Dead Man Swimming

The corporate retreat had been Melanie's idea—something about team building and quarterly goals in paradise. Now she sat by the infinity pool at the Miami resort, watching the sunset bleed orange across the water while her colleagues got drunk two decks down. She'd slipped away, claiming a headache, but really she just needed to not smile for ten minutes.

She checked her iPhone again. Nothing from David. Three weeks since their fight, two since he moved out, and still she kept checking, as if the device might suddenly conjure the words she needed to hear.

"You look like someone waiting for bad news."

Melanie jumped. An older woman with silver-streaked hair sat in the neighboring chaise lounge, reading her palm. The woman's skin was weathered, deeply lined, her eyes sharp beneath the chaise's umbrella.

"Just checking work," Melanie lied, slipping the phone away.

"Work doesn't make people look like the walking dead." The woman smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth. "I'm Grace, by the way. You're a zombie, honey. Been one for a while."

The word hit harder than it should have. Melanie had been feeling like something hollowed-out for months—moving through meetings, presentations, dinner parties, her own marriage, performing all the right motions while something inside her curled up and died. She'd turned thirty-five in March and felt like she'd aged a decade since.

"I'm just tired," she said.

"Let me see." Grace held out a hand, palm up. Without thinking, Melanie placed her hand in the woman's grasp. Grace's fingers were warm and surprisingly strong, tracing the lines in Melanie's palm.

"You've got a head line that fights with your heart line." Grace's voice dropped lower. "You've been choosing the wrong path for so long, you forgot there were others. This line here—" her fingernail scratched gently against Melanie's skin—"that's your life purpose, honey. And it's been calling you for years."

Melanie pulled her hand back, her heart racing. "What do you know about me?"

"I know a corporate zombie when I see one. I was one too, once." Grace reached for her drink. "VP of Marketing at a firm you've heard of. Made six figures, slept four hours a night, hadn't read a book for pleasure in a decade. Then my daughter got sick, and suddenly none of it mattered."

"And now?"

"Now I read palms by resort pools and remember what it feels like to be alive." Grace gestured toward the water. "Go in. The pool's heated. Swim until you can't think anymore. Then call whoever it is you're actually waiting to hear from."

Melanie stood up, her phone still clutched in her hand. The water looked dark and inviting, the pool lights flickering on as dusk deepened. For the first time in months, she didn't check the screen first.

She dove in.