There were two bottles of white wine on the door of the refrigerator. Ruth took one out, opened it, and poured herself a glass. She walked into the dining room and out the screen door onto the terrace. When Hannah and her father heard the door close, they quickly swam away from each other, but both of them ended up in the deep end of the pool. They’d been squatting together in the shallow end—or else Ruth’s father had been squatting while Hannah bobbed in the water, in his lap.
Now, in the deep end, their heads were small against the sparkling field of blue. Hannah looked less blond than usual; her wet hair was dark. Ruth’s father’s hair was dark, too. His thick, wavy hair had turned a metallic shade of gray, generously streaked with white. But in the dark-blue pool, Ted’s wet hair was almost black.
Hannah’s head seemed as sleek as her body. She looks like a rat, Ruth thought. And Hannah’s small breasts bounced as she treaded water. The image that came to Ruth’s mind was that Hannah’s little tits could have been darting, one-eyed fish.
“I got out here early,” Hannah began, but Ruth cut her off.
“You were here last night. You called me after you fucked my father. I could have told you that he snored,” Ruth said.
“Ruthie, don’t . . .” her father said.
“ You’re the one who has a problem with fucking, baby,” Hannah told her.
“Hannah, don’t . . .” Ted said.
“Most civilized countries have laws,” Ruth told them. “Most societies have rules . . .”
“I’ve heard this!” Hannah called to her. Hannah’s tiny face looked less confident than usual. But maybe it was only because Hannah wasn’t a strong swimmer; treading water didn’t come naturally to her.
“Most families have rules, Daddy,” Ruth told her father. “Most friends, too,” Ruth said to Hannah.
“Okay, okay—I’m lawlessness personified,” Hannah told her friend.
“You never apologize, do you?” Ruth asked her.
“Okay, I’m sorry, ” Hannah said. “Does that make it better?”
“It was an accident—it was nothing planned,” Ted told his daughter.
“That must have been a novelty for you, Daddy,” Ruth said.
“We ran into each other in the city,” Hannah began. “I saw him standing on the corner of Fifth and Fifty-ninth, by the Sherry-Netherland. He was waiting for the light to change.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to know the details,” Ruth told them.
“You’re always so superior!” Hannah cried. Then she started coughing. “I’ve gotta get out of this fucking pool before I drown!”
“You can get out of my house, too,” Ruth told her. “Just get your things and go.”
There was no ladder in Ted Cole’s pool—ladders were not aesthetically pleasing to Ted. Hannah had to swim to the shallow end and walk up the steps, near Ruth.
“Since when is it your house,” Hannah said. “I thought it was your father’s.”
“Hannah, don’t . . .” Ted said again.
“I want you to get out of here, too, Daddy,” Ruth told her father. “I want to be alone. I came home to be with you, and with my best friend,” she added. “But now I want you both gone.”
“I’m still your best friend, for Christ’s sake,” Hannah said to Ruth. She was wrapping herself in a towel—the scrawny little rat, Ruth thought.
“And I’m still your father, Ruthie. Nothing’s changed,” Ted said.
“What’s changed is that I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to sleep in the same house with either of you,” Ruth said.
“Ruthie, Ruthie . . .” her father said.
“I told you—she’s a fucking princess, a prima donna,” Hannah told Ted. “First you spoiled her—now the whole world is spoiling her.” So they had talked about her, too.
“Hannah, don’t . . .” Ruth’s father said, but Hannah walked into the house, letting the screen door slam. Ted kept treading water in the deep end of the pool; he could tread water all day.