Chlorine and Ash

The pool had been hers first. That's what Elena kept thinking as she stared at the turquoise rectangle dividing their backyard, the water catching the morning light in fragments that hurt her eyes. Three months after the divorce papers were signed, and the only thing they couldn't seem to divide was this damn pool.

She'd taken up swimming at dawn, something Sarah had never done. Sarah preferred cocktails at sunset, trailing her fingers through the water while laughing too loudly at nothing. Elena submerged herself in the silence, the chlorine burning her eyes until they watered enough that she could pretend it was grief, not irritation.

On the patio table, beside her coffee, sat the bottle of vitamin D supplements. Her doctor had prescribed them after she mentioned how often she woke before sunrise, how the world felt perpetually gray. "You're not getting enough sun," Dr. Patel had said, and Elena had wanted to laugh. She'd spent twenty years chasing someone else's light.

The back door slid open. Sarah. She'd come by yesterday to pick up the rest of her things, but apparently something had been left behind.

"Forgot my earrings," Sarah said, not quite meeting Elena's eyes. Her hair was different now—shorter, a sharp dark bob that made her look like a stranger. Elena remembered how it used to fall past her shoulders, how she'd wrap it around her fingers in sleep. How it would spill across the pillow, dark against the white, like ink in water.

"They're on the counter," Elena said.

Sarah paused by the table. "Still taking those?"

"Apparently I need more sunlight."

Sarah's mouth twitched. "You always were better at the morning thing. I never understood how you could be so... awake."

"Someone had to be."

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been. Sarah had been the one who lived in the moment—spontaneous trips, midnight phone calls, passion that burned bright and left ash in its wake. Elena had been the one who paid bills, remembered birthdays, kept the vitamins organized.

"You cut your hair," Elena said, because it was easier than saying anything else.

Sarah touched the bob self-consciously. "New life, new look. Or something."

"It looks good."

"Does it?" Sarah looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a second Elena saw all the years between them—the twenty-somethings who'd met at a party, the thirties spent building a life that didn't fit, the forties arrived too soon with nothing to show for it but a house they couldn't afford and a pool they barely used.

"Yeah," Elena said. "It really does."

Sarah nodded, once, then went inside. Elena heard her moving around, the familiar sounds of someone who knew exactly where everything was. Then the door opened again.

"Hey, El?"

"Yeah?"

"The pool. You should keep it."

"Sarah, we can't both—"

"No, I mean. It was always yours. Even when I was the one swimming in it." Sarah smiled, something almost like forgiveness. "You're the one who actually takes care of things."

She left before Elena could respond. The screen door clicked shut, and then her car was starting, pulling away.

Elena sat for a long time looking at the water, the vitamin D bottle beside her coffee. Eventually she took one pill, dry, and then stood up. She stripped down to her swimsuit and dove in.

The water was cold, shocking her awake. She surfaced gasping, and for the first time in months, she didn't think about what was missing. She just swam, stroke after stroke, until her arms burned and the sun was fully risen, turning the pool from fragments of light into something whole.