Page 18 of One of Them

E ven though Anne arrived at Kenyon Hall just after seven a.m., there was already someone in the pool.

It was mid-January, and second semester had just started.

Who else would be swimming now? It was silly to be disappointed, though; there were plenty of empty lanes available.

But she enjoyed having the pool all to herself.

She watched for a moment before getting in.

Whoever this was, she was an excellent swimmer—graceful as a seal, arms and legs slicing through the water smoothly with only a minimum of splashing.

Anne turned away. Why was she standing here?

Better get in the pool before someone else showed up.

The water was cold, but that was all right—she liked the initial shock.

It made her feel alert and alive. And once she was immersed, she took no notice of the other swimmer, concentrating only on doing laps.

Anne was a competent though hardly exceptional swimmer; it didn’t matter.

The steady rhythm of her arms and legs and the light filtering down softly from the high windows gave her a sense of release and liberation that was hard to find anywhere else.

After she’d been swimming for about twenty minutes, she stopped at the shallow end, where she could stand for a break.

That’s when she noticed that the other swimmer had gotten out of the pool.

The girl in the college-issued gray maillot and white bathing cap stretched out on the tile was Delia Goldhush.

She recognized Anne just as Anne recognized her.

“Seems we keep a similar schedule,” Delia said. “First Main Street, now Kenyon.”

“I like to swim before it gets crowded,” Anne said.

“Same with me.”

Delia swung her legs around and slipped back into the pool. “I was just resting for a minute. But I wasn’t finished yet. I like to do forty laps before breakfast.” She adjusted the cap on her head before taking off.

Forty laps! Anne rarely did more than twenty-five.

She resumed her laps as well, but now she was keenly aware of Delia’s presence, plowing through the water as if she’d been born to it.

Her crawl seemed effortless, and she interspersed it with a powerful breaststroke and a more languorous backstroke.

She was still swimming when Anne got out of the pool and headed for the shower.

Standing under the hot, pulsating spray, Anne wondered why she hadn’t seen Delia here before, especially given that they both liked morning swims. She had dried off and gotten dressed when Delia appeared in the locker room; though she was patting herself with one of the tiny white towels the gym provided, rivulets of water streamed down her back and legs.

“Swimming makes me so hungry! Do you want to go out and get pancakes? I can be really quick in the shower.”

“Pancakes sound good.” Anne’s first class today was not until eleven, so she had the time.

And pancakes also meant that they would be going off campus to eat, so no one would see her with Delia.

She was a little ashamed of herself—she really liked Delia.

Admired her. But having breakfast with Delia on campus? Not a good idea.

The day was cold but bright; here and there, crests of a recent snowfall glinted in the sun.

They walked quickly away from the campus and toward the diner that many of the students liked to frequent.

Anne did have the thought that someone from school could see them here, but on a Tuesday morning it was unlikely; most of the girls came here on the weekends.

Her breath came in little white puffs, and her hands, even in their mittens, felt icy.

She was glad when they reached the diner and sat down in the generously sized booth with its red leatherette covering.

“Good morning, ladies,” trilled an older waitress with the kind of marcelled bob that had been popular twenty years ago. Without asking, she placed two mugs of black coffee on the table, along with a metal creamer and a bowl of sugar cubes.

“Menu’s up there.” She gestured to a chalkboard over the counter. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Anne added cream and sugar to her coffee; she was glad it gave her something to do. Delia, normally talkative and opinionated, had said nothing on the walk to the diner. Maybe she’d decided she didn’t really want to be here with Anne. But she was the one who’d suggested it.

The waitress—the maroon embroidered script above the pocket of her pink uniform read “Bunny”—returned. “What’ll it be?”

“Pancakes.” Delia had finally spoken up. “For both of us.”

Bunny nodded and left to place the order.

“I’ve never seen you at the pool before.” Anne knew it was a lame remark, but the silence was a bit unnerving, and she wanted to fill it.

“I guess we missed each other.” Delia took a sip of coffee to which she’d added neither sugar nor milk. “I’m usually there a few mornings a week, but this is the first time I’ve gone since the break. I’m glad I did—I really needed it.”

“The exercise lifts you up, doesn’t it?”

“Body and soul.” Delia put the mug down. It looked as if she might cry.

Anne didn’t know what to say to that. Then the pancakes arrived and Bunny bustled about, setting them up with maple syrup—heated!

—and pats of butter on little white plates.

Anne concentrated on eating; she had quite an appetite and the pancakes were delicious.

Then she looked over to see that Delia had taken only a couple of bites before putting down her fork.

“I thought you were hungry,” Anne said.

“I thought I was too. But apparently not.” She pushed the plate away.

“Are you all right?” Anne asked, although it was obvious that something was wrong.

“I’m fine.”

“Is it something that’s happened at school?” Maybe Anne had been wrong about Delia’s thick skin; maybe she was bothered by the routine exclusion, and the barbs. Maybe she didn’t like being such an outsider. “One of your classes? A test or a paper?”

“Nothing like that. It’s something else... more personal. A romance that’s gone wrong. Ended, actually. We broke up.”

“Oh,” said Anne. It was hard to imagine that anyone would have broken up with Delia, though. “Did he tell you why?”

“It wasn’t exactly his decision.”

“It was you? Did you decide you didn’t like him anymore?” Anne had stopped eating now; she was entirely focused on the conversation, and the new side of Delia it exposed.

“I loved him.”

Anne was quiet. She had never been in love, so she didn’t know what it would feel like to navigate such a loss. But Delia was confiding in her, and she yearned to understand. And to be of help, or if not help, then comfort. “So then why did you break up with him?”

“He was married. And his wife found out. She saw us.”

Married. Anne wouldn’t have guessed. There were of course girls who did such things, but she’d never known such a girl, and she wouldn’t have thought that Delia was one of them.

What could she even say to this? But she was spared saying anything.

Delia had started to cry, at first just a few tears that she brushed aside with her fingers and then a whole onslaught that caused her to bury her face in her hands.

Anne was as shocked by this as she had been by Delia’s initial revelation. Only now she knew just what to do. She got up from her seat and slid in next to Delia. Then she put her arm around her and let her weep.

Bunny appeared, a look of concern on her face. “Everything all right here, ladies?” she asked.

“Everything’s fine,” Anne said. “I’m taking care of it,” an assertion of guardianship that made her feel more adult, more her own person, than she ever had before.

Bunny nodded and left.

“If you want to tell me about it, I want to hear.”

Delia raised her tear-wet face. “I knew it was wrong from the start, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone, though. But I did.

I hurt his wife—I’ll never forget the look on her face.

I hurt him. And I hurt myself. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and now I have to live with that. ”

Anne took Delia by the shoulders and turned her so that they were facing each other. “No,” she said firmly. “You shouldn’t think that. Even if you did a bad thing, a terrible thing, you’re more than that—much more. The worst thing you did doesn’t define you.”

“It doesn’t?” Delia sniffed.

“No. It does not.” Anne didn’t know where this certainty came from, but she had utter faith in her own words.

Delia seemed calmer after that. Still sitting next to Anne, she reached for her plate and began to eat.

Once again, Bunny was standing in front of the booth. “Those pancakes must be stone cold,” she said. “I’ll get you a fresh batch.” She looked over at Anne’s half-eaten food. “And for you too. On the house.” She smiled sympathetically as she took the plates away and was back quickly with new ones.

“Thank you so much.” Though Delia’s tears had stopped, her voice still quavered. Anne put a hand on her arm. “Let’s eat before these get cold too.”

They walked back to campus in silence. Before they parted—Anne was going to get her books and head over to her class—Delia took Anne’s hands in her own.

“Thank you. I’d been repeating the same awful things in my head over and over, I couldn’t even consider that they might not be true.

It was good to get another perspective.”

“I’m glad if I helped.”

“You did.” Delia leaned forward and pressed her cheek to each of Anne’s, that charming French gesture Anne had seen in movies but of which she’d never been on the receiving end.

And if that weren’t surprising enough, Delia didn’t move away after the cheek-press; she enveloped Anne in a brief but powerful hug. “More than you know,” she said.

Anne returned the hug. She was facing away from Delia, so Delia couldn’t see her wide smile. For the first time, she felt like she might be worthy of a friendship with Delia.