Currents at Sunset

The pool was empty at this hour—the guests were all at the reception, or perhaps already in their rooms, the good ones and the bad ones alike. Elena sat on the edge, her feet dangling in the cool water, watching the sunset bleed orange across the horizon like a wound that wouldn't heal.

She'd pulled her hair back earlier that evening, but now she let it down, dark strands falling around her shoulders. At forty-two, she'd stopped caring about the gray threading through it. Let Marcus notice. Let him not notice. It didn't matter anymore.

Her iPhone buzzed on the poolside chair. She didn't pick it up. She knew who it was—or rather, she knew who it *wasn't*.

The first flash of lightning caught her off guard, though the storm had been brewing for hours. Some distances you could measure in miles. Others you measured in silences.

She thought about the car pool they'd organized for the conference—how Marcus had insisted she ride with him, how his hand had lingered on her shoulder when they arrived, how he'd whispered something about maybe getting a drink later. She'd almost said yes. That was the thing that scared her most now—that she'd almost said yes.

Her phone buzzed again. This time she reached for it, her thumb hovering over James's name. Her husband, who was probably asleep by now, who'd sent her off on this business trip with a kiss and a "call if you need anything." Who'd meant it.

She watched the lightning split the sky again, illuminating the pool's stillness. The orange light was gone now, replaced by that particular gray that comes before the rain falls heavy and sure.

Elena stood up, water dripping from her feet, leaving wet footprints on the concrete that would vanish by morning. She picked up her phone and texted James: "Miss you. Can't wait to come home."

Then she turned toward the hotel, toward whatever remained of this evening and whatever came next, leaving the pool to its darkness and the storm to its breaking.