Tag pulled the rope back and held it for a second, close to his side, and then he let go. She zipped through the air up, over the lakeshore, and when the water was below her, she let go. She squealed.
She was maybe six or eight feet up. The lake came at her fast, and she splashed in. The cold water woke her up, it almost hurt, but it didn’t kill her. No, it did not!
She kicked her legs. They were stiff, and her body wasn’t used to any of this dramatic activity. But it did remember. She remembered. She kicked again and broke the surface. She took a breath. She rolled onto her back and floated for a second. Viv looked up at the sky.
It was clear blue. She was still, for a second, in the water.
“You, okay?” Tag had inched down to the sandy beach on his backside.
“Leave your brace on. I’m perfect. No worries.” He didn’t need to come in and rescue her. No one did.
She could jump into the deep water and swim back out.
She paddled toward the shore, and when it was shallow enough, she stood up and walked back out.
“How was that?”
“Cold.”
“You got a lot of airtime there, lady.” He offered his one free hand, but she didn’t need it. She found her own balance.
“Yes.” She hadn’t thought about the aftermath: no towel, no change of clothes. Her teeth started to chatter a little. She was dripping wet, and her clothes were now heavy. It was the first few days of June, still, spring and not yet warm enough to be standing around in wet clothes. She wrung out her skirt.
“Uh, I think we have towels in the house. Let’s go check. You aren’t getting in my baby all soggy.”
“I didn’t really think too far in advance here.” She laughed at the impulsive decision she’d made. Siena would have stopped her. Bret would have tried to talk her out of it. She knew their caution was all about worry for her, but still.
“The closet in there has stuff that needs clearing out. Maybe a towel, here—yes!” Tag had found her a towel. She felt bad dripping all over his house, but then again, the place needed to be gutted.
Viv walked into a closet that was stuffed with clothes. Well, beggars can’t be choosers. She’d switch out of her wet clothes for the ride back to the hotel. The house might be a mess, but his car was nice. She didn’t really want to drip all over the leather seats.
After drying off, Viv balled her wet clothes into the old towel. She stood naked in the closet. There were t-shirts, polyester shorts, and a few buttoned blouses, and then something bright orange caught her eye. It was on a hanger but nearly touched the floor.
Viv took the garment off the rack and admired it. It was diaphanous silk. There was a V-neck, two giant arm holes, and slits on the sides.
“What in the Mrs. Roper?”
She slid it off the hangar and put it to her nose. It smelled of Shalimar. Wow. Blast from the past on that.
“At least it’s not moldy,” Viv said to herself as she gathered the fabric and popped her head through. She easily found the arm holes, and voila, she was in the muumuu. Or was it a kaftan? She’d have to research that little detail. Either way, she was comfortable, dry, and feeling gloriously diva-like.
She never acted the diva, but she’d also never worn such a glorious garment.
Viv picked up the rolled-up towel with the wet clothes nestled inside and rejoined Tag in the kitchen.
“So, this yellow and green appliance thing isn’t coming back? I could keep them and be hip?”
“No, they’re out.”
“Speaking of hip, you look groovy.”
“Thank you. And thank you for the help taking the plunge.”
“My pleasure. As soon as I can use this leg, I’m going to have you return the favor.”
“Deal. Now take a few pics of your space. I’ll think about some fixes for you. The least I could do.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
