"Been swimming again?" Pete reached out and touched a stray end of my wet hair.
"Yeah, it's so hot I couldn't resist," I grumbled.
Pete invited me in and insisted on introducing me to his mother. He led me to the kitchen where the scene that lay before me could have been one of those vintage kitchen appliance advertisements. His mom was busy mixing something by hand in a big metal bowl, wearing a frilly patterned apron over a white shirt and green skirt. A chocolate bob of smooth waves framed her soft, pretty features.
"Hello, Vanessa," she smiled warmly. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too, Mrs.-"
"Harrison. Sylvia Harrison."
"I brought your dress. Thank you for letting me borrow it. And thank you for, well, that day I-" She raised her hand to stop me from saying more.
"You're welcome. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Oh, no thank you. I should go." Then my stomach groaned loudly in protest.
"You sound hungry, dear. There's plenty of food and we'd be happy to have you."
"Okay." I agreed without thinking and asked, "Can I do anything to help?"
"Aren't you sweet? If you wouldn't mind peeling potatoes it would move things along. Pete, could you find June and ask her to set the table?"
Before I knew it I was standing at the counter with a peeler in my hand, staring down at the most intimidating pile of potatoes I'd ever encountered and wishing I'd declined the dinner invitation. I focused all my energy into picking up a potato. It felt as heavy as a bucket of sand. I pressed the peeler onto it and slowly and carefully revealed one strip of white flesh. After a few swipes I was feeling fatigued and a little lightheaded.
Mrs. Harrison was chattering about the weather and I noticed how hot it was in the kitchen. The open window did nothing but exchange hot cooking air with the humid air from outside. A part of me couldn't wait to get back to the next century; where air conditioning flowed freely almost everywhere and I could peel potatoes, or do anything I wanted, without this problem. On the next swipe I slipped and peeled away the skin of my own finger.
"Shit!" I dropped the potato and the peeler and grabbed my hand. Pete quickly reappeared, took me by the wrist and led me to a bathroom at the end of the hall.
I held my hand over the pedestal sink and watched blood drip onto the white porcelain while he pulled first aid items from a mirrored medicine cabinet with flowers etched around the edges. A brown glass bottle, a little spray bottle, Band-Aids in a tin. A trail of my blood had dripped across the back of his hand.
"You have blood on you!" I exclaimed.
"It's ok."
"How do you know I don't have some kind of contagious blood disease?"
"Do you have a contagious blood disease?" he asked.
"No."
He shrugged. "Now I know."
The first three cautionary measures I remember learning were: Look both ways when crossing the street, don't talk to strangers, and never, ever touch anyone else's blood, so his cavalier attitude about the blood surprised me.
"Here, I'll clean it first," he said as he came at me with the little brown bottle that said "Tincture of Iodine" over a skull and crossbones symbol.
"No way!" I guarded my hand. "That's gonna hurt like a bitch."
YOU ARE READING
The Palmer Pool
Paranormal[Wattys 2022 Winner!] Vanessa Brooks, an anxious and cynical seventeen year-old, discovers she can travel to the summer of 1953 through the run-down community pool in her rural Michigan town and risks her future as she falls for a boy who lives in t...
