Free I'm Not Sam by Jack Ketchum, Lucky McKee

chains but other than that it’s in remarkably good shape. 
    I buff the slide with SOS pads, hose it down to a shine and test it out myself. I land hard on my ass, which makes Lily laugh. I’ll have to get some sand. She lands gracefully of course on both feet and giggling, on a run. 
    Never mind the sand. 
    She’s happy to be out. Happy with the swing set in particular. Some days she wants me to push her so I do and it’s a curious feeling. It’s like I’m playing two roles here at the same time, parent or playmate to the kid who shouts higher, higher -- but then in our quieter moments it’s almost romantic, like we’re a new pair of lovers again, doing the kinds of silly kid-things that lovers do. 
    I think of Sam and me at the amusement park in Kansas City years ago, before we were married, the way she kissed me from a bobbing horse when I managed to grab that brass ring. 
     
    Then there’s the river. 
    She wants to know if it’s okay to go swim in the river. 
    There are water moccasins and snapping turtles in there. Snappers are shy usually but water moccasins can be aggressive as hell. They’ll swim right at you. Sam knows enough to look out for them but would Lily? Lily would not. I figure I can be her eyes, though. She wants to swim. It’s hot. We’ve got a dock. Might as well use it. 
    I still haven’t gotten around to transferring Sam’s clothes to Lily’s room so I go into her drawer and pick out Sam’s favorite two-piece. Cobalt blue. When last seen wearing it she was making guys stumble into their wives at the bar at the Pelican Grove Palms. 
    While she’s putting it on in her bedroom I pack a cooler with a couple of cold Pepsis for her and three Coronas for me and slap together two bologna and cheese sandwiches. I’m not sure I’m all that hungry but I can always feed the crappie with mine when she’s finished swimming. 
    “Patrick?” 
    I’m wrapping sandwiches. “Uh-huh?” 
    “Could you do this?” 
    She’s standing with her back to me. She’s got her sandals and bottoms on but the halter’s hanging loose from her shoulders. 
    There’s that mole again. 
    Did I mention that her back comes complete with the Dimples of Venus? Two deep indents on either side of her backbone down low at her hips. I snap together her halter. 
    “There. You ready? Got the towels?” 
    “Yup.” 
    We make a stop at the tool shed. Against the possibility of water moccasins I select a rake with steel tines. You never know.  
    She’s all nervous excited energy. Practically jumping up and down. She runs ahead of me out to the dock and before I’ve even gotten there she’s cannonballed into the silty water. She surfaces smiling and wipes her face and sputters. 
    “How’s the water?” 
    “It‘s freezing! ” Maybe it is, but not enough to stop her. 
    The water on the river moves with a slow steady current here but she swims easily back to the dock, turns and swims out a bit further and then back again and holds onto the dock kicking her feet behind her and I realize that it’s Sam’s crawl I’ve been watching. She remembers perfectly how to swim. 
    I almost say something but I don’t. Every time I’ve spoken Sam’s name the reaction hasn’t been good. 
    So I shut up and watch my wife swim.  
     
    We do this nearly every day when the weather’s good. I’m not about to let her swim in a storm. I have to explain to her about lightening. I don’t go in myself, I just sit on the dock with my rake and my cooler and watch her and watch for snakes. I was raised around chlorine swimming pools, and natural water -- lakes, rivers, oceans -- just don’t seem right to me. 
    I do like to fish, though. And crappie are great eating. 
    I dig out the fishing rods and the tackle box. Besides crappie, my favorite, you can pull bass and perch from the river. Catfish, of course, if you‘re bottom fishing. And gar, which look like fucking prehistoric monsters and are vicious on the