Mid-Summer

Lindsay lifted her foot out of the watery blue from where she sat on the edge and let it drip. The sound made her have to pee, but she couldn't possibly get up and go. She would have to remove her three-year old from the pool, which would result in a wailing armful of kicking and shoving. She just crossed her legs and gazed at Hanna who was dumping bucketfuls of water on the pavement. Lindsay pretended not to notice the lifeguard's frustrated stare, and honed in on the conversation of two moms sitting across the square, shallow pool. They were both propped up on their elbows, legs outstretched into the water. Their floppy canvas hats didn't hide the fact that they had already been in the sun too much that spring. One of the women forcibly laughed as she said something about "Mike" and "never letting her do that." Lindsay could hear them clearly but kept tuning out to attend to her own thoughts.
Did they wonder if she was listening? Were they glad they were not her, remembering a time when every day was an awkward attempt to fill the minutes of a toddler's life?
They had no children to watch after in the water, but Lindsay suspected that a couple of lanky boys running around the grassy area were theirs. Hanna would look up and watch them at length, her tiny face registering the potential value of a playmate.
Lindsay pursed her lips into a sad smile, realizing that she was a partner in loneliness with her tiny girl.