Hair of the Dog

The air conditioning in Room 204 had been dead for three days. Elena lay on the motel bed, her hair matted against her forehead, staring at the ceiling fan that hadn't spun since the Bush administration. She felt like a zombie—stumbling through her caseload, her divorce mediation, her life. At 37, she'd somehow become the person she used to pity.

She pushed herself up and walked outside. The Florida sun hit her like a physical blow. Beyond the cracked pavement, the Gulf shimmered. She needed to be in the water. Swimming was the only thing that silenced the noise in her head—the recriminations, the what-ifs, the realization that she'd married a man who'd never really seen her.

Her yellow lab, Buster, waited by the car, his tail thumping a hopeful rhythm against the door. He was the only living thing that still looked at her like she mattered.

They drove to the secluded beach she'd discovered during what she now called her Year of Bad Decisions. Elena stripped to her swimsuit and waded into the surf. Buster charged ahead, paddling furiously, his golden head bobbing in the waves. She followed, the salt water stinging her eyes, the current pulling at her legs.

She swam until her muscles burned, until she couldn't think about deposition transcripts or the way Marcus had looked at her across the conference table last Tuesday—like he was truly seeing her for the first time, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be seen.

Back on the sand, she lay on her towel, Buster shaking water droplets onto her stomach. She propped herself on her elbows and stared at her palm, sun-bleached and empty. No wedding ring tan line anymore. She'd lost that six months ago.

A shadow fell across her. Marcus stood there, holding two plastic cups from the beach bar.

"I figured you'd be here," he said, offering her one. "Hair of the dog?"

Elena sat up, water dripping from her own hair, sand clinging to her thighs. She took the cup and looked at this man—married, unethical, exactly what she didn't need.

"I'm not that kind of zombie," she said, but she didn't move away when he sat beside her in the sand.

Buster rested his head on her knee. The gulls circled overhead. And for the first time in a year, Elena didn't feel entirely dead inside.