The Things We Wish Were True by Marybeth Mayhew Whalen Page B

marriage meant Jencey would never return to Sycamore Glen. At the time, she’d been relieved at the thought. Yet here she was, sitting beside Jencey on the edge of the same pool where they’d played Marco Polo as children, Bryte feeling around blindly for Jencey as she listened for “Polo” in reply to her “Marco.”
    “I’m sure she does, and we will,” Jencey said, her voice firm, with an edge that hadn’t been there before. “But we’re not going to discuss it anymore today.”
    Pilar turned and, grumbling, marched back over to her friend. The two girls took their spots in line to jump off the diving board, waiting behind the little boy who made Bryte nervous. She’d taken to keeping an eye on him whenever she and Christopher were there. He wasn’t a strong swimmer, and there was never a parent with him. He had an older sister who usually looked out for him, but the sister seemed to be caught in Pilar and Zara’s orbit. Bryte remembered the feeling, how strong that pull could be.
    With Pilar gone, Jencey turned back to her. “Sorry about that,” she said.
    “No problem,” Bryte said. Christopher had grown tired of the pool and was hanging on her legs. She moved them up and down in the water, giving him a ride. It was the closest thing to exercise she got these days. If she went back to work, she could use her lunch hour to go to the gym like she used to.
    She and Jencey lapsed into silence again, both of them watching Christopher ride up and down in the water, his little face filled with a smile. “He’s really cute,” Jencey mused aloud. The comment felt weighted with unsaid words. This was not just Bryte’s son; this was Everett’s son, too.
    Would they ever talk about what had happened after Jencey left? Part of Bryte wanted to just say it already, get it all out in the open. But part of her didn’t want to broach the subject of Everett and her, because that would mean she’d have to talk about Jencey and Everett, which was not something she liked remembering, even years later.
    “He’s a good baby,” was all Bryte said in response.
    Jencey patted her arm and started to stand. “I hate to tell you this, but he’s hardly a baby anymore.”
    Bryte looked up. “You sound just like Everett,” she said, the name slipping from her lips without meaning for it to. There was no avoiding him. In the end, they’d have to acknowledge his existence. It was there between them, as obvious as the child hanging on her legs.
    “He’s right,” Jencey said, and shrugged. She turned her attention to Zara on the diving board and clapped her hands loudly. “Come on, Zara, let’s see a flip!” she called.
    Zara, from the diving board, tried to get her mother to be quiet. “Mo-om,” she intoned before making a polite, unobtrusive jump into the deep end. The little boy came after her, his eyes on his sister. But she wasn’t looking. She was helping Zara out of the water with effusive praise.
    “That kid makes me nervous,” Bryte said to Jencey. She pulled Christopher from the water and stood him beside her before standing up herself.
    “Why?” Jencey asked.
    Bryte took Christopher’s hand and pulled him closer to her side, as if by keeping him safe, she could vicariously keep the little boy safe, too. “Watch him,” she said, and pointed.
    The two women watched as the boy leaped from the diving board, sank under the water, and disappeared from sight for several seconds. Bryte held her breath, as did Jencey. She felt Jencey’s hand reach for her forearm. Her fingernails, painted the color pink a child might choose, dug into her skin as she strained forward. Together, they willed the boy to the surface. When he finally did rise, he was sputtering and coughing up water, his hands flailing. In unison, their eyes went to the male lifeguard, who was talking to the gorgeous blonde female lifeguard and not watching the scene in the deep end at all.
    “Should we do something?” Jencey asked.
    “No,