Last Summer at the Azure

The papaya sat untouched on the white ceramic plate, its orange flesh glistening in the harsh poolside light. Elena had ordered it because it reminded her of their honeymoon in Belize—of how Marcus had laughed when she'd tried to eat it with the seeds still in, of the way his hands had felt slippery with fruit juice against her skin. Now she was staying at the same boutique hotel alone, three months after the divorce papers were signed.

She watched the woman in the chair two rows over, younger, maybe twenty-five, reading a paperback with a concentration that suggested she was avoiding something too. The woman's golden retriever lay sprawled on the concrete beside her, panting in the heat. Hotel policy didn't allow dogs, but no one had said anything. Elena found herself wondering what story the woman would tell about this stay years from now.

A splash broke her reverie. A child had jumped into the pool, sending ripples across the blue surface that had been perfectly still. The water distorted the reflection of the palm trees, made everything waver and shift. Elena realized she'd been sitting in the same chair for three hours, her book unopened, her drink melted to nothing.

The dog lifted its head, ears perked toward the parking lot. A car door slammed. The young woman closed her paperback, placed it carefully on the table, and began gathering her things with deliberate slowness. Someone was coming—someone who would hurt her, or someone she'd already decided to leave. Elena recognized the posture.

She stood up, leaving her papaya, her book, her half-finished mimosa. Without thinking, she began walking toward the hotel entrance, then faster, past the front desk, through the lobby doors, into the parking lot. She was running now, her sandals slapping against the pavement, her breath coming short. She didn't know what she was running toward or away from, only that something in her chest had finally cracked open.

The papaya would sit on that plate until the busboy cleared it. The pool would continue reflecting palm trees. The golden retriever would rest its chin on its owner's knee. But Elena would drive home with all the windows down, singing along to the radio, and for the first time in years, she would feel something like hope in the space where all that careful waiting had been.