Goldfish in the Lightning

The pool was empty at midnight, the way Mara liked it. She'd been swimming laps for forty minutes, her arms burning, the water silencing everything—her job, the divorce papers sitting on her kitchen counter, the way her mother kept asking when she'd start dating again. Just the rhythmic slice through water, over and over.

Then she saw him—Thomas, sitting on one of the lounge chairs, holding a small plastic bag with a goldfish inside. A carnival goldfish, the kind that died in three days.

'I thought you moved to Chicago,' she said, pulling herself out of the water.

'Did. Didn't take.' He shrugged. 'Bought this little guy for my niece. She's allergic. Can't take it home.' The goldfish darted around its bag, oblivious to its fate.

Thomas had been her friend since college, the one who'd ghosted after she slept with him that one drunken night. The friendship had never quite recovered, awkward and stilted ever since.

'You here for the retreat?' she asked.

'Consulting for the new CEO.' He laughed. 'Whole lot of corporate bullshit, honestly.'

Lightning split the sky, and Mara counted—one, two, three. Thunder rattled the pool chairs.

'Storm's coming,' she said. 'We should go inside.'

'In a minute.' Thomas looked at the goldfish, then at her. 'I've been thinking about that night. Senior year. After the party.'

Mara wrapped her towel tighter around herself. 'Thomas, don't.'

'I just—I should have called. Shouldn't have disappeared like that. I was scared, I guess.' He stood up, setting the fish bag carefully on the concrete. 'I'm still scared, honestly.'

More lightning now, closer. The pool surface rippled with the vibration of thunder.

'The fish,' Mara said. 'You can't leave it out here.'

'Right.' He picked up the bag. 'You want to get a drink? Before the storm really hits?' The way he said it—tentative, hopeful—made something in her chest loosen.

'The hotel bar closes at one.'

'Your place, then?' He smiled, and it was the same smile from ten years ago, the one she'd fallen for in the first place. 'I've got wine. And we can figure out what to do with the fish.'

Mara looked at the goldfish swimming in its cramped plastic world, at Thomas with his wrinkled shirt and hopeful eyes, at the storm clouds gathering overhead. Some things were worth drowning for. 'Okay,' she said. 'Let's go.'