Free Summer Storm by Joan Wolf Page B

at this particular point and there was no sign of other boats. Mary struck out for the other side.
    She was an excellent swimmer, not fast, but strong and steady. The youngsters on shore watched her unwavering progress toward the far side of the lake. And they watched as well the yellow rubber boat that followed her.
    Mary didn’t see the boat until she was three quarters of the way across. She paused then to tread water and get her bearings, and almost the first thing she saw was Kit leaning on the oars of the boat. “Where did you come from?” she demanded.
    “I was snoozing in the boat when I saw you take off across the lake. I thought I’d follow to make sure you didn’t get run down by a passing motorboat. There are some around, you know.”
    “Are there? I didn’t see any.” She was a little out of breath and was beginning to tire. “If you don’t mind, I won’t stay here chatting,” she said pleasantly.
    “Why don’t you climb in? The water’s cold and you’ve had quite enough of a swim for one day I should think.”
    He was right. It had been a longer swim than she had anticipated. “All right,” she said and swam over to the side of the boat. She put her hands on the side. “I hope I don’t swamp you.”
    “You won’t.” He moved to the far side of the boat to help balance it, and Mary pulled herself out of the water and into the rubber dinghy. She sat down and shook water out of her eyes. “Have a towel,” he said hospitably, and gratefully she reached out and took it. She dried her face, pulled the elastic band out of her hair and began to towel it.
    “I bit off more than I was ready to chew,” she said candidly.
    “You would have made it,” he replied, moving back himself to the center of the boat.
    “Oh, I know that. But I would have been tired. And then I would have had to go back.” She finished toweling her hair and looked at him closely for the first time. He was wearing only bathing trunks, also navy, and around his neck hung a St. Joseph medal. She had given him that medal for his birthday four years ago. He caught the direction of her stare and his hand went up to finger the medal. “I still have it,” he said. “I don’t know if I really believe in it, but I’ve always worn it. It’s about all I’ve got left of you.”
    Her eyes dropped. “Don’t, Kit,” she said softly. There was silence as the boat drifted and then she said, “I hear Margot Chandler is to be your mother.”
    He laughed. “Isn’t that a surprise? I suppose she’s getting too old for glamour-girl parts.”
    “Can she act?” Mary asked bluntly.
    “It won’t matter, I think,” he replied thoughtfully. “Gertrude is hardly a complex character. In fact, in some ways she resembles many California women: beautiful, loaded with sex appeal, essentially good-natured, but shallow. I have a feeling all Margot Chandler will need to do is play herself. She’ll probably do very well. And the theater is small enough that voice projection needn’t be a problem.”
    Mary was silent for a minute, digesting what he had just said. Then she smiled mischievously. “Eric Lindquist says that this production should be labeled “Hollywood Goes Arty.”
    Kit’s answering smile was rueful. “He’s exactly the sort of kid I’d like to punch in the nose.”
    “I know,” Mary answered longingly. “That boyish grin...”
    He began to row the boat toward the far side of the lake. “You never did appreciate youthful male arrogance,” he said. “You knocked it out of me fast enough.”
    “You were never really arrogant,” she said quietly. “Just determined.” She watched him row, watched the smooth ripple of muscle across his arms and chest. He was so slim that his impressive set of muscles always came as something of a surprise. He had gotten them working in a warehouse, he once told her. It had been one of the many jobs that put him through school.
    The boat was almost on the shore and Mary noticed,