The Tidal Pool – Part 2: Slack Water

By midwinter, Thandi was floating every morning.

She still swam her lengths. But after them, she lay back on the water with her arms out, looking at the sky, and let the sea hold her. She told Peter about her husband, about the long illness, about the courtroom where she had spent forty years being strong. He told her about his wife, who had died of the same disease, and about his daughters, and the cold years on the fishing boat.

On a perfectly still July morning, the sea lay like glass.

There wasn't a breath of wind. The sun, low and gold, painted a long road across the water. A seal bobbed up outside the tidal wall, watched them curiously, and vanished. Thandi stood at the edge of the pool in her swimming cap, feeling brave.

"I'd like to swim out," she said.

"Beyond the wall?"

"With you."

Peter put down his line. He had a wetsuit, folded on the rocks, and he pulled it on slowly. They slid into the open sea together, side by side, gasping at the cold, and swam out over the slow green swell. The coastline curved away behind them, dark rocks and white spray and the pale mountain rising. The water was clear as glass.

They stopped, treading water, laughing and breathless.

"I haven't done this since I was forty," said Thandi.

"I haven't done it with company since I was fifty."

"It's wonderful."

"It's you."

They swam back and climbed onto the warm rocks, wrapped in towels, sharing the flask.

"Can I ask you something?" said Thandi.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you, Peter? I'd like something to be warm."

His face lit like the sunrise. "Yes. And if you say stop, you must swim out every day."

"That's the best punishment I've ever been given."

She kissed him, salty and gentle, a damp hand rising to his woollen cap. He kissed her back with a slow, wondering sweetness, tasting of tea and sea. The surf boomed softly. The sun climbed, warm on their faces.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Thandi. "Very green."

They swim at dawn. Two caps bob beyond the wall. Nobody argues with the sea any more.

More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom