Glass and Rind

Mara peels the orange in the rental car, its citrus scent cutting through the stale air conditioning. They're supposed to be watching bears from the safety of the viewing platform, but Thomas left his iPhone on the dashboard when he went to the bathroom. The screen lights up with a message that makes everything in Mara go very still and very cold.

"Can't wait to see you next week. —J"

The letters burn against her retinas. She doesn't recognize the name, doesn't recognize the affection in it. Another woman's name would have been simpler. This is worse—this is the casual intimacy of someone who expects to be seen.

The orange rind tears in her hands, juice sticky on her fingers. Outside the window, a mother grizzly and her cub emerge from the forest, the massive animals deceptively gentle as they ford the river. The bear catches her eye through the glass, and for one ridiculous moment, Mara wonders if the animal can smell the decay of her marriage, the way wild creatures supposedly smell fear.

Thomas returns, sliding into the driver's seat with that easy grace she fell in love with seven years ago. "Anything good come through?"

She studies his profile, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the small scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bike accident. She has always borne his small deceptions—the white lies about overtime, the hidden purchases, the strategic omissions. She told herself these were the costs of a peaceful life, the tax you pay for partnership.

"Just a work email," she says, and her voice sounds like someone else's voice entirely.

The bears move upstream, the cub scrambling over rocks, the mother following with lumbering grace. They are magnificent in their survival, their terrible, beautiful strength. Mara watches them and understands suddenly that love is not soft. It has teeth and claws. It can maul you if you let it.

She eats the orange section by section, each burst of sour-sweet like a prayer. Tomorrow she will ask him about J. Tomorrow she will bear the weight of whatever answer he gives. Today she will just watch the bears and remember what it felt like to be whole.