Page 20 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

“Okay. I’m swimming first.”

Jo Beth pulled off her robe and the frosty, brittle air stung her skin. Before she could think better of it, she dove head first into the deep end of the pool, letting herself descend into the waters depths, like she’d imagined herself sinking earlier into that glacial lake. But here the water was warm, protective, nurturing even, its security cause for celebration. She reversed course, kicked her legs, and pulled herself back up to the surface. Once Jo Beth’s head was out, she took a deep breath and reveled in the beauty of the sky, the mountains, and the joy of living. She’d missed feeling like this.

Then there was a huge splash.

Someone had dived into the pool and landed dangerously close. A couple of extra inches to his left, and he’d have anchored atop of Jo Beth. She’d have sunk, against her will this time, unable to breathe from the weight of him.

“Sorry,” he said, the instant his face rose to the surface. “I didn’t mean to get so close to you.”

“No worries,” she replied, and started to breast stroke away.

He swam after her. “I’m Mitch,” he said. “You know? Magda’s friend who works here?”

Jo Beth pivoted in the water and faced him. Huge dark eyes framed by thick lashes. Black, curly hair and brownish skin. A wide, innocent smile that suggested he was barely aware of the beauty of his long, lean, muscular body. But even though he was mostly submerged, Jo Beth could tell he was gorgeous.

“I was trying to find a good way to introduce myself,” he said. “But I guess I blew it.”

He spoke with a slight accent; Jo Beth couldn’t tell where from. “Are you American?” she asked. “I mean—North American? From the U.S.?”

He nodded while treading water. “Magda and I went to the same high school in Miami. She and I moved to Santiago together, for school. But after we broke up I got a job teaching skiing here at Patillo.”

“Oh.” Jo Beth wondered why Magda hadn’t mentioned that it was her ex-boyfriend who had gotten them the room, why she hadn’t mentioned an ex-boyfriend, period. “Well, thanks for helping us out.”

He laughed. “Magda hasn’t told you about me, has she?”

“No.”

“That’s so like her. Out of sight, out of mind. She’s always been like that.”

“But you must still be friends, right?”

“Oh, sure. Our breakup was mutual. It was just time to go our separate ways, yeah?”

The slight lilt to his voice was vaguely European. Jo Beth wondered if when you’re constantly surrounded by tourists, you take on an amalgam of accents, like a linguistic Velveeta cheese. She smiled at him and then swam to the edge of the pool. Again, he followed. “How long have you worked here?” she asked.

“Three years. Originally it was supposed to be a break, until I figured out my next step. But I love it so much that I haven’t been able to leave.”

They had each grasped onto the edge of the pool, making it easier to look at each other, to take each other in. His face was so sweet that it made Jo Beth imagine a dozen dorky school photographs. One per year for a dozen years, where he would age slightly each time but there would always be a lock of hair sticking out or a mismatched button, and from kindergarten to senior year, the innocence would never leave his eyes or his smile. She could see the little boy he was once, the little boy he must still be to his mother. Yet looking at his body, Jo Beth could see he was obviously a man.

She realized it was her turn to say something. “I wish I could find something that I love that much.”

He cocked his head. “But haven’t you? What about skiing? I remember seeing your Olympic win on TV. Quite amazing.”

“It was just the silver.”

“Still. Quite amazing.”

He looked at her like he meant it, like she was the only woman who’d ever truly impressed him. Don’t get taken in, she told herself. Flings are one thing, but you can’t believe their lies.

Mitch craned his neck, looking around. “Where is Magda?”

Jo Beth pointed to the hot tub. “Over there.”

“Should we go give her a hard time? I can’t believe she’s never told you about me. Oh, the stories you’ve missed out on.”

She laughed despite herself. “Then I guess we’d better make up for lost time.”

That night they drank wine and ate tapas. By 2:00 a.m., Magda had fallen asleep on Mitch’s bed while Mitch and Jo Beth stayed up, whisper-laughing, sprawled out on his tiny living room floor and sipping the dregs from the last of the Pinot noir. “What do you see yourself doing when you’re old?” he asked.