A Different Kind of Blues by Gwynne Forster

Author:Gwynne Forster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2008-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Petra put on her bathing suit and the hotel’s white terrycloth robe and took the elevator down to the hotel’s Olympic-size pool. Blue was not her favorite color, and the blue tiles covering the walls around the pool and the hallway approaching it reminded her of a painting she once saw hanging in the foyer of an otherwise dull-looking hospital room.

She looked at the water, blue-green from infusions of chlorine intended to neutralize the assorted germs it received from human bodies. Did she want to get into that?

Oh, heck! I’ve always wanted to swim, and my fears wouldn’t let me. What have I got to lose now? Nothing but a few weeks, and that’s not much. This is hardly the time to protect myself from adventure. Do it, girl. She jerked around at the sound of footsteps coming behind her, and saw the young lifeguard approaching.

“Hey,” he said. “I should have told you not to be in here alone. It’s not a clever thing for a woman to do.”

She stared at his six foot height, washboard middle, rock-like biceps, beautiful legs, and handsome face. “What a sin,” she said to herself. “He can’t be a day older than eighteen, if he’s that. Thank God, I’m not stupid.”

“You’re a great ad for bathing suits,” he said and, as if his comment was nothing personal, he added, “let’s go around there to the exercise room. I want to show you some important strokes.” For about twenty minutes, he had her practicing the crawl and breaststrokes while she stood facing him. “All right. Let’s get into the water.”

An hour later, Petra left the pool feeling that she could conquer Mount Everest. “You’re a quick study, Petra,” he said. “Not an iota of fear. See you same time tomorrow morning.”

As the day progressed, Petra decided to skip the next swimming lesson and leave Santa Cruz the next morning. She went back to the pool late that afternoon and, though she didn’t see a lifeguard, waded into the children’s end. She managed to stay afloat with the breaststroke and was soon swimming in deeper water. She got out of the pool an hour later, buoyant with the knowledge that she had actually stayed afloat and that she hadn’t been scared. She left payment for the lifeguard at the registration desk, went to her room, and packed. Time was passing, and she had two more important stops to make. In the end, she wanted to be at home with people who loved her. As she packed, she worked at banishing the hollow that had opened up inside of her. If only she had gotten Winston’s address, she could have written him a note asking his forgiveness for having left him the way she did. She stiffened her back. What was done was done. The next morning, she got into the rented car and headed for Highway 1 and Monterey.

A few minutes out of Santa Cruz, Petra stopped for gasoline and did something that, a month

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