Charging at the Edge

The pool at the Hotel Cortez had that peculiar blue—too bright, almost chemical, like something you shouldn't immerse yourself in. Elena sat at the edge, legs dangling in the water that smelled of chlorine and expensive indifference. She'd come here to fix her marriage. Or perhaps to confirm it was broken.

The iPhone lay on the concrete beside her, screen glowing with messages from David. 'Working late again.' 'Don't wait up.' The familiar script of a decade dissolving, message by message. She'd stopped believing him three months ago, somewhere between his business trip to Chicago and the sudden improvement in his posture.

'Excuse me, do you have a charger?' A man stood above her, maybe forty, with the kind of face that had once been handsome but had settled into comfortable approximation. He held up his phone—another iPhone, battery flashing red.

Elena fished in her bag. 'Only this old cable. Might not work.' It was frayed at the ends, exposed wire visible through the white casing, like her marriage in microcosm.

He sat beside her anyway, close enough that their shoulders brushed. 'I'm Marcus.'

'Elena.' She watched him plug in the cable, watched the charging icon appear. Just like that—something dead coming back to life.

'I'm here for the conference,' he said. 'You?'

'I'm here to decide things.'

'Ah.' Marcus nodded, like this was the most natural answer in the world. 'The pool's good for that. Something about seeing people pretend to have fun while you're falling apart.'

Elena looked at him, really looked at him, and saw it—the same hollowed-out quality she felt, the same Saturday Night Massacre happening behind their eyes. 'Are you married, Marcus?'

'Divorced. Eighteen months.' He gestured toward the hotel. 'That's actually her conference. I just come to the open bar.'

The iPhone buzzed again. David: 'Tomorrow for sure.'

Elena stood up, water dripping from her legs onto the burning concrete. 'Keep the cable.'

'You sure?'

'It was broken anyway.' She walked toward the hotel, toward the room where her husband might or might not appear, toward whatever came after deciding not to decide anymore. The pool water shimmered behind her, blue and bright and completely incapable of holding anything real.