Chapter 13
The Push & Pool
Mon Cher Journal,
Every Thursday at one o’clock sharp, he was there, on the edge of the pool, dutifully fishing leaves, dead mosquitoes, and still squirming flies from the blue liquid surface.
By the end of his shift, his shirt would be plastered to his back with sweat and his working beige slacks would be creased and hugging his muscled ass and thighs.
He was so different from Joseph, my husband. Young, strong, and handsome in a rugged way, and rudely manly. Nothing on that man was elegant or refined and he reminded me of my love, Salvatore.
How I miss Salvatore! I feel so empty and lonely without him.
But I’m already woolgathering and remembering Salvatore, instead of telling this story.
Alors, I have been observing the pool-cleaner since he started wor
