Fruit of Storms

Elena sat by the resort pool, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low, watching the humidity curl the edges of her magazine. At fifty-two, she'd learned that tropical vacations were less about escape and more about confrontation with yourself.

"More papaya, ma'am?" The waiter's voice was gentle, as if he knew.

She nodded. "Please."

The fruit arrived, glistening and obscene in its pink flesh. David had loved papaya—sliced open, scooped out with trembling hands, eaten slowly while reading philosophy in their underwear on Sunday mornings. Three years of marriage, thirty years of memories, and now she was eating the fruit alone in a place they'd never visited together.

Lightning cracked across the sky, sudden and violent. The other guests scattered, gathering their cocktails and children and retreating to the safety of the overpriced bungalows. Elena stayed put. She'd been struck by worse things than weather.

"Good boy," she murmured, scratching behind the ears of the golden retriever who'd appeared beside her chair—an emotional support dog, his vest read, though he seemed more interested in her papaya than her emotional state.

"His name's Buster," said the woman two chairs over, maybe thirty, pretty in that careless way that made Elena's chest ache. "Mind if he joins you? He's excellent company during storms."

Elena should have said no. She should have gone inside, ordered room service, called her daughter, done anything but sit there with another woman's dog and a plate of fruit that tasted like grief. But the rain began to fall—warm, shocking, inevitable—and she found herself extending a hand to the dog, watching him lick the sweetness from her fingers.

"My husband loved papaya," she heard herself say, as the rain plastered her silk dress to her skin, as the hat became useless decoration, as the lightning illuminated everything she'd been hiding in the dark for three years. "He died last spring."

The younger woman moved closer, not speaking, just presence, as Buster rested his head on Elena's knee. The rain fell harder now, and the pool overflowed, and somewhere in the distance, Elena could almost hear David laughing about the extravagance of rain in paradise.

She took another bite of papaya. It tasted like beginning again.