Motherhood is Murder(74)

“Are you here for the free trial class?” she asked.

“Actually, no.” I hesitated. “I . . . uh . . . I wanted to sign up.” I smiled.

She frowned and stepped toward the desk. “Are you on the wait list? Did we call you with an opening?” She flipped through a huge black book that was by the phone.

I eyed the book.

Did they mark the attendance there?

“No. I thought I’d just sign up.”

She frowned. “You thought you would . . . right.” She closed the book with a loud thud. “Why don’t you give me your name? Our wait list is quite long. We’ll call you if any classes are added.”

Still looking at the book, I said, “Right. Or, you know, if anyone drops out or—”

“Our students don’t generally drop out. Yes, there is the occasional one that moves or has, say, perhaps a medical issue, but frankly speaking, there’s not a lot of movement is the existing classes.”

I nodded.

“How old is your daughter?” she asked.

“She’s two months.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t sign up earlier. We have a mommy and me starting next week.” She glanced thoughtfully at the pool. “Have you had a tour?”

I shook my head. “No, but—”

She moved away from the desk. “Come along then.”

She led me to the glass doors separating the reception area from the pools. I wished now that I’d brought Paula or Mom along. They would be able to snoop through the book while Laurie and I toured the facility.

As the instructor pushed open the door, the smell of chlorine hit me. I inhaled deeply; somehow the smell made me want to dive in.

I’ve never considered myself a swimmer, but why should my limitations become Laurie’s? Maybe lessons would be good for her.

The instructor told me how the water temperature of both pools was reminiscent of the womb, then recounted the benefits of swimming. By the time she was done, I really wanted a spot in the class.

Odd. I hadn’t thought about swimming in such a long time and now in the middle of November it seemed the thing to do.

She led me to the changing rooms. There was an open shower area and several bathroom stalls. Additionally, portable cribs and playpens were set up and scattered throughout the room. The mommy and me class had just finished and two moms holding their towel-wrapped babies followed us into the area.

One mom put her baby into a crib and rummaged around a locker for shampoo. The other mom simply turned on the shower and ducked herself and her baby under it.

My cell phone rang from the depths of my diaper purse.

“I’ll let you get that,” the instructor said, leaving the room.

I looked around for a dry place to put Laurie and settled on the crib next to the one with the other infant.

As I dug around for my cell phone, one mom said to the other, “So, when do you guys leave for Germany?”

They carried on their conversation as I answered my phone. I didn’t catch it in time but read Gary’s office number on the caller ID in the missed call window. I waited for the voice mail beep and listened to the message as soon as it came through. It was his secretary looking for my status report.

Darn. I’d have to go home and send him something quick.

As I put away my phone, I heard the mom showering say, “Thank God we’re traveling now. Did you know the airline makes you pay for an extra seat if your baby is over two?”

I picked up Laurie and headed out to the reception area. The desk was empty. I looked around, certainly there were still people in the pool area, but the instructor who had given me the tour was nowhere in sight.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I whispered to Laurie.

I circled around the desk and flipped the book open. I saw where the woman had added my name to the wait list.

Number 187!

Jeez, this place was in demand.

I quickly turned the pages of the book. A computer printout of class rosters was stapled into the pages. I found the Tuesday 10 A.M. class and baby Amanda’s name.

There was a neat row of little checkmarks in each graph box representing all the Tuesdays in the past three months.

Perfect attendance.

Miss No-Nonsense and her little sprout had been here at La Petite Grenouille on the morning Celia was poisoned.

I looked up from the book and jumped to find the instructor standing in front of the desk, glaring at me.

“What do you think you’re doing!” she demanded.

Shoot!

“Uh. Nothing . . .”

“Are you trying to put your name at the top of the wait list!?”

“What? No! I . . .”

She crossed to behind the desk and advanced on me, causing me to back away from the book. Laurie let out a little whimper.

The woman harrumphed and opened the book to the wait list page. She studied it a moment, then took a pencil from a cup on the desk and erased Laurie’s name from the last line.

“Hey! You can’t do that!” I said.

“Oh? Can’t I?” she asked, pushing the eraser debris from the book with a smug look.

I was blowing Laurie’s chance at swim lessons at the premier spot in San Francisco!