Palm Fronds and Saltwater

The ocean behind Elias did what it always did at dusk—turned the color of a bruise, purple and swollen against the shore. He sat alone at the tiki bar, nursing a drink that had long since gone warm, watching the palm fronds droop in the humidity like old party streamers after a funeral.

He hadn't wanted to come to this wedding. He certainly hadn't wanted to be seated at the singles' table, a refugee camp for the emotionally damaged. But here he was, three martinis deep, when Rachel slid onto the stool beside him.

"You look like someone died," she said, and then her face did that thing it always did—cracked open, just a little, letting something real show through the professional polish.

"A friendship did," Elias said. "Six years ago. You were there for the funeral."

Rachel flinched. She ordered water, no ice. Her hands were shaking.

"I've wanted to call you," she said. "A thousand times. But after what happened—"

"After you slept with my husband while I was in the hospital having a miscarriage?" Elias said it quietly, without heat. The words had lost their edge years ago, worn smooth like sea glass.

The bartender placed Rachel's water on a coaster. She picked it up, held it with both palms like something holy.

"I wasn't a friend," she said. "I know that now. I was lonely, and he was there, and I made myself believe it didn't matter because you were so strong, so together. I told myself you'd be fine. You're always fine."

Elias watched the water ripple in her glass. "I wasn't fine. I haven't been fine since."

"I know," Rachel said. "That's why I came over. Not to apologize—you've heard that. Not to explain. I don't have the right." She set the glass down. "I came to tell you I'm leaving. The city, my job, everything. I'm going to the coast to take care of my mother. She has early onset."

Elias felt something shift inside him, something that had been calcified for years. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Rachel slid off the stool. "For everything."

She walked away, toward the tables where the wedding guests laughed under the palm trees, their shadows long and strange across the sand. Elias watched her go, and then he ordered another drink, and finally, the ocean behind him seemed to recede just a little, giving him back something like solid ground.