a short story by Jennifer Dickinson
Eleanor dragged a chair underneath the palm tree farthest away from the pool. She started a crossword puzzle, but after a few minutes, the pool seemed to be calling to her. “Eleanor, come swim in me, please.” She walked to the edge, feeling in her tank suit that she was naked in front of strangers. A sensation she hadn’t experienced in decades. It wasn’t entirely bad. Even though each hair on her head was silver, she still had a nice rack. She dipped one foot in, then the other. She sat down and lowered herself into the water. It was at once an icy shock and a warm embrace. She lowered herself in even more, until her whole head was wet.
“Daniel, I’m going to eat you up!”
A red-haired woman stood a few feet away hugging a little boy, who was probably no more than four. He screamed with joy. The woman play-bit his chubby cheeks. Eleanor swam away. Even though her face was wet, she didn’t want anyone to notice she was crying.
Daniel reminded Eleanor of her son, Frank, who’d wanted to go to the pool every day when he was little. In the summers they’d lived with shiny splotches of aloe vera on their pink shoulders and cheeks. Those days were the best because Frank hadn’t put a pill in his mouth yet. Frank had come home for Sam’s funeral, taken one of his suits and a pair of cufflinks, and then disappeared. One night Eleanor had seen Frank sitting at the entrance to the highway, holding up a sign that said: “Out of Work, Please Spare Some $ For A Starving Artist!” He wore Sam’s suit and she’d wanted to stop, but seeing his bleary eyes and his skeletal frame had made her cry harder at the funeral than her own husband’s death. She drove on.
The red-haired woman was there with Daniel every day. Eleanor soon learned their routine. The mother would play with him for a bit, then she’d go to her chair and text, or take selfies. Some days she had another woman with her who vaped even though there was a no smoking policy. Daniel’s mother hardly looked at him after their initial playing. He mostly set on the steps or clung to the sides. Sometimes he played with other children.
The day that Daniel didn’t come up for air, Eleanor was drinking a Diet Coke and finishing up a crossword puzzle. She’d had a headache all morning and looking at the bright light bouncing off of the pool made the headache worse. It was the first day she hadn’t been watching Daniel. His mother’s friend wasn’t there and she’d been more attentive to her son, which made Eleanor feel better about not looking.
An audio version of this story is available to paid subscribers on Substack.
Jennifer Dickinson’s fiction has appeared in Beloit Fiction Journal, The Florida Review, Blackbird, Juked, JMMW, Maudlin House, Isele Magazine, and elsewhere. She is the recipient of a Hedgebrook residency and a grant from the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund. She is a book coach and lives in Los Angeles.