Floaters in the Deep End

The resort pool at midnight was exactly the kind of pretentious emptiness Marcus hated himself for paying for. He'd been **swimming** laps for an hour, trying to drown out the text message that had ruined his marriage three days ago. His **friend** David had forwarded the screenshot — Marcus's wife in another man's apartment, surrounded by unpacked boxes. The caption read: 'She said she was visiting her sister.'

Marcus surfaced, gasping, as David emerged from the shadows holding two mineral waters and a **padel** racket from the day's match they'd both skipped. 'You're going to give yourself a heart attack,' David said, tossing him a water. 'Or maybe that's the point.'

'Shut up.' Marcus cracked the seal. 'You forwarded it. You knew. How long?'

David's face went unreadable in the strobe light from the pool party above them. 'Six months. She told me she was going to tell you. I was waiting for her to do the right thing.'

'The right thing.' Marcus laughed, bitter bubbles rising in his throat. 'Like you did with the **orange** account? The one you stole while I was in the hospital?'

'That was different. That was business.'

'It was my client. My **cable** to survival after the divorce.'</n

David set down the paddle. 'I'm sorry. About everything. That's why I came tonight. To fix it.' He pulled an envelope from his pocket. 'The evidence. Everything you need for the lawsuit against her. And against me.'

Marcus floated on his back, staring up at the constellations. The water held him weightless. 'Why?'

'Because I'm tired of swimming with sharks,' David said softly. 'I want to be your friend again. The real kind.'

Marcus took the envelope. 'We start with the lawsuit. Then we'll see.'

They sat in silence until dawn, two men treading water in the deep end, waiting to see if they'd both sink or finally swim to shore together.