"I'm thirty-seven," she says.
"And he?"
"He's twenty-nine."
"Are you two lovers?" I don't know what makes me ask this. If she's in any way jealous of my position as he's a sexual plaything, she's certainly not showing it.
Beatrice laughs. "No, we're not."
"Why not?" I can't believe I'm being so forward. I've been raised to always be polite and well-mannered, but there's something liberating about not caring what people think. I have always been a people-pleaser, but I don't want to please this woman in any way.
She stops laughing and gives me a serious look. "Because I'm not what he needs or wants."
"And what is that?"
"You'll learn someday," she says mysteriously, then walks into the water.
I stare after her, curiosity eating at me, but she appears to be done talking. Instead, she dives in and starts swimming with a sure athletic stroke.
