The Weight of Water by Anita Shreve Page B

louder voice,
Thanks
. I open the metal door and walk evenly down the stairs.
    When I emerge from the Athenaeum, Thomas is not on the sidewalk. I wait ten minutes, then another five.
    I walk across the street and stand in a doorway. Twenty minutes elapse, and I begin to wonder if I heard Thomas correctly.
    I see them coming from the corner. Thomas and Adaline have Billie between them. They count
one, two, three,
and lift Billie high into the air with their arms, like a rope bridge catching a gust of wind. Billie giggles with the airborne
     thrill and asks them to do it again — and again. I can see Billie’s small brown legs inside her shorts, her feet kicking the
     air for height. People on the sidewalk move to one side to let them pass. So intent are Thomas and Adaline on their game that
     they walk by the Athenaeum and don’t even see it.
    Adaline lets go of Billie’s hand. Thomas checks his watch. Adaline scoops Billie up into one arm, and hefts her onto her hip,
     as I have done a thousand times. Thomas says something to Adaline, and she tilts her head back and laughs soundlessly. Billie
     pats her hair.
    Moving fast, I cross the street before they can turn around. I reenter the Athenaeum and take the stairs two at a time. When
     I open the door to the reading room, I see that my neat stack of books and folders is exactly as I have left it. The librarian
     hasn’t yet returned. I walk over to the long library table and remove the box from the folder. I put it under my arm.
    I nearly slap the door into Thomas, who is looking up at the tall building, trying to ascertain whether he is in the correct
     place. Billie has climbed down from Adaline’s hip, but is still holding her hand.
    “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
    “How’d it go?” he asks. He puts his hands in his pockets.
    “Fine,” I say, bending to give Billie a kiss. “How about you?”
    “We had a good time,” Adaline says. She seems slightly flushed.
    “We found a park with swings, and we had an ice-cream cone.”
    She looks down at Billie as if for confirmation.
    “Where’s Rich?” I ask.
    “He’s buying lobsters for supper,” Thomas says quickly, again glancing at his watch. “We’re supposed to meet him. Right now,
     as a matter of fact. What’s that you’ve got there?”
    “This?” I say, holding out the box. “Just something they lent me at the Athenaeum?”
    “Useful?”
    “I hope so.”
    We walk four abreast along the sidewalk. I am aware of a settling of spirits, a lessening of exuberance. Adaline is quiet.
     She holds Billie’s hand. That seems odd to me, as if she were unwilling to relinquish the tiny hand, even in my presence.
    Rich is standing on the sidewalk and cradling two large paper bags. His eyes are hidden behind dark glasses.
    We set off for the dock. The sky is clear, but the breeze is strong.
    Rich and Adaline go ahead to prepare the Zodiac and to get the life jacket for Billie. I stand beside my daughter. Her hair
     whips across her face, and she tries unsuccessfully to hold it with her hands.
    Thomas is staring into the harbor.
    Thomas,
I say.
    Billie was six weeks old when she began to cough. I was bathing her in preparation for an appointment with the pediatrician,
     when I observed her — as I had not been able to when she was dressed — engaged in an awful kind of struggle. Her abdomen deflated
     at every pull for air, like an oxygen bladder on a pilot’s mask. I picked Billie up and took her into Thomas’s study. He glanced
     up at me, surprised at this rare intrusion. He had his glasses on, and his fingers were stained with navy ink. In front of
     him were white lined pages with unintelligible words son them.
    “Look at this,” I said, laying Billie on top of the desk.
    Together we watched the alarming phenomenon of the inflating and deflating chest.
    “Shit,” Thomas said. “Did you call the doctor?’
    “I called because of the cough. I have an appointment