Member-only story
Fiction
Beware the Sharp Edges
The unmaking of a family
They are at a lake, a deep lake, and the woman asks him to dive in. She tells him it’s safe — “Come on, when was the last time someone drowned in a lake?” People drown in lakes all the time, he almost says, but there she goes cleaving through the water, moss covering her back. She’s laughing in a way that displeases him, as if to say, “I know you. I know all about you, Benjamin Gray.”
Ben’s frightened of water but tries not to show it. He tried to swim once and failed miserably. He’s scared of rocks cutting his feet, but he doesn’t tell her this.
“Are you coming in?” she beckons. This time her voice is urgent. Small words form a command rather than a question, which requires a response, but how does he tell the woman he loves that he doesn’t know how to swim? That she’s stronger in ways he only wishes he could be. Then, she says, “You don’t know how to swim, do you? You can’t dog paddle or float, can you? I bet no one taught you how. Is Big Ben is afraid of the lake?” She cuts through the water. Gliding through the scenery, her body is a ticker tape of white against the cool blue.
The woman Ben loves is Clémence, his father’s third wife, and even after a year, she still has that new car smell. She’s all winter with no snow, but Ben’s father likes…
