I remember the sheer terror I felt the first time Matthew led me onto it.The dizzying wobbles.The threat of dropping into the deep end.I had clung to him as if it were a matter of life or death.
Extending my right foot, I place it onto the slightly rough surface.Then, with no hesitation, I bring my left foot to join it.The board dips slightly under my weight as I take another careful step forward.Too tired to balance, I sit down and scoot forward to the very end, dangling my legs over the sides.I lean forward and rest my palms on the surface in front of me.The water looks so still and peaceful from here.
It’s the best spot, trust me.
Matthew’s words surface in my mind, making my heart contract with nostalgia.
A sad smile touches my lips.
He’s right.
There is a strange solace in being suspended above the water, under the vast, star-dusted sky.
A soft click from the far end of the yard breaks the spell.
Matthew’s silhouette is framed in the opening of the iron fence.He closes the latch and walks toward me, his steps unhurried on the stone path that circles the pool.He stops when he’s close enough for me to see his face.
“Sorry.I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, my voice scratchier than I had expected.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says simply, continuing past me to step onto the diving board.
It groans under his weight.I don’t turn around or look back.The board dips, and I instinctively grip the edges as I feel him sit down behind me.But not close enough, because I don’t feel his warmth.
“So you couldn’t sleep either?”he asks my back.
I shake my head, my gaze fixed on the rippling water below.
He sighs.A loud, shuddering sound that seems to carry the weight of the world.“I had the shittiest day.”
“Same.”The one word rises to my lips, a perfect echo of his own misery.
It hangs in the air between us, followed by a lengthy silence.
Matthew lets out a long breath that sounds defeated.The board shifts.He scoots closer, the heat of his body now a tangible presence right behind me.
“Would you turn around, love?”he asks, his voice a pleading murmur.
I don’t respond, frozen with uncertainty.
“Please,” he adds, even softer.“I’ll help you.”
His hands come up on either side of me.A loose, protective cage.I carefully, awkwardly, turn until I am facing him in the soft blue glow, our knees touching.
“Thank you,” he whispers with great sincerity.
“You left pretty early this morning,” I whisper back, the hurt from the day finally finding a voice.
He winces, the words landing like a well-aimed stone.“Yeah,” he breathes, offering no other explanation.
Silence descends again.
Matthew leans back a fraction and reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants.He pulls out a wallet-sized photograph, its edges creased from years of handling, and holds it out to me.
My brow furrows with curiosity as I take it from him.
“Arella Warren,” he says.
The woman in the picture is a young brunette with a kind, somber smile and eyes I would recognize anywhere.
