A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [40]
The Pike swimming pool, somewhat past the town on the west side of Pike’s Creek, was almost new, and the red maples and beeches planted around it were about ten feet tall and narrow as baseball bats. The glaring white gravel parking lot was full of big American cars and pickups. It was so windy you had to shade your eyes against the grit. Flat land ranged on every side, punctuated only by the blue-painted concrete-block bathhouse. There were plans to turn the acreage along the creek into a park, of which the pool would be the centerpiece, but pool revenues hadn’t yet generated those funds, so the land was still planted, this year in beans.
Even when my father was a young man, there were so many lakes and pothole ponds in Zebulon County that the idea of building a swimming pool would have been ludicrous, but now every town of any size either had built one or wanted to, and the county newspapers cited these and the three table-flat nine-hole golf courses as “some of Zebulon County’s numerous recreational facilities.”
We changed, passed through the showers, and spread our towels with self-conscious care about a third of the way down from the shallow end. Pammy opened her swimming bag, pulled out a pair of black and white polka-dotted sunglasses, and put them on. Linda said, “Where did you get those?”
“When we were in Iowa City. I bought them with my own money.”
“Can I wear them?”
I said, “May I wear them.”
“May I wear them?”
“No.” The sunglasses glanced toward me. “Well, maybe. We’ll see.” Pammy leaned back, arranged herself on her elbows, and surveyed the assembled crowd. Just in that moment, it was easy to believe she was twelve, almost thirteen, though her figure was still wiry and thin. Not even that first layer of softness underneath the skin had begun to develop. Linda reached into her bag and pulled out a Teen magazine, which she spread open on her towel and began to peruse with concentration. I looked over. The article she was reading was entitled “How Much Makeup Is Too Much?” and began, “Every morning before school, Freshman Tina Smith spends forty-five minutes on her face.”
I smiled to myself and looked around. There were two women I knew, both my father’s age, with their grandchildren. One of them, Mary Livingstone, waved to me. She had been a friend of my mother’s, and they had served on some church committees together. I took out my Family Circle. If you lay flat and gripped the edges of the magazine tightly, the wind wasn’t as bothersome.
Pammy said, “There’s Doreen Patrick.” She pushed her polka dots up the bridge of her nose. “She has a cute suit on.” She turned to me and said, “If she comes over here, Aunt Ginny, may I go lie with them?”
“Sure. But you don’t have to wait till she comes over here. You could just go up and say hi.”
“I don’t know those other kids. It doesn’t matter.”
I watched her watching them. A few minutes later, Doreen Patrick and another girl walked past us toward the snack bar. Doreen glanced at Pammy but didn’t say anything. I said, “Pam, nobody’s going to recognize you with those sunglasses on.” She didn’t respond.
Mary Livingstone came over with her two grandsons, who looked to be about four and five. “Well, Ginny!” she said. “How’s your dad?” She lowered herself to the edge of my towel, no mean task. “Remember Todd and Toby? Margaret’s boys? This must be Pammy and Linda. Weren’t you girls away for school this year?”
Linda murmured, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Didja like it?”
Again, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, Linda, you take the boys and play with them. They’ve got some toys over by the ladder there.” Linda got to her feet. “Go with Linda, boys. She’ll play some nice games with you. Granny’s tired.” Mary was like my father in her assumption that children were born to serve their elders, and that their service was to be directed rather than requested. I glanced over at Pammy. She seemed to have shrunk into herself a little. Mary let out a long “Hoooohah,” then pinned me with her gaze. “You heard we’re selling the farm, didn’t you, Ginny?”
“I guess I didn