I sat on the edge, circling my feet through bath-warm water near where Emily happily played. There were movable underwater structures to make the water shallower for young swimmers, and Emily splashed and paddled from platform to platform. This was definitely better than unpacking. And it was a good thing we’d left when we did. It was Open Swim now, but lessons would begin in thirty minutes. If we had driven all the way here and not been able to swim, Em would have melted down. And when she melted down, I occasionally did too.

The pool was encapsulated by a clear glass structure to keep the air in here warm and moist, and there were two doors, one at each end. To my left was a long bench backing up to a wall of glass. Behind that, eight showers in a row with low buttons, perfect for little kids. Guppy Swim was geared toward ages one to ten. A dozen kids splashed in the pool, most of them shouting joyfully, a couple of them whining. Parents were in the water or sitting along the edge like me.

I breathed in heavy, chlorine-saturated air, thinking about that text I deleted and what I should do about it.

The door opened, and a woman walked in wearing a red one-piece suit, holding a Pepsi bottle and looking at her phone. She was young, slender, and stunning. Dark hair tied in a loose bun on top of her head, her wrists covered in bangles. Eyeliner heavy. Obnoxiously heavy. Lips syrupy with gloss. Who wears a red one-piece? I felt like I was watching a Pepsi commercial. Her eyes still on her phone, she sat on the bench.

Chills ran up my thighs.

Becky. She looks like Becky.

Did she?

My oldest sister, Becky, died when she was fifteen, so who knew what Becky would look like if she lived to see her twenties?

This girl. She would look exactly like this girl right here.

No. It’s just the loose brown hair, the beauty, the slender body. That’s all.

My gaze drifted back to Emily. She was standing on a platform, belly-deep in water, talking to a rubber duck, teaching it how to jump through a ring. This place, Guppy Swim School, was going to be her favorite.

“Hey, you’re new,” the woman said, her voice scratchy.

I smiled. “Literally. We just moved in an hour ago.”

She laughed, raspy and brazen, baring high, sharp canines. Her gravelly voice and the imperfection of those snaggleteeth made her more beautiful. She grabbed her soda and phone, brought them over, and sat on the concrete edge catty-corner to me. Her eyes were striking: an ultra-light fairy blue, rimmed with smudged black eyeliner. Becky had light blue eyes too, but I don’t remember them this magical.