Southampton Spectacular by M. C. Soutter Page B

at any minute. Or trip on the edge and come crashing to the ground, taking Frankie with him.
    Devon was frozen to the spot. She held her breath and willed her father to move faster, please, faster, even though he was already hurtling across the human obstacle course in front of him with a grace and speed that would have made a track coach proud. She looked at her mother, who was glaring at the pool lifeguard with distress and an uncommon glint of indecision. As if she thought he might actually make the situation worse, even if she did manage to get his attention in time. Devon broke out of her spell long enough to pull at her mother’s sleeve. “No, Mom. Use him .”
    Cynthia Hall looked where her daughter was pointing, and she saw the new boy still at his laps, nearing the far end of the pool. Ned and his infant brother were now going even faster, turning like a pair of drunken skating partners. “Austin Riley!” Cynthia boomed, and her third-grade-teacher voice, brought automatically to its full volume and its highest, most authoritative register, made every last person at poolside – and many up on the cafeteria overlook, far out of sight – sit up quickly and hope that they were not the ones in trouble. They had done all their homework, and they would be happy to come up to the board if necessary.
    Austin was in mid-stroke when Mrs. Hall called his name, but he obviously heard her perfectly well. He stopped and treaded water, looking for that voice of unmistakable command.
    “Austin Riley, you are on immediate lifeguard duty, do you understand?” Cynthia said, and pointed at the spinning boy at the edge of the pool.
    Ned’s infant brother was now beginning to make distinct sounds of distress.
    Austin did not answer. He turned and faced the direction that Mrs. Hall had indicated, and he put his hands up above the surface slowly, like a water-polo goalie anticipating a shot. Devon Hall, in spite of the stress of the situation, found herself pleased at Austin’s reaction. She was glad that he had not protested or questioned her mother’s command. That would have been unforgivable. Also, she couldn’t help but think:
    How did my mother know his full name? Or even his first name? Why didn’t she tell me? What else does she know about him?
    Peter Hall was almost there. He was dimly aware that his wife had managed to cover the pool side of the equation, and he adjusted his course to favor the remaining half of Ned’s now frighteningly rapid rotation. The boy was drifting farther and farther away from the pool as he spun, moving closer to the low brick wall of the main club enclosure. There were flower boxes of beach roses there at roughly hip level, to distract from the sight of the road and the narrow brick sidewalk below. Peter was less than five feet away now, and he slowed his speed by a quarter step to avoid knocking into Ned and his little brother. He put out one hand, reaching to create a cushion that would slow and then stop this dangerous game. Devon saw him there, and she allowed herself to begin breathing again. He only needed another half-second.
    But that was when Ned let Frankie go.
    It may have been because it was so hot. Either because Ned’s hands had grown slippery with the sweat of an active and overheated eleven-year-old, or because Frankie himself had been in and out of the baby pool that morning to ward off the heat, and was still slick with a combination of moisturizer and sun lotion and water. It may also have been that Ned Dunn momentarily lost focus; that he was thinking, just for an instant, about things no eleven-year-old should have to consider.
    For this we should not and will not judge him.
    Regardless, little Frankie Dunn suddenly found himself flying through the air. Not toward the pool, where Austin Riley briefly raised his hands up higher, as though protesting that the pass should have gone to him, that he was open , damn it, and ready to score. Ned had been facing the other