Bear Market at the Pool

The betting pool had reached forty-seven thousand dollars. Executive parking, first pick of holidays, a corner office with actual walls—these were the stakes of predicting when Arthur would finally retire. Or die. Everyone pretended it was about the retirement, but we all knew the truth.

I sat on the edge of the pool, legs in the water, watching the office's golden boy approach. Marcus. My friend, or so I'd thought, before the emails leaked. He carried two vitamin waters—the expensive kind with ingredients nobody could pronounce—and offered me one like it was peace offering.

"He's not going to retire," Marcus said, sitting beside me. The chlorine smell was overwhelming. "You know how I know?"

I didn't respond.

"His wife. She told my wife. The cancer's back." He took a long drink. "Makes the whole pool feel kind of grotesque, doesn't it?"

The office had been betting on a man's death for months. I'd put in fifty bucks myself. We all had. And now Marcus—sweet, softhearted Marcus who volunteered at animal shelters—was telling me this while pretending to care about my lately-fraying mental health. The irony was almost beautiful.

"You knew," I said. "About the pool. About what we were doing. You knew he was sick."

"I found out last week."

"And you didn't say anything."

Marcus studied his vitamin water. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey everyone, stop being human garbage for a second?' You know how it works. We're all just bearing the weight of it together or alone. I chose alone."

I looked at him—really looked. He was handsome in a way that made everything forgivable, that made you question your own judgment. That was his gift. Making you think maybe you were the problem for having standards.

"I withdrew my bet," I said.

"Good for you. You get moral superiority and fifty bucks back. Win-win."

"No refund. That goes to charity."

Marcus laughed. "Of course it does." He stood up, suddenly bored with my pedestrian ethics. "You know what's funny? Arthur's probably going to outlive us all. The universe loves poetic justice."

He walked away, and I sat there until my skin pruned. The office would open at nine tomorrow. The pool would still exist. Everyone would pretend to be shocked when they found out, when the inevitable email went around. They'd say nobody knew, nobody could have known, what a tragedy. And Marcus would play his part perfectly, all sympathetic murmurs and concerned glances, the consummate friend.

I would be there too. I would not say anything. I would be exactly as guilty as everyone else, just more conveniently hypocritical about it.

Some vitamins cure nothing at all.