I watch her go, amused. “Wait,” I shout out after her, dragging myself upright off the stool with a groan. “You can’t take anything off! No nudity in shared spaces.”
My knee twinges in protest, but I limp along after her, hobbling like a toddler who just learned how to run.
“Blah blah blah, I know what the rules are.”
I point at her as she goes stomping onto the deck. “Keep every thread on your body exactly where it is.” I sound like a prude, hardly recognizing myself.
“Relax, Grandpa. I’m not taking anything off. God forbid you see a flash of my skin.”
She stalks straight to the edge of the dock, arms loose at her sides, head tilted back like she’s soaking in the sun, and suddenly I have athought: “You know how to swim, right?” Because if she doesn’t and something happens, I’m not sure my leg is strong enough ...
She spreads her arms like she’s preparing for flight. “News flash, old man: I was a lifeguard in high school.”
“Perfect. So you can rescueyourselfwhen you inevitably smack your head on a rock.”
“There are no rocks!”
“You don’t know that!”
Annabelle shakes her head, laughing, then shouts, “Try not to miss me too much!” before launching herself into the air.
I groan as she disappears into the bubbly blue with a splash that soaks the lower half of my sweatpants.
She surfaces with a triumphant whoop, slick hair plastered to her head and water streaming down her cheeks like she’s in a commercial for a lakeside resort. Annabelle flips onto her back, arms stretched out, sun hitting the waterjust right, turning everything golden and making her look like some carefree water nymph goddess.
Ugh.
Annoying.
“Ahhh,” she sing-songs. “So relaxing. You should join me.”
Her hair floats, creating a halo around her head.
Then she stands suddenly, water cascading off her as her grin turns downright wicked; she plants her feet and cups both hands, scooping up lake water.
Oh no.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, backing up a step—too slow.
She launches a splash.
Cold water smacks me square in the chest, soaking my shirt and dragging an annoyed grunt from my throat. “Knock it off!”
“Oops,” she says, entirely unapologetic, gathering more ammunition. “No whining like a baby.”
Another splash hits my shins, and she laughs—loud and carefree, droplets flying as she spins and flings another wave my way.
“Seriously,” I sputter, holding my hands up like that’s going to stop her. “I’m literally injured!”
“That sounds like ayouproblem,” she sings.
I liked it better when we were making up rules and I was the one roasting her—not the other way around.
“Okay, nymph, that’s enough,” I call out, retreating a step before I end up fully soaked. “Fun’s over.”
Annabelle rolls her eyes, then kicks her legs and swims back toward the dock; climbs out slowly, water sluicing down her body, dripping from her hair, her clothes. Soaked to the bone.
“You’re no fun,” she says. “Grump.”
