“I don't trust anybody completely.”
“Not Aaron?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because trust is not blindness.”
“It’s knowing what someone has shown you and deciding what access makes sense.”
She nodded slowly.
“That sounds less romantic.”
“Most healthy things do.”
Outside Vanessa looked through window.
“What are you two talking about?”
I called:
“Your criminal history.”
She gave me middle finger.
My niece gasped.
I laughed.
Vanessa shouted:
“Tell her I completed probation!”
That was where we eventually arrived.
Not forgetting.
Not pretending.
History without control.
When Vanessa turned seventy, she hosted family at lakeside house she and Michael had bought.
There was a pool.
That had once seemed impossible.
The first time I visited, I stood at edge.
Vanessa came beside me.
Not close.
She always left a little more physical space near water.
I noticed.
Never mentioned.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You don't have to go outside.”
“I know.”
“You don't have to swim.”
“I know.”
I looked at water.
Then at her.
“Want to?”
She stared.
“With you?”
“Yes.”
Tears appeared immediately.
“Oh God.”
“Don't make this symbolic.”
“Too late.”
“Vanessa.”
“I’m trying.”
We changed.
Walked into shallow end.
Not pushed.
Not surprised.
Side by side.
She stayed three feet away.
I swam one length.
Then another.
Vanessa watched.
When I returned, she said:
“You're good.”
“No.”
“Better than me.”
“That's not good.”
She laughed.
I rested elbows on edge.
My repaired shoulder held.
Vanessa stood beside me.
“Emily.”
“What?”