't think of my mother regularly. Sometimes I was a bit ashamed of how infrequently she crossed my mind, but she had always been more of a name than a memory to me, a jumble of words that I had never understood, muttered from a room away.
It wasn't until I began ordering coffee at the Danish bakery that I realized the words she spoke were an actual language and not gibberish. She spoke Danish and I had not learned to speak her native tongue. I was not sure why she had not taught me to speak Danish or how I had learned French. The earliest days were mostly a blur until Erik's birth, which was ingrained in my memory with almost unnatural clarity. It was as if my life had started the moment he was brought out in a heap of bloody, wet blankets, rushed past me, and left outside the back door.
I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining a moment I wasn't sure was a real part of my childhood. Every so often I had thoughts of Gyda sitting in her rocking chair while I was on her lap. She didn't speak much of anything if at all, but I remembered her humming while she stroked my hair. With almost as much clarity as I recalled seeing Erik, I remembered how I felt tingly and warm, wanting to be there with her while at the same time uncomfortable with the unfamiliarity of her presence.
I remembered staring at my dirt-covered fingers and her hair draped over my knuckles as my hand rested just below her throat. I remembered studying her collar bone, the protrusion beneath her flesh that seemed so pronounced.
There had been an acute awareness of desperately wanting more, of fearing that the moment would end and I would be left without again. I wanted more time spent on her lap. More soft caresses of her gentle hand along my face and hair. More of the affection from a parent who was more often distant than loving.
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that the moment was real as I recalled her belly was enormous and she allowed my hand to rest on her abdomen where my unborn brother grew. I had no recollection of feeling him move or her saying why she was round. There was a very real possibility that I would not have understood her words and even if I did, the meaning behind them would have been a lost concept to me at the age of three and a half.
She was young as well, a girl who looked barely older than Elizabeth with her angular, almost gaunt features, wide eyes set far apart, and tangled hair sometimes in her face.
I recalled looking up at her and pushing her hair back so that I could see her and she could see me. I remembered her being able to smile at me and I was certain I smiled back.
Phelan. I could almost remember the sound of her voice. Almost. It was distant and faded, but soft and beautiful. It radiated within me, achingly beautiful and muted through time.
All I knew for certain was that I was filled with want: the want to be held and loved and protected. I could not be certain any of those small requests had been fulfilled even for a matter of days. If they had been, it was little more than fleeting moments in a childhood otherwise starved of the most basic needs.
I sat up, bothered by my thoughts, unsure of why I insisted on tormenting myself with such unbearable emotions when there was nothing that would ever be able to change the depth or size of the wound I carried deep within me. It simply existed, same as the physical scar on my arm, both of which would continue to cause me pain.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned, realizing the start of the week was upon me. "My God, it's already Monday," I said under my breath.
Rather than head to the gymnasium, I still had a week to plan for my classes that had to be completed before I walked into the studio. Given that there was absolutely no time left to procrastinate, I somehow managed to put together a first and second year weekly plan in under ninety minutes, the fastest I'd ever achieved such a dreaded feat.
Once everything was sorted out and in my satchel, I sat back and closed my eyes, taking several long, deep breaths while I sifted through all of the weights that had piled up inside of me.
It took significant effort on my part to allow my shoulders to drop, my tongue to settle in my mouth, and my muscles to relax, but once I achieved all three and my breathing turned rhythmic in nature, the sense of peace I felt was far more enjoyable than pressing into my arm to clear my thoughts.
I held on for as long as I could, feeling as though I floated, weightlessly suspended in a large pool of calm water.
The university had its own pool a building over from the gymnasium, which I had seen during the tour Hugo gave me of the campus grounds, but I'd never utilized the facilities. It was meant for swimming laps, but there was also a lane dedicated to those who wanted to wade or float.
Accompanying Hugo out of town for the weekend sounded more and more appealing, but for the time being, I considered an hour spent at the university pool.
I had no proper swim attire, however, and wondered if trousers rolled up to my knees would prove sufficient. Surely spending thirty minutes afloat while I meditated would aid in quieting the constant buzz in my head.
"I am uncovering you early today," I told Elvira, who didn't bother opening her eyes as it was still dark out. "I need an extra thirty minutes to dry off, I would think, so I shall be out the door shortly. If I am able, I will return before class and put you onto your stand, but you may have to wait until noon."
She may not have understood what I was saying, but I felt better when I told her about my plans. While she continued to ignore me, I tucked a second pair of trousers neatly into my satchel and slung a towel over the top as I wasn't certain the university provided such amenities.
My coat, which had been left in the hall, still smelled like The Muse, as did the hallway, which I was certain my neighbors would not appreciate. Frowning, I grabbed the canvas bag and walked outside with the coat held out in my extended hand to see if I was able to briskly walk to the university without needing it.
The air was damp and chilly, but not terribly uncomfortable, and once I was a good distance down the street, I stuffed my coat into the canvas bag and slung it over my shoulder.
Not far from the university campus was a laundress who was the sole recipient of my soiled clothing approximately every ten days. The only explanation for how she was able to remove stains and return my laundry folded and astoundingly fresh was witchcraft.
I had never learned her name despite how frequently I saw her with laundry. The first time I'd walked into the shop to inquire about prices, I was certain she said her name was Murielle. Another time, I overheard another customer call her Arielle. Most recently, I thought she introduced herself to someone as Sorielle.
To prevent sounding like a fool after at least six years of utilizing her service, I called her Elle and she had yet to correct me.
The shop was open early, which was one of the reasons I had been a loyal customer, and I walked in to find Elle stirring a giant copper kettle with a wooden paddle that looked suitable for a rowboat. The air was unbearably humid and first thing in the morning it smelled like boiling perspiration.
"Good morning!" Elle said, waving with such enthusiasm that it looked as if she were guiding a ship into dock.
There was no one else in the world who could possibly be as effervescent at five-thirty in the morning aside from Elle with her ringlets of dark hair desperately trying to spring out from beneath the cloth she had secured to her head, keeping her hair from her eyes.
"Good morning," I said, already feeling perspiration bead on my brow from the intolerable humidity.
At one time I had attempted to match her tone, but found it impossible to be as joyful as the laundress whose entire day revolved around cleaning smelly garments in the most hot and humid conditions.
"I shall provide fair warning that this bag smells horrendous," I said.
Elle smiled brightly, showing the gap between her front teeth. "Is that a challenge, Monsieur?"
"Aside from a live skunk released in here, I doubt anything could challenge you any more than this bag of putrid clothing."
She leaned the paddle against the brick wall and briskly made her way to the front of the shop where she took the canvas bag from me, untied the string, and to my utmost horror, stuck her face into the opening.
Almost immediately she drew back and made a face. "My, my," she said, "that is particularly awful for you."
"My most sincere apologies."
Elle shrugged. "I will have everything clean and fresh by tomorrow afternoon."
I thanked her and proceeded to the university beneath the hiss of the gas lamps along the street. The sun had crept over the horizon, illuminating the city as I made my way onto the campus and past the gymnasium, which I unlocked for the strongmen milling about at the doors.
"You're not coming in this morning?" they asked.
"Tomorrow," I promised.
Despite knowing the gymnasium was unoccupied, I still peeked past the men walking inside, half-expecting to see Bernard waiting for me and my noodle arms.
It took me several tries to find the key to the indoor swimming pool as it was not the same as the gymnasium, which was what I had expected. When at last I found the correct one, I thrust the door open and felt a wave of hot, humid air blast into the cool spring morning. The door to the pool had been left cracked open, and once I was inside, I closed it behind me.
Changing rooms for men were to the left and women to the right. The pool room itself was illuminated by glass windows along the edges of the domed roof.
The tour Hugo had hastily walked me through had taken place in the afternoon during a class where dozens of students were in the water. I recalled how their voices echoed through the tiled room and the bright midday sun became blinding against the white and blue interior.
I couldn't help but imagine Bernard pulling his shirt over his head and discarding his trousers in order to dive nude into the pool.
Unfortunately I was not so brave to disrobe completely and jump into the water. With my satchel placed on a teakwood chair, I organized my towel and fresh trousers before removing my shirt, shoes, and socks.
Rolling my trousers up to my knees proved to be a waste of time as the fabric unraveled once I was thigh-deep in the water. I inhaled sharply, surprised that the pool wasn't warmer, and decided instead of slowly submerging myself, I would rather plunge into the water and give myself a proper shock.
I sank into the water, eyes pinched shut, breath held, and every muscle in my body tense as I touched the bottom.
My eyes opened as I reached the surface and took a breath, adjusting swiftly to the temperature. I rolled onto my back, lungs filled again, and stared at the ceiling overhead.
It had been years since I'd been in any body of water larger than a bathtub and never anything that was as calm as a man-made pool. Floating was more pleasurable than I remembered, the world muted by my ears under the surface. My breathing became more noticeable to the point where I couldn't focus on anything else.
Cradled by the water, I inhaled deeply and held it, noticing the rhythmic thump of my heart deep in my chest. With so many years of sadness layered upon it, my heart sounded less broken than I would have expected.
Slowly I exhaled and relaxed, finding comfort in the weightlessness. I uncurled my fingers and slightly arched my back. Lips parted, I filled my lungs again and raked my fingers through the water, propelling myself slowly toward the middle.
Deep in my throat I hummed, listening to the orchestration of my heartbeat and rumble of vibration. My thoughts wandered, but I stayed mindful, imaging a sentinel keeping watch over the darker images down a path I refused to travel.
I thought of teaching Erik to swim–or at least attempting as I was not sure how to swim at the age of seven. It was a rare day where Val–who had not considered going by his middle name yet–accompanied us to the seashore. He took over as caretaker, giving me a break from minding Erik, and taught us both how to float on our backs, holding me up first with his hands beneath me as I was absolutely terrified that I would sink to the bottom and never recover.
I have you, Phelan, he promised. Relax and take in all of the air you can. I won't let you sink.
I had been so afraid that Val would remove his hands, that I would not be able to find the pebbles at the bottom of the waist-deep water and I'd drown.
Erik, on the other hand, was fearless and didn't seem to care if Val was there to keep him afloat. He had stripped down naked and ran into the water where he sucked in a deep breath and fell back, often submerged for a few seconds before he bobbed to the surface. Val had held me back, assuring me that Erik was in no need of being rescued.
He knows what he's doing, Val said to me.
No, he does not! He is too young. I am taking him back to the shore. I had protested.
You're going to make him scared of the water if you keep picking him up or scrambling to bring him to the surface. Let him do it on his own for once.
I had forgotten how nervous I'd been watching Erik, holding my breath every time he went under water. When it was my turn again, I felt embarrassed by my hesitation, by my suffocating fears while Val and Erik waded deeper into the water.
Come on, Lan! Erik had shouted, splashing around in the water as if he were part fish.
The only reason I had attempted to float on my own was because Erik had been able to do it with ease and he was three and a half years younger than me. I had to be braver than my baby brother. I had to show him I could be fearless when inside I was quaking with trepidation.
I wondered if they were aware of how afraid I had been, how my throat tightened and my heart threatened to rip through my chest.
Eyes closed, I eased back into the water and felt both of them grab hold of my hands. I had wanted to scream and flail about, but instead I took a breath and kept my lungs filled for buoyancy as Val had instructed.
It felt like a lifetime of expecting to sink, to plummet downward and force Erik and Val to release my hands unless they wanted to die alongside me. Water lapped over my lips and nostrils, but I fought the urge to abandon floating and spring upright, wading back to dry land, ashamed of my failure.
But they held fast and I remained afloat. At last I relaxed and stopped expecting to drown. I inhaled and exhaled, spitting out salt water multiple times, but staying above the surface. When I finally opened my eyes, I discovered Erik and Val floating beside me, all three of us with our hands linked like three little otters brothers in the ocean.
I had forgotten that moment of feeling like we were truly brothers, all three of us together in the water. Val and Erik had been proud of me and I'd been elated for staying afloat when I was certain I would sink. It was the first time I recalled ever feeling a sense of accomplishment, a sense of blissful success. Val had even patted me on the back, grinning as he pulled me closer and the three of us walked back up the beach. Erik had raced ahead of us, patting his fish belly white rear end and laughing at his own antics while Val and I laughed.
I knew you could do it, Val had praised when it was just the two of walking together. His words meant everything to me as he was the person I had looked up to as a boy. Back then I wanted his approval. In some ways, I still did.
Weeks after that swimming lesson, however, I had done nothing but sink deeper and deeper into a state of turmoil and anxiety and no one could reach out and pull me to the surface. Erik had disappeared attempting to return to the spot where the three of us had been so close to one another. I drowned in the blackness of depression, pulled deeper and deeper until there was no escaping. Each and every day for years it felt as though there would be no returning to the surface.
My mind reeled, and I realized I'd stopped breathing. I'd balled up my hands and lowered deeper into the water, my body V-shaped with my head barely staying up.
Breathe, Professor, Bernard said, his rumbling voice in my thoughts.
"I will," I whispered.
I had to keep breathing. To continue floating. I couldn't sink as there was no one in the pool to hold onto my hands. Not yet, at least. One day, I wanted it to be just the three of us again, Val, Erik and I as brothers.
The thought made me smile, especially thinking of Erik as an adult stripping down while Val and I looked on in horror at how swiftly he still disrobed.
It was a ridiculous thought, one that was more amusing as the seconds passed and I imagined how Val and I would react, insisting that Erik put his trousers back on while he suggested we all run nude to the water.
My thoughts were interrupted by the most blood-chilling scream I'd ever heard, echoing through the university pool room.
Immediately I dropped my feet down and realized I was in deeper water than I had anticipated and there was no tiled bottom beneath my toes. Momentarily I went fully under, but I'd become a strong enough swimmer over the years that I wasn't as alarmed as I would have been at the age of seven. I purposely went deeper under the water and sprang up toward the surface, still hearing the same shrill screams.
With my hair in my eyes, I struggled to see what had caused such alarm. I raked my hair back and rubbed my eyes until I spotted the woman on the pool deck in her swim attire.
"Why are you screaming?" I questioned.
"I thought you were dead!" she shrieked.
"No, I was merely… floating alone in a pool. I suppose I understand why that would be your first impression."
She stood at the very edge of the tile, towel in one hand. I stared at her for a long moment, realizing she looked familiar, but unable to immediately place why I knew her or where we had previously met.
By the look on her face, she recognized me as well. I sucked in a breath, imagining her with a blue and black cap and assumed she probably wished she had found me dead in the water considering how our last encounter had gone.
"Lucille," I said. "How lovely to see you."
"You are not supposed to be in the water alone," she snapped, jabbing her index finger toward a sign above the door that did state precisely what she stated: all swimmers were required to be in the pool in pairs for safety.
"My apologies for frightening you," I said.
"I will report you to the dean," she threatened.
"That is not necessary," I replied.
"Perhaps not necessary, but I want to see you banned from the pool if not the entire university."
Her words were cruel, but not unexpected, and I paddled my way toward the edge of the pool where she stood glaring at me, her light brows knit in consternation.
"I was just leaving," I said.
"So that you can tell the dean I was also guilty of swimming alone?"
My lip parted. "Do you want me to stay or to leave?"
"No," she said.
"Forgive me, but that…that doesn't answer my question."
"I don't care what you do," she seethed. "Quite frankly, I wish I'd walked in and found you on the bottom of the pool. It's as well as you deserve."
I didn't argue with her assessment of the situation. Without offering a reply, I pushed off the wall of the pool with my feet and swam toward the ladder in the corner.
"I should not have said that," Lucille blurted out when we were no longer face-to-face. "I would not be so cruel as to wish death upon someone, not even you."
Her words were by no means an apology, but I nodded in response so that she would not think I outright ignored her.
With a sigh of disgust, she turned away from me and marched dutifully toward the women's changing area before I reached the ladder.
It was probably time to get out and dry myself off anyhow given that I wanted to return home and let Elvira enjoy the view while I was away, but I found myself annoyed by Lucille's behavior.
I stood on the top rung of the ladder, allowing the water to cascade down my trousers and back into the pool when she appeared again, her face still scrunched up in disgust as if I were the most vile creature she'd ever seen.
"You are in the pool alone and in your trousers?"
There was no reason to deny it and no possible way she could think less of me. I nodded. "Yes, I am."
"Why?" she demanded.
"Because I don't own swim attire and it was either this or nothing at all," I answered. "I've never been in this building before."
"So then you're trespassing?" she said in an accusatory tone.
"No, I have a key. I teach here. I have keys to all of the buildings. I just have never been inside of this one in particular. Or the chapel. Or the science wing, actually."
Lucille angrily crossed her arms. "I don't care what you do or where you have or have not been," she responded. "I don't care for you at all."
"Which you have made quite clear," I said.
"Why should I be concerned about you?"
"I am not implying that you should. I just…" I shook my head, realizing that I didn't have anything to say to her and doubted she wanted me to speak.
"You what?"
"I am sorry," I said as I stepped onto the deck and toward my belongings. "Truly and sincerely I am sorry for hurting you. I quite honestly do not know what else to say."
Arms crossed, she watched me retrieve my towel and dry my hair, face, and upper body.
"Do you attend classes here?" I asked for the sake of making conversation as she continued to stare at me.
"What do you care?" she snapped.
I scoffed at her words, irritated by her lack of civility. "Either I left the door unlocked or you also have a key, which would either mean I was negligent or you have access to the buildings as well."
"I have access," she answered. "Not that it is any of your concern."
"Then I will not bother locking the door when I leave."
With a sigh of aggravation, she plopped into a chair along the wall of the pool room and sat with her arms crossed like a sulking child.
I looked from her to the water and took a breath. "Would you like me to stay until someone else shows up so that you can use the facilities?" I asked.
"Do I want you to stay?" she asked in the most condescending tone.
"That is what I asked."
At last she exhaled and allowed her shoulders to return to a more natural position. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I would like someone else in the building so that I can finish my morning swim, and seeing how there is no one else available, I suppose you will have to do."
I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek, regretting my offer. The moment another person entered the pool area, I had every intention of fleeing. For the time being, however, I would be a gentleman. Or at least the only person available to make sure Lucille didn't drown. Given her feelings toward me, I fully suspected she would have told me to let her drown rather than suffer the indignity of being saved by someone she despised.
"The lap lane ropes must go up first," she said as she marched across the deck like a soldier and pointed to the ropes aligned with the pool.
I walked to the other side of the pool deck and grabbed the rope by the hook at the end while she took hold of the one on her side. Together we walked it to the pool, dragging it through the water until she hooked her side first and I did the same.
"Tighten it," she ordered before I stood.
"How?" I asked.
"Turn the hook," she said. "Clockwise."
It took several turns for the rope to become taut and Lucille gave the word that it was satisfactory.
"One rope is sufficient?" I asked.
"Why would I need more than one?" she growled.
"It was merely a question," I answered. Aggravated, I sighed harder than I should have. "Lucille, if you do not want to forgive me, do not forgive me, but you do not need to speak to me with such contempt."
I thought for certain Lucille would say that she would speak to me in whatever manner she desired, but instead she regarded me from the opposite side of the pool and considered my words.
"I will not speak to you," she said.
Naturally she had found a loophole, which left me feeling quite disappointed for some unknown reason.
Lucille cleared her throat. "I will not speak to you like that again. My apologies."
"I appreciate that," I replied.
With the rope in place, I sat in my soaking wet trousers while Lucille made her way toward the ladder and stepped down and into the pool.
"What do you teach here?" she asked.
"Drawing and painting," I answered, surprised by her inquiry.
"The university has an art department?" she asked.
"On the second floor of the literature, visual and performing arts building," I said. "Performing arts has a new building, but the sign has remained the same since I've been here."
Lucille sniffed. "I was not aware."
I couldn't tell if the remark was meant as condescending or not, but didn't comment further.
She splashed into the water, flopping into the depths without much grace while I grabbed my towel and ran it over my hair again.
"What do you do? Teach people how to draw?" she asked before submerging her head beneath the water and swimming to the opposite end of the pool. Once she reached for the wall and paused, she looked expectantly at me for a reply.
"I critique skills, assess what areas of art need work, and teach art history and theory."
"Do you like it?" she asked before once again submerging herself and swimming toward me.
"I do," I said once she paused and wiped the water out of her eyes.
"You said you were an artist," she commented.
I folded my towel and waited for her to reach the other end of the pool.
"When I originally met you," she said, again swimming the length of the pool.
Vaguely I remembered the conversation taking place on the street as she clung to my arm and looked up at me, her expression a mix of nervousness and excitement. I was surprised I'd mentioned being an artist.
"You were in Calais," she said. "Correct?"
"Yes," I answered, surprised she remembered the smallest detail.
Instead of swimming to the other end, she paused and took several breaths. "I've never been there."
I wasn't sure what Lucille wanted me to say in return. If she had been less abrasive from the start, I probably would have asked where she liked to travel on holiday or where she had last visited, but assumed she would say it was none of my concern.
"It's nice," I said.
"I like water," Lucille mentioned, this time swimming to the other side yet again.
She was a graceful swimmer and I didn't necessarily mind keeping watch, but the conversation was difficult to maintain with her swimming back and forth.
"You must not care for water if you don't own a bathing suit," Lucille said.
I started to speak, but she continued swimming, which I was beginning to think was on purpose merely to annoy me.
"I don't dislike water," I said when her head bobbed to the surface. "Aside from perhaps sitting here soaking wet."
"There are more towels in that bin," she said, pointing behind me.
I twisted, finding a large wooden box with a sign that said 'clean towels' on the front of it.
"Do you promise not to drown if I turn my back for five seconds?" I asked.
To my surprise, Lucille actually smiled. "I'll wait here and rest."
I grabbed three clean towels, two of which I kept for myself and the third which I reserved for Lucille.
"You are not supposed to take more than one," she scolded.
"Oh, for God's sake," I groused. "Heaven forbid there is one extra towel added to the laundry."
"Do you always break this many rules before nine in the morning?" she asked.
I couldn't tell if her words were meant to be playful or if she was truly someone who lived by the book.
"No," I answered. "By this time in the morning I've usually thrown heaps of trash into the gutter, robbed a bank, and stolen candy from an infant. Today I've merely managed to swim solo in a pool and take an additional towel. I'll probably have to burn down the chapel to salvage this day."
"You are a fool," Lucille said, again swimming to the other end while I draped one towel over my shoulders and another over my legs.
I shrugged when she rose to the surface again.
"Why are you shrugging?"
"I agree with you."
"About?"
"You called me a fool."
"I stand by my description. You are a rake, a scoundrel, and a fool," she said as she climbed up the pool ladder and reached for her towel, which she had hung over the arch of the ladder. "And I have not forgiven you."
I didn't expect that she would, nor would I beg for her to exonerate me.
"Another towel," I said, approaching her with the towel in hand, "which is in no way an offering of peace, but an additional reason for you to scorn me for disregarding the sign."
"You didn't have to bring me another towel."
"I had to make you an accomplice to my most dastardly actions."
Lucille made a valiant attempt at keeping a straight face, but gave in to a smirk as she draped the towel over her shoulders. "You are–"
"A fool," I said. "I am aware."
She shook her head. "I was a fool for going back with you," she said under her breath. "I should have known better to think someone like you would ever consider more than a night with someone like me."
In the back of my head, I imagined Bernard gruffly saying 'What a shit thing to say'.
"That is a completely unacceptable thing to say about yourself and I will not entertain any sort of reply that reinforces such a blatantly incorrect statement," I replied.
Lucille eyed me.
"In short, you should think better of yourself," I continued.
"I still do not want to forgive you," she said. "But…thank you for staying."
"Thank you for not drowning."
Lucille huffed and crossed her arms. Before she spoke again, the door to the pool opened and Cecil Le Behr walked in wearing his bathing suit.
"Have you already finished?" Cecil asked. "I thought we were meeting at seven-thirty, Lucille. When did you–" He paused, mouth agape and brow furrowed once he noticed me. "Professor Kimmer? Did you fall into the pool?"
"No, I–"
"You know you are not supposed to be in the university pool in your street attire," Cecil scolded with a shake of his head. He sighed heavily as if I were a child in need of being reprimanded. "I will have to write you up for this."
"He jumped in," Lucille said.
Cecil eyed her briefly. "What's this now?"
Lucille glanced at me before she addressed the dean. "He didn't fall into the pool, he jumped in. I was in the pool alone, floating on my back, and he apparently thought I was drowning," she stated. "Rather than allow me to die, he jumped in to save me."
Cecil's expression changed from annoyed to something that resembled being impressed.
"You did?" he asked me.
"He did," Lucille said before I could disagree. "And unfortunately, he made such haste that his clothes are now soaking wet."
I couldn't tell if Cecil believed her story. He issued a scrutinizing gaze at Lucille, then at me.
"Jumping into the pool to save a drowning woman?" he asked.
"Yes," Lucille said. "He's a fool, don't you think?"
Cecil scoffed. "Don't be rude, Lucille. You disregarded the rules and are fortunate you didn't nearly kill yourelf." He sighed, placing one hand on his hip as he looked at me. "Well, then, I suppose I cannot give you a written warning for saving my sister," he said, sounding quite disappointed.
My lips parted. "Lucille is your sister?" I questioned.
"Yes," Cecil answered tersely.
I turned my attention to Lucille and smiled. "I had no idea."
"Have you met Lucille previously, Professor Kimmer?"
That was a question I truly had no desire to answer, and I felt my stomach fill with dread. If Cecil even suspected I had slept with his sister, undoubtedly he would find a reason to fire me weeks before the school year ended.
"This is the first time," Lucille replied on my behalf. "Although I've seen him at the train station a time or two before."
"Yes," I said with a nod. "A time or two."
"Ah," Cecil said. "I see."
"I should dry off and prepare for my first class," I said.
"Lucille, are you getting back into the water?" Cecil asked.
"I suppose I will," she answered, her gaze still on me.
"Enjoy your swim, Monsieur and Mademoiselle Le Behr," I said before I grabbed my belongings and walked to the changing room.