20
Trisha’s dad had stopped after twenty laps, half a mile. The broad plastic canopy allowed the morning sunlight to wash over the pool but held the cool autumn morning at bay.
Trisha had pushed herself to fifty laps before dragging herself out to dangle her legs in the pool while they burned with the lactic acid buildup of such a long swim. It’s what she deserved for trying to keep up with a SEAL for the first twenty laps.
And he was still out there. A hundred laps would get him three miles, and he showed no sign of slowing before then.
“He’s good.” Her father settled beside her, dipping his own feet in beside her.
She wanted to say, “Navy SEAL, Dad. Duh!” But instead she said, “He is,” and left it at that. He’d taken care of her last night, carrying her back to the house after she’d
