WHEN LEXIE FIRST SAW THE POOLS,
she was not afraid.
Steam drifted in friendly puffs from the surface of the water,
like an invitation.
The pools were lit from beneath, glowing in the dark of the cool June evening.
The townspeople floated, gently kicking their legs, talking low to one another.
Lexie wore a swimsuit and held a white towel.
She was not afraid.
She walked past pool after pool.
There were twelve in all.
She chose a small one that was mostly empty.
One hundred and ten degrees, said the sign.
She slid in.
A boy was swimming laps in the next pool over.
His arms moved in a powerful rhythm.
His eyes were invisible behind his goggles.
His wingspan was broad.
His body was at home in the water.
It was nine p.m.
Lexie was not afraid.
LEXIE WEISS-GREENBERG ARRIVED IN COVINGTON JUST LAST WEEK.
She drove a battered car.
Lexie was at the wheel for the whole cross-country drive.
Her sister Orly sat in the back with several stuffed animals, two Minecraft figurines and a word search activity book.
Their mother slept in the passenger seat.
Lexie’s mother is sick with a strange malady, layered with depression.
She’s sick, and maybe the reason is her grief over Lexie and Orly’s dad. He died six years ago.
Or maybe she’s grieving Lexie’s failures.
Maybe Lexie’s mother suffers a thousand allergies, and
maybe she suffers vitamin deficiencies.
Her back aches. Her head is sore.
She is always exhausted.
Her hands are swollen. And her feet.
Lexie is
fine,
fine,
fine.
She is silent, nowadays.
As she drove, Lexie ate powdery cheese crackers.
She listened to podcasts about true crime and pop culture.
She stopped for gas and washed her face in the stinky beige of the station restroom.
Her butt kinda hurt and she got bored of all her podcasts.
Mom, you okay to drive when we get to the next stop?
No, I won’t be, honey.
My pain is acting up.
You’re so good to do it.
I don’t think so, honey.
Orly got tired of her word search book.
Orly got tired of an audiobook about Judy Moody.
Orly got tired of searching for the alphabet on road signs.
They slept in motel rooms, all three together.
They washed their clothes in the bathroom sinks, and once in an Illinois laundromat.
Still, Lexie was glad they were going to Covington.
She had read about the cobblestone streets in the old part of town.
The town square with its ornate fountain.
The red-gold fall and the wicked-cold winter.
She had read about the pools, as well.
Hot spring water is rich in calcium and sodium bicarbonate. It helps to increase oxygen flow and improve circulation.
The sulfur in the water is antibacterial and antifungal, so it’s good for your skin.
Plus, local people tell stories about the water being magic. The travel websites don’t say what kind of magic, and they don’t say what kind of stories. But they do show photographs of the twelve pools, some enormous and some quite small, laid out in a garden surrounded by a high stone wall.
Lexie’s Aunt Ida lives in Covington—and she has a two-bedroom house.
Aunt Ida has a job and is willing to pick up extra shifts.
Aunt Ida has offered to let their family come live with her, since Lexie’s mother cannot work.
Sleep three to the guest room and you can stay as long as you like, Aunt Ida told them.
Lexie should be in school, Aunt Ida said. All three of you come here.
Lexie thought the pools would heal her mother’s aches,
and her mother’s sore head,
and her exhaustion,
and her swollen hands and feet.
Well, she hoped they would.
Copyright © 2026 by E. Lockhart. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
