LITMIR.BIZ

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      The latecomer breathed in and lifted his head, elevating his proud chin. “Duly noted,” he said. He blinked. “Mrs. Montgomery?”

      “Huntington? Huntington Phox, is that really you? I haven’t seen you since you were in fifth grade.”

      “Fourth,” he said.

      Doris arched one brow critically.

      “Well, maybe you’re right. Fifth.” He didn’t sound convinced but obviously was astute enough to know when to give in. “And most people call me Hunt now,” he said.

      “Yes, well, Huntington, it’s good to see you after all this time. But it’s not Mrs. Montgomery anymore. Mr. Montgomery passed away some twenty years ago.”

      “Sorry to hear that.”

      “And then there was Mr. Dunworth.” Her voice took a reflective tone. “He was a merchant marine. But you know how they are. So now it’s back to Ms. Freund, my maiden name. But everyone may of course call me Doris.”

      LIKE THAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN, Hunt thought. He noticed that all the class members nodded nervously, all except this one tall woman with straight dark-blond hair that she was attempting to squeeze into a racing cap.

      Under other circumstances he might have admired her fine features, but these were not exactly normal circumstances.

      How normal could it be given the fact that he was forced to stand in front of a bunch of strangers, not to mention his former grammar school teacher, wearing the only pair of swim trunks he had managed to find in the bottom of his dresser drawer. Not just any trunks, either, but some faded board shorts, half-forgotten mementos from a surfing vacation during his junior year spring break.

      But enough about his laughable figure—too bad he wasn’t laughing—since his attention anyway was fixated on this real-life grown-up female. Wearing a bright orange bikini that barely held her bountiful curves.

      Hunt blinked, amazed that here at the Grantham Middle School swimming pool of all places, the embers of sexual urges long dormant—one of the many side effects of chemo that didn’t really compute until you experienced them—had suddenly started to smolder. Talk about less than normal circumstances.

      And the smoldering was especially bizarre given that her little scraps of stretchy material did nothing to hide the fact that not only did she have the breasts of a pinup, she also was very pregnant—very, very pregnant.

      Hunt cleared his throat and turned to address Ms. Freund, or rather, Doris. “Please do not take this personally if I slip up now and again. I seem to find it difficult to call my fourth, no, fifth grade teacher by her first name.”

      Doris clucked. “You’re your mother’s son, that’s for sure.”

      There were some twitters, and Hunt searched out the source of the laughter. He recognized Lena Zemanova, the grandmother of Ben’s wife. The sprightly seventy-something-year-old wore a no-nonsense racing suit, navy with white piping, and a red bathing cap. She looked ready to swim the English Channel. The woman next to her, with spiky black hair and a leathery tan that spoke of years of retirement and a complete disregard for sun block, also looked familiar. Though Hunt couldn’t quite place her, unless…unless…. He raised his eyebrows.

      “That’s right, Huntington,” she replied with a snap of her gum. “I’m your worst nightmare. Wanda Garrity, your high school math teacher from freshman year. And I’m still waiting for your problem set on quadratic equations.”

      Hunt caught sight of her pierced belly button, visible through the large silver ring holding together her low-cut silver swimsuit. He closed his eyes. “I’ll have it for you next week.”

      “Well, now that we’re all here, why don’t I explain how the course works,” Doris went on in full lecture mode. “As you know from the course description, this class is designed to provide a low-impact aerobic workout. I promise to raise your heart rate in a way that will not tax your joints but instead strengthen your muscles. We’re also going to work on flexibility and strength exercises that are appropriate to your conditions, whether recuperative or reproductive.”

      Doris waited. “Does everyone understand?”

      A MIASMA OF CHLORINE-INFUSED air produced a rainbow glow around the wall lights. Moisture clung to the white tiles like a sheen of sweat. Sarah patted the back of her neck. Now that she was here, she was ready to get on with things.

      Lena leaned across and nudged Sarah. “I’m excited but a little nervous. What about you?” She smiled.

      Sarah smiled back at Lena’s bright blue eyes, sparkling with encouragement. “I feel the same,” she said.

      “And you’re sure you’re not achy and tired after so long a day? I worry, you know,” Lena said.

      Sarah leaned down and whispered, “Not to worry. I’m glad I’m here.”

      “Good things will come of it, I promise,” Lena told her.

      “Excuse me.” Doris gave them an evil look and went on with various bureaucratic details, like how to notify her if they had to miss a class and the policy on makeups, until finally she put her clipboard and reading glasses on a low bench by the wall. “So, if there are no questions or further interruptions—” she eyed Lena “—why don’t we all get in the water? Congregate in the shallow end and find your partner.” Doris brought her whistle to her mouth and gave an emphatic blow.

      They shuffled to the end of the pool. Some of the couples jumped in. Spray splashed up. Giggles arose again, as the pregnant women floated, their bellies giving them terrific buoyancy. Carl, the older gentleman from earlier, used the ladder and steps on the side. Lena and Wanda squatted down and slipped in from the water’s edge. Lena immediately got wet all over. Wanda was careful not to get her hair wet.

      Finally, all twelve members of the class were in the water.

      Except for two.

      Sarah and Hunt stood by the water’s edge, seemingly frozen to the tiled floor.

      Doris sniffed. She was at the side of the pool ready to make a formal entry. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

      “Partner? Did you say something about everyone having a partner?” Sarah said.

      HUNT SHIFTED HIS EYES between the woman in the electric-orange bikini and Ms. Freund. “No one told me about a partner, either.” Doris tsk-tsked and slid into the water gracefully. “Didn’t you read your course book?” She managed to look down her nose despite standing below them in the shallow end.

      Sarah shook her head. “No, I…ah…friends enrolled me in the class without giving me all the details.”

      “I’ve got much the same story,” Hunt added.

      “Well, then you two will just have to pair up,” Doris said. She turned to the rest of the class. “Let’s do some gentle bobbing as a warm-up.”

      Hunt frowned. He looked at Sarah. “One of your friends wouldn’t happen to be my mother, would it?”

      “I don’t know. Who’s your mother?”

      “Iris Phox.”

      “The Iris Phox?”

      “So you know her?” he said.

      “Well, of her. You can’t live in Grantham without having heard of her.” She sought out Lena in the pool. Her bathing cap bobbed up and down. “Lena, do you need a partner?”

      Lena pointed to her right. “I’m with Wanda.” Wanda was bobbing up and down. Whatever gel she had applied to her hair kept the spikes perfectly in place.

      “I guess I don’t measure up to your idea of a partner,” Hunt said casually. Not that he was looking to be anybody’s partner, but if there was going to be a rejection handed out, he found himself annoyed that he had been

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