Goldfish in the Deep End

The pool hadn't been drained in three years. Not since David's accident. Elena stood at the edge, clutching her third glass of wine, watching the murky water collect leaves and debris. The realtor had told her to get it cleaned before listing, but she couldn't bring herself to call anyone. Let the new owners deal with it. Let them drain the ghosts.

Her phone buzzed on the patio table. Mark. Again.

"You need to come over," he'd said last night. "We can't keep pretending this didn't happen."

She'd ended things two weeks ago, but Mark couldn't accept that whatever they'd shared in that motel room off I-95—six months of secret meetings and desperate middays—had died the moment she looked at him and saw only weakness. He wanted to leave his wife. He wanted a future. Elena just wanted to feel something other than the crushing weight of her carefully constructed life.

The orange glow of sunset reflected off the pool's surface, making the water look almost tropical. Almost inviting. She remembered the way David used to dive in—perfect form, barely a splash—emerging with that smile that had made her fall for him in college. Before the promotions. Before the house they couldn't afford. Before everything between them became negotiation and silence.

Something moved in the water.

Elena stepped closer, squinting. A flash of color—orange-red—darting beneath the surface. She knelt, disregarding the damp knees of her linen slacks. There, swimming in lazy circles despite the filth: a goldfish. Not one, but three.

"What the hell?"

"I put them there last summer." The voice made her jump. Mark stood at the gate, wearing that pathetic earnest expression she'd grown to hate. "Remember? We came back here that afternoon. You were so upset about the anniversary. I thought maybe—"

"You put fish in my pool?"

"I thought they'd brighten it up. I've been coming by to feed them." He stepped onto the patio. "Elena, we need to talk about what happens next."

A cable snaked across the concrete from the pool house—Mark had plugged in something. A pump? A filter?

"You've been breaking into my property to feed fish you illegally dumped in a stagnant pool?" Elena started laughing. She couldn't help it. The absurdity of it—the affair, the dead husband's pool, the secret goldfish, this man who thought pump-feeding fish constituted romance.

"I did it for you," Mark said, hurt flashing across his face. "I did everything for you."

"No," she said, her laughter dying. "You did it because you're the kind of man who puts fish in pools and thinks it's love. You're not David. You're not even a decent affair anymore."

"Elena—"

"Leave. And take your fish with you."

He stared at her for a long moment, then finally turned and walked away. Elena remained by the pool edge as darkness fell, watching three goldfish continue their mindless circuits, completely oblivious that they were about to be evicted from the only home they'd ever known.