grabbed my trunks and a towel from my backpack—hope springs eternal—and headed for the pool. I found Aaron there, sitting on a lounge chair, reading. There was a bowl of chips, two glasses, and a pitcher of iced tea. I later learned it was mint tea, so apparently Aaron was also no stranger to YouTube tutorials himself. My chest warmed at the sight, and I tried not to grin like an idiot and instead to act like it was perfectly normal.
I swam and hung out on the lounge chairs with him until it grew dark, and I had to get on my bike and head home.
That became our routine. Aaron would be poolside at four o’clock with drinks and food. Every day. I didn’t want to ask him about it—like, were we just doing this now? Because I didn’t want to break the spell. He didn’t mention it either, maybe for the same reason.
The following Friday I got a call from Emmanuel Clark, “Just seeing how things are going.” I was surprised he would actually call me on my cell phone as if I were not a lowly gardener. I rambled on about the joys of setting tile and the merits of petunias versus violets until he cut me off impatiently. “What about Aaron? How’s he doing? Have you had any conversations with him?”
“Fine, I guess,” I said with a verbal shrug. “I see him walking Jack every day. Is that what you mean?”
After he hung up, I had a moment of existential dread. Emmanuel didn’t need to know Aaron and I were hanging out together by the pool. It was none of his business. But what if he found out I was lying? Would he be able to fire me? When I’d overheard the conversation between him and Aaron, it hadn’t sounded like he had that much pull, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t understand their relationship, or who exactly paid for Malfleur and its upkeep. It seemed presumptuous to ask Aaron about it. So I decided not to worry.
On a Sunday morning in late July, I arrived at Malfleur early. The day before had been my century bike ride. It had been exhausting, and hot, and I’d spent nearly all of those one hundred kilometers daydreaming about Aaron. I was lucky I hadn’t crashed my bike.
I’d taken pictures at the rest stops and texted them to my mom and to Aaron. He responded back with encouragement. I thought about how amazing it would be if he were there with me, riding the race with me. Would he ever be up for something like that? Being out in public? Would his injuries allow him to ride that far?
It was an unlikely scenario, but still fun to imagine.
When I got home, I took a couple of aspirin, chowed down on spaghetti my mom made, and went to bed early. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. So I woke up at five that Sunday morning. I figured I might as well get a head start on the trimming I’d planned to do along the woods path at Malfleur. I didn’t normally work on Sundays, but I figured I could use the extra money.
No, that’s a lie. The truth was, I just wanted to be there—at the top of Hillcrest, in that other world. These days, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I grabbed a quick bowl of cereal and headed out on my bike, making sure to pack my swim trunks.
At the gate of Malfleur, I let myself in using the key Aaron had given me. There was a keyhole on the side of the intercom that opened the gate. The security camera blinked at me as the wrought iron barrier rolled open. The camera was working again, the light at its base a bright red. Aaron must have fixed it. I biked up the driveway, enjoying the early morning light. As I parked my bike at the front of the house, I heard distant barking.
It was Jack. He sounded excited.
I followed the sound around the house. When I got within sight of the pool, I froze. Jack was standing at the edge of the pool, looking at something in the water, his tail wagging furiously. That something was Aaron.
I could tell, even from this distance, that he wasn’t wearing anything but swim trunks. He sliced through the water, one arm flashing white and pale thanks to his long-sleeved shirts, and the other red with burn scars.
I didn’t think. I just