Riddles in the Water

Margaret stood at the edge of the community pool where she'd first met Arthur sixty-four years ago. The water glimmered like liquid sapphires under the July sun. At eighty-two, she no longer swam laps, but she still came here every Tuesday with her granddaughter Sophie.

"Grandma, why do you take so many pills?" Sophie asked, watching Margaret organize her weekly vitamin dispenser.

"These aren't just pills, sweetie. They're like little insurance policies for still being around for your graduation." Margaret winked. "Your grandfather used to say the best vitamin for longevity was a good laugh and a poolside nap."

The pool had changed—new filtration system, wheelchair access—but the ghost of Arthur's young self still dove from the high board in Margaret's memory. He'd been the handsome lifeguard with crossword-quick wit. She'd been the bookish girl who'd somehow forgotten her pool pass twice in one week just to talk to him.

"What are you thinking about?" Sophie asked.

"About riddles. How life is like the sphinx we saw in that museum exhibit last year—always asking us questions before we can pass through to the next chapter." Margaret's voice grew soft. "Your grandfather proposed to me right here, said I'd solved the greatest riddle of all: how to make a heart complete."

She dipped her toes in the water. The familiar coolness brought tears to her eyes. "Now you're the sphinx, Sophie. You're the one who'll figure out what to do with the old house, the letters we saved, the stories I've told you. They're your riddles now."

Sophie took her hand. "I think I know the answer."

"Oh?"

"Keep the pool pass current. Never stop diving in." Sophie smiled, and for a moment, Margaret saw Arthur's grin in her granddaughter's face.

"Exactly," Margaret whispered, watching sunlight dance across the water's surface. "The answer was always so simple. Just keep swimming."