Chapter Twenty-Three

TWENTY-THREE

SEPTEMBER 1987

Augusta set her alarm for six forty-five the next morning.

This time, she didn’t stand on the pool deck, staring down at Irving while he swam back and forth. This time, Augusta was all business—securing her swim cap neatly on her head, stretching out her arms and legs to avoid cramps, and then slipping silently into the water. She could almost hear her mother’s voice. You can’t give up something that brings you joy just because it is difficult. She would not let Irving Rivkin’s presence or her own mixed feelings dissuade her from doing what she loved.

She kept a respectful distance from Irving, who was so ensconced in his routine that at first he didn’t notice her. Still, there was no way for him not to feel the delicate ripples her presence triggered or the slight undulation of the current that the rise and fall of her body caused. She could not say when he became aware of her, but at some point, she knew that he knew she was there. For a dozen laps afterward, they swam side by side, mirroring each other’s movements.

As her workout came to a close, a welcome fatigue set in. Augusta followed Irving up the pool steps, and each of them dried off without a word to the other. Then Irving pulled a T-shirt over his head and slipped his sandals on his feet. “Have a nice day, Augusta,” he said before walking through the gate and heading for home.

The encounter left Augusta slightly confused and strangely at peace, all at the same time. Irving had not questioned her presence in the pool at such an ungodly hour. He had not commented on her departure from her notoriously strict routine. He had not ogled or flirted or joked or mentioned her tuchus or her swimsuit. When he left, he had addressed her politely. He had used her preferred name to say goodbye.

That night, she set her alarm clock again.

Three days later, Vera came looking for Augusta in the cardroom. Augusta was finishing a game of mah-jongg when Vera tapped her on the shoulder. Vera’s perfume was a cloying mixture of sweet vanilla and burnt rose petals. “I want to talk to you,” she said.

Shirley gave Augusta an encouraging nod. “Go ahead. The rest of us will clean up the tiles.”

In the brightly lit hallway of the clubhouse, the resentment on Vera’s face was clear. It poured out of every exaggerated feature—from her heavily lined eyes to her brightly coated lips.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Vera hissed.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Augusta. Or Goldie. Or whatever your real name is. You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“I’m sorry, Vera, but I swear I don’t.”

“You’ve been throwing yourself at Irving!”

Augusta covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to suppress her laughter. “Throwing myself? At Irving Rivkin?”

“Is this some kind of joke to you? You’ve been meeting him every morning for the past three days in a row.”

The specificity of the accusation caught Augusta’s attention. “How do you know that?”

“Because people talk. People have eyes around here, you know. We’re not as stupid as you think we are.” Vera rummaged through her purse for a tissue and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

“Look, Vera, I’m sorry if you’re upset, but trust me, Irving and I barely speak. We’ve hardly said more than two words to each other. I’ve been getting up early to swim, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why get up so early? You never used to. When you first moved here, you got to the pool every day at nine o’clock. I know because that’s when I play canasta. Every day it was always the same. Until Irving tried to dance with you…”

“I understand that the night of the barbecue was embarrassing for everyone, but that was a misunderstanding. Irving didn’t mean to push Nathaniel, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with me—”

“Yes, it did,” Vera insisted. “Don’t try to lie about something so obvious!” Her voice grew louder as she struggled to contain her burgeoning rage.

A group of women on their way to the cardroom tried their best not to stare. When the group was out of earshot, Augusta continued her explanation.

“Vera,” she whispered. “Vera, I’m sorry. But I swear to you. I absolutely swear that nothing is going on between me and Irving.” Augusta tried to place a hand on Vera’s shoulder, but Vera stepped backward, out of her reach.

Vera pulled a fresh tissue from her purse and wiped the mascara from her cheeks. Her rage had melted as quickly as her makeup, and all that was left of it now was a cloud of melancholy and bad perfume. “You know,” Vera said, “I can’t decide.” Her quivering voice had become so pitiful that Augusta was suddenly filled with shame.

“Can’t decide what?” Augusta said softly.

The spark of anger in Vera’s eyes was gone, and most of her mascara with it. Without her armor, she looked lighter and more vulnerable than before.

“Whether you’re lying to me or to yourself.”

Augusta swam with Irving again the next morning.

Before they got into the water, neither said anything to the other. After they completed their laps, Augusta dried herself off in silence and Irving went to the other side of the pool to do the same. They did not linger or socialize, except for Irving’s now-familiar goodbye. “Have a nice day, Augusta,” he said.

She responded, “Same to you.”

Only when they were in the pool did the barrier between them fade and the awkwardness subside. In the water, Augusta’s mind played tricks on her. Place was irrelevant, time turned backward. In the water, she was back at Coney Island, laughing and swimming with her sister. She could hear her mother during their lessons. Don’t forget to stop and breathe. When Augusta was swimming and her body was occupied, her mind expanded in unforeseeable ways. She was meeting Irving for the first time. She was in the kitchen with Aunt Esther.

In the water, Augusta could remember the subtle magic of her youth.

In the water, Augusta could remember what it felt like to be brave.

In the water, Augusta could finally forgive.