She shook her head no. “What was it you loved about her?”
Stuart dipped his head back in the water and looked at the sky, let the rain leak into his mouth, run down his nose. He raised his head, forced himself to look Anna in the eyes. “I suppose I loved how brave she was. And capable. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t or couldn’t do.”
“Like the Channel?” she asked, holding his gaze.
“She would have made it across, definitely. But it was more than just that one swim, or even swimming at all. You felt lucky if you got the chance to watch her make a sandwich.”
Anna wiped at her eyes. Was she crying? With all the rain, it was impossible to tell.
“Do you want to get out?”
She nodded and he pulled himself out of the pool and onto the deck, looking around for anything dry they might use in place of a towel. Anna’s dress and his shorts were both soaked. A chaise lounge was covered in a piece of oatmeal-colored canvas, embroidered with the wordsThe Covington, and Stuart figured the underside had to still be dry. He whisked it off and carried the armful of canvas over to Anna, who had just emerged at the top of the ladder.
“It’s not particularly soft but it’ll do the trick,” he said, wrapping the canvas, which was as big as a tent, around her shoulders.
“Thank you.”
“Come over here where it’s dry,” Stuart said, leading her toward the rear of the pool deck where the roofline of the hotel created a small overhang—no more than a foot or two in depth. Anna offered him a portion of the canvas, which he draped around his own shoulders. The pair leaned together, pulling the canvas around themselves, and watched the rain come down.
“How are things going with your parents?” said Stuart. “Isaac says not so good.”
Anna scrunched up her nose. “Isaac?”
“He’s probably not a very reliable source?” Stuart said with a laugh.
She shook her head, pulled the canvas a little closer. “Actually, their prospects seem better.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve got two extra letters now, besides Joseph’s. And Joseph was very generous and started an account at the Boardwalk National Bank for them, so I think that will help.”
So that’s what Joseph had done with the check on the afternoon they’d returned from Atlantic Highlands. Put the money in an account in Anna’s parents’ name. He was a good man. “That’s great news, Anna.”
She looked up at Stuart then, her face as open and effervescent as he’d ever seen it. He liked the idea that Florence’s death, her failure todo the one thing she’d ever wanted, was making it possible for Anna’s family to be reunited. He thought Florence would have liked it, too.
They stood in silence for several long and quiet minutes. Finally, Stuart broke the spell. “I guess we could go inside. I might be able to find us some robes.”
“This is nice,” was all Anna said but it was enough to make him stay right where he was.
Stuart could hear Mrs. Tate’s heavy footfalls on the stairs that led up to his room. His landlady was a large woman, with fat feet and swollen ankles, and it was rare for her to take the stairs at all, let alone all the way to the boardinghouse’s third floor. The wood risers groaned under her weight, and—as if in response—Mrs. Tate did as well.
The sound caused Stuart to sit up in bed, rub his eyes, and look around for a shirt. He had begun to dig through a pile of dirty clothes when he heard the knock at his door.
“Mr. Williams?” On the other side of the door, Mrs. Tate was doing her best to catch her breath.
“One minute.” Stuart spied a sweater and pulled it over his head.
“You have a package.”
Odd, Stuart thought. Mrs. Tate usually left all mail—packages included—on the table under the stairs. In the three years he’d lived here, how many times had he overheard her telling a tenant that she wasn’t the Pony Express? A dozen times? More?
“You didn’t have to come all the way up,” he said as he opened the door but, when he saw the package in her hand, he knew why she had made the trip.
It was one of The Covington’s gift boxes—the kind that they used in the shop on the first floor, purple with gold lettering foil stamped on the lid—and she had to be curious as to its contents, not to mention the lineage of her third-floor tenant. She handed it to him.
“This didn’t come via post?” Stuart asked, already knowing it hadn’t.
“A nice man in a fancy jacket dropped it off for you.”
