Electric Silence at the Deserted Pool

The corporate retreat was his idea—someplace to reconnect, he'd said. But by day three, Sarah was drinking wine by the hotel pool while I sat in endless meetings, feeling like the walking dead.

A zombie of my former self, shuffling through PowerPoint presentations about synergy and market penetration. My father's old fedora sat on the poolside chair where I'd tossed it, a desperate attempt to look distinguished for the welcome mixer. Now it just looked pathetic.

The storm broke at sunset.

Lightning fractured the purple sky, illuminating the empty pool with strobe-like flashes. Sarah stood at the edge, her silk dress clinging to her thighs, watching the water ripple from wind and tension. I'd forgotten she was afraid of storms.

In the hotel lobby aquarium, a single goldfish circled its tank, mouth opening and closing in silent desperation.

'He thinks he's still swimming,' she said, without turning. 'That's what the vet said about my mother's strokes. She kept paddling her hands like she was swimming long after she'd forgotten what water was.'

I walked to her, the fedora in my hands. She flinched when I touched her shoulder.

'I'm still here, Sarah.'

'Are you?' She turned, and the lightning caught the tears on her cheeks. 'Because I've been trying to find you for two years, and all I find is this... man in a hat who looks like my husband but acts like a ghost.'

The goldfish bumped against the glass again and again.

'Tomorrow,' I said, 'I'm calling in sick. We're going to the beach. The real ocean.'

She studied my face for a long moment. Then she took the hat from my hands and placed it on her own head.

'You're not wearing that thing ever again.'

The first fat raindrop hit the pool like a benediction.