Allison and Nonna's Warm-Water Day

It was Saturday, and the sun got to the pool ahead of the family. Somebody's flip-flop went missing before anyone had swum, which is the official way every good pool day begins. Allison left both of hers on the hot deck and went down the steps.

Allison was in up to her chin when Nonna came down the path last, took the handrail, and stepped into water cool enough to make her shoulders jump. Allison splashed her. "Brrr," Nonna laughed, and splashed back twice as hard. "Come on, swimmer. We have a whole day to use."

They swam until midmorning. Nonna took her shade break in the chair, sandals off, one foot still in the water.

Allison floated on her back with her ears under, where the world goes quiet and blue. From down there she watched Nonna smile at the pool and count down the last of her break.

Allison climbed out and sat beside her, dripping.

"You love the pool," said Allison.

"I love this pool," said Nonna. "I could swim with you all day."

"Even when it is chilly?"

"Sweetheart, I raised your daddy and his brothers. Hockey boys, every one. I sat in rinks so cold I could see my own breath. I know cold, and I have earned my warm. A little cool water will not keep me from a day with you."

"Would warmer water feel even better?" Allison asked.

"Warmer would be lovely," said Nonna. "I am in that water with you all day either way."

"I know," said Allison. "I want it warmer for you anyway."

That evening Allison cleared the kitchen table of everything but paper and crayons.

A good golfer reads the whole green before she putts, Nonna always said, and a good caddie reads it with her. Reading means looking at every bump first, so nothing surprises you. Allison thought through their whole pool day the same way, from the first chilly step to the last towel hug. Then she drew it.

The sun came first, big and gold, up in the corner. She wore the orange crayon down to a stub. The rest went on the back of the paper: the steps and their rail, the chair in the shade, the robe over its back, the jug of cool drinking water, and a towel with heat curling off it.

On the front, under the sun, she put Nonna, smiling, in the pool. She did not draw herself. She knew where she would be: right beside Nonna.

Allison carried the drawing out the screen door. On the porch, Daddy saw it coming and moved his coffee before she asked.

The drawing lay flat where the coffee had been. Allison stood beside it, hands behind her back.

"That," said Daddy, "is the best plan I have seen all year."

Daddy tapped the pool in the drawing, then nodded at the far corner of the deck. "Warming a pool is grown-up work," he said. "The switches over there are ours. Grown-up hands only." Mom said the same from the screen door.

"Every single switch?" Allison asked, to be sure.

"Every single one."

Allison's stomach dipped. She turned the drawing over. The steps and their rail. The chair, the robe, the jug, the towels. Not a single switch.

"Then I will handle the rest," said Allison.

On the next pool day, Allison got to the deck first and started before anyone could offer to help.

She chose the best chair, the one facing the shallow end, and folded Nonna's soft robe over the back. Filling the jug with cool water took both hands. She set it in the chair's shade with two cups, one each.

Then came the towels, stacked biggest to smallest, right out in the sun so they could soak up warm all day. The tower leaned. She patted it. It leaned a little less, which seemed like an agreement, so she left it alone.

Daddy went down to the far corner, and all morning the water warmed, a little at a time. The switches belonged to the grown-ups, so Allison kept the whole pool between herself and that corner, close to Nonna. Every few minutes she floated very still to feel for the warm. Still cool. Still cool. Still maybe one tiny bit less cool.

Nonna held out both hands from the shallow end. "We can swim while warm takes its time," she said. She won I Spy three times running. The last thing she spied had a handle and stood in the shade. "My jug!" said Allison. "Our jug," said Nonna.

"Golf taught me waiting," said Nonna, watching her float. "Once I had to wait for the group ahead to finish on the green. The wind changed twice before it was my turn, and the ball still went in."

When Daddy came back, Nonna and Allison were on a shade break, wet-haired, cups empty. "All done," he said. "Every switch. Go and feel it. Warm as a Sunday bath."

Nonna set down her cup and stood up out of the chair without using her hands.

She tested the water with one foot. The cool water had made her shoulders jump. The warm water made them drop.

"Well," said Nonna, wiggling her toes in the warm. "Well, well, well."

Nonna came down the steps the way she had all day, tall and sure, one hand on the rail and Mom's in the other. "Rail and Mom," she said. "That is how I do steps."

One step. Two. Three.

Allison waited in the shallow end, chin on the water, one hand out and reaching.

"The rail is good," said Nonna. "The steps are good." She let out a long breath. "The warm." She pushed off the last step in an easy glide, and her hand found Allison's.

"There," said Nonna. "Beside you again. Right where I planned to be all day."

They floated shoulder to shoulder. Nonna helped her practice the back float she had taught all her boys: chin up, belly up, let the water do the holding. Her hand stayed under Allison's back. Then it was gone, and the water held her up.

Allison taught Nonna to blow a fountain. Nonna's went sideways. They laughed until they had to stand up, and Daddy cheered from the deep end for both sides.

The light came in low and turned the water gold around them. The gold slid off the pool and climbed the fence.

Out came the towel tower at last, top one first, still warm from a whole day of sun. Wrapped tight, they sat with the pool quiet behind them.

Nonna hugged Allison close. Strong arms, soft towel. "The water was lovely," she said. "And I would have swum with you all day either way."

"I know," said Allison. "I wanted it warmer for you anyway."

Nonna hugged her closer, chin down on Allison's wet head. "You read the whole green, sweetheart," she said. "Best caddie I ever had."

Two cups stood empty beside the jug. Somebody's flip-flop was still missing. The pool was dark now, and still warm.