Florence Adler Swims Forever(75)

“I guess that’s true.” How could he explain his relationship with Florence in terms a little girl—even one as precocious as Gussie—might understand? That there had been days when his wanting had felt like an open wound that needed to be tended to immediately, and other days it had felt like a bone he could bury in the backyard, something to come back to when Florence was ready, if she would ever be ready.

“Did you love her?” Gussie asked.

“I did but it wasn’t that simple.”

“Why not?”

It was a good question. Why hadn’t it been that simple?

“Well, for one thing, I’m not Jewish.”

“Does that matter?”

Stuart turned to look at her. “It shouldn’t but it does.”

“What are you?”

“Nothing. Maybe Protestant? I don’t really know anymore.”

“So Jews can’t marry Protestants?”

“I think Jews prefer to marry Jews.”

Gussie squeezed her lips together and her chin began to quiver. Worried she might cry, Stuart scurried to fix what he’d said. “I don’t know that that was it, though. I was also her coach.”

Another poor excuse. He wasn’t nearly as noble as all that. If Florence had given Stuart even a small sign, during one of those early morning practices, he would have been tempted to make love to her, right there in the bilge of the boat. But she had never given him the slightest indication she was interested.

“Are coaches not allowed to get married?”

Stuart laughed. “No, they are.” When Florence returned from France, he had imagined that he might tell her how he felt and see if she felt the same way. If the revelation changed the dynamic of their friendship, then that would have been something he had to live with.

“I made you something,” Gussie said, reaching into the pocket of her sundress.

She withdrew a small rock and handed it to him.

Stuart turned it over. On one side she had painted two miniature sea horses.

“How lovely, Gus. Thank you.”

“I wanted to ask”—her voice suddenly a whisper—“if you might marry me?”



* * *



By six o’clock that evening, when Robert and Stuart lowered their lifeguard stand into the sand, secured their boat, and headed toward the beach tent, the sky had not yet opened up but the storm clouds had settled squarely over the Boardwalk. As they approached the tent, Stuart convinced himself that Anna likely wouldn’t be there. Who could blame her? Any minute, it was going to pour.

Stuart put away his rescue can and the pair of oars he and Robert had taken that morning.

“Can I help with anything?”

He whipped around to find Anna standing a few feet behind him, the shoulder strap of her bathing suit peeking out from the neckline of her cotton dress. A pale pink cardigan hung from her shoulders.

“Good! You came. I was worried the storm would keep you away.”

“There’s no storm yet.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a raindrop landed on Stuart’s cheek. Anna turned her face up toward the sky, and Stuart took the opportunity to grab her hand. “Come on, let’s hurry.”

They ran up the stairs and across the Boardwalk, through the lobby of The Covington, and up the hotel’s back stairs to the second floor. By the time they tumbled out the door and onto the pool deck, Anna was out of breath and Stuart had begun an impersonation of his father that had them both cackling. “Shhh, whisper,” he said in the loudest whisper imaginable, which only caused her to laugh harder. The deck was empty. In preparation for the coming storm, all the chairs had been stacked against the walls, the umbrellas removed. Someone had taken all the towels and seat cushions inside.

Anna took off her cardigan and placed it aside. The first time Stuart had brought her to The Covington, she had been shy about getting undressed in front of him. He remembered her turning away from him to unbutton the front of her dress. Now, as the rain began to pick up, she reached for the material that cinched around her waist and pulled the dress up and over her head in one fluid movement. Anna wore Florence’s old Ambassador Club suit, a uniform that Stuart would have recognized anywhere. He didn’t have the heart to mention it, knew she had to be wearing it because she didn’t own a suit of her own. She had surely picked it because it was the plainest of Florence’s suits, the least likely to attract attention. On Florence the suit had seemed like a second skin. But on Anna, Stuart realized he was conscious of the fact that it was an article of clothing, and that, under the right set of circumstances, it could be removed.

Stuart shook the image from his head, pulled his shirt over his head, kicked off his shorts, and took a running leap at the pool. At the last minute, he grabbed Anna’s hand and pulled her into the water with him. She let out a yelp, submerged, and then surfaced. The rain was falling harder now. Big droplets bounced off the surface of the water, hitting the undersides of their chins. The pool water was so cloudy Stuart couldn’t see the bottom.

Anna had gotten much better at the crawl, and she swam three or four lengths before stopping to ask Stuart a question about her breathing technique. He took the opportunity to distract her. “I assume Gussie made it back in one piece?”

“She did. Thankfully, Esther didn’t realize she was gone until about thirty seconds before she walked in the door.”