Page 52 of Under Story

“I swim most days,” says Eli. “Or I did, back in Wisconsin.”

Laurel glances up in shock. She hasn’t gone swimming since Silas died, and she assumed that he hadn’t, either.

Nita hasn’t noticed. “Okay, that’s good. Here’s what I’d suggest. The dive hut is about four hundred feet to the right of the Arc. You can swim that length together and then split up to cover more space. Laurel, you could investigate the nearer side of the basin. Eli would swim to the opposite end and then make his way back, toward you.”

Eli looks at Laurel. “What if we lose each other?”

“The water is incredibly clear,” Nita says. “There’s a downline in the dive hut, but you won’t even need a tether.”

After Nita leaves, Laurel and Eli walk down the hallway together.

“What do you think?” she asks.

Eli shakes his head. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“I think you want to do it,” she says, quiet.

He laughs dryly. “Want is a strong word.”

They say goodbye at his door. From there, Laurel will walk back to her room on the first floor. Before she enters the stairwell, though, Eli calls her name.

He’s still standing in the hallway. His expression catches her off guard. He seems to be asking something. Whether they’re making a mistake. Whether he can trust her. The responsibility is crushing.

Laurel shakes her head briefly. I can’t make you, it says. I can’t promise anything. They can still read each other. Eli looks away.

She takes several steps back toward him. “You have to want this, too.”

Eli seems reluctant, as if afraid to admit something he feels he shouldn’t. Below that, Laurel detects something else: the excitement—even the relief—of giving in to temptation.

“I know,” he says. “I do.”

—

Occasionally, after the wedding, Laurel dreamed that she and Eli were divorcing. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t something she worried about then, when Silas was alive. But the dreams were vivid. Once, she woke in tears.

All this, she had been thinking: their inside jokes, their private world. I have to give all of this up.

Now Eli’s life is a mystery to her. Laurel can’t picture him at a pool, doing laps. Aside from the diving they did on their honeymoon, he had never shown interest in swimming. That was like him. He only wanted to do the exceptional version of an activity. When he was eight, Eli had told Laurel, he begged to take gymnastics. Within six months, he quit.

“Why?” asked Laurel. “You didn’t like it?”

They sat at an east-side pub with subpar food but excellent ambiance. She and Eli had only been dating for weeks. They came for the walleye sandwich—the only good dish on the menu—and for the board games that were stacked in a bookcase.

“No, I liked it,” he said. “It was fun.”

But the other boys his age had been training for years. Eli lacked the upper-body strength required for the rings and pommel horse. He lost interest when it became clear that he wouldn’t make it to the Olympics.

“That’s ridiculous,” Laurel spluttered.

“I know,” said Eli good-naturedly. He was able to laugh at himself. Still, Laurel could tell that he was proud to have been that kind of child. It meant that he had character, or it described what kind of character he had. Later she wondered if this was why he didn’t have hobbies.

If Eli had been ambitious for ambition’s sake, Laurel would have found him obnoxious. What she respected was that he was fueled by monk-like vocation. In her life, work was one thread among many. But Eli’s purpose was a bright clear beam that guided and protected him. He didn’t mind being alone. To think was transporting. He liked long car rides, long bus rides, long walks: intense and private pleasures.

Laurel begins to go to the gym before her shift at the galley. One morning, she sees Eli on the stationary bike. He’s always been lean, but now his back ripples with muscle.

She grabs a jump rope, self-conscious. When Silas was alive, she used to run. Back then, she took pride in her strength, but she’s lost weight, and muscle with it.

“Take the bike,” Eli offers. “The jump rope will drive you nuts.”