“Yes,” Judy said. “I guess it’s wonderful for young children, but I don’t fit into that picture. I’ve always had my grandparents in such emergencies and when I don’t, I manage all right by myself.” Her eyes wandered to the pool.
Lynne touched her shoulder. “Let’s get our swim now. We can finish talking later.”
Lynne gave a few deft twists to hair, tucked it under her cap and went swiftly to the diving board. Judy watched as she ascended the high board. There was a splash as her body, taut and graceful, hit the water. A few seconds later, Lynne coming up from her dive called to Judy to follow.
Judy shook her head. “I can’t dive.”
“Then fall in or use the ladder.”
Obediently Judy went to the ladder, holding the rail firmly as she descended the slippery steps. With her back to the pool, she braced herself for the shock of cold water as she cautiously reached for the last rung. Wildly trying to grasp the receding rail, she fell in, hitting the back of her head with a resounding smack. With a few strokes she came to the surface only to find Lynne laughing.
“That’s what you call a perfect take-off. How’s the head?”
“The head’s all right, but the water! It’s warm! It’s like swimming in a bathtub.” Judy grimaced with keen disappointment. Her eyes were burning and her nose was itching. “And it’s full of chlorine,” she added indignantly.
“You’ll get used to the chlorine and the temperature is divine. We ordinary folks love it. Come on, you polar bear, I’ll race you to the end of the pool.”
They enjoyed the swimming, but Judy soon tired. “I can’t understand it, Lynne,” she said, breathing like a whale, “I usually can swim a half-hour without feeling it. Now after only ten minutes, I’m pooped.”