Palm Fronds at Sunset

Mara stood at the edge of the infinity pool, her champagne glass sweating against her palm. The corporate retreat had been Richard's idea—another opportunity to posture before the board members, another chance for her to smile while her stomach churned.

She watched him across the water, holding court near the swim-up bar. His orange linen shirt blazed against the twilight, too loud, like everything about him these days. The senior VP from Chicago was laughing at something Richard said, throwing her head back. Mara gripped her glass tighter. She'd seen Richard make that same gesture—the casual hand on the lower back—three times this week.

"You're not swimming?" The voice came from behind her. It was Julian, the junior analyst, quiet in meetings but now visibly drunk. "The water's actually decent. Not like last year's mold situation."

Mara turned. Julian was twenty-four, with the kind of unearned confidence only possible in someone who'd never had a mortgage, or watched his father's mind unravel from dementia. He was holding a plate with something green and wilted. "They had a salad bar over there. Spinach, mostly. Kind of sad, actually."

She thought about the spinach she'd pureed for her father two weeks ago, how he'd looked at her with those faded eyes and asked, "Who are you again?" The nurse had said it was progress. At least he was eating.

"I'm good," Mara said. "Not much of a swimmer anymore."

"Too bad." Julian shrugged. "Richard told us you used to swim competitively. College championship, right?"

Mara watched the palm fronds sway overhead, casting dancing shadows across the water. That was before. Before the promotions and the corner office and the marriage that looked perfect from the outside but felt like swimming through custard inside. Before she'd realized that success was just another word for exhaustion with a better benefits package.

Richard was walking toward them now, his hands loose, his smile practiced. "Mara! There you are. Gordon wants to discuss the merger over dinner. You should come."

She looked at the pool, at the way the underwater lights made the surface ripple like liquid mercury. What if she just slipped in? Let the expensive silk dress weigh her down, let the chlorine burn her eyes, let herself finally sink.

"Actually," she said, setting her champagne glass on a nearby table with deliberate precision. "I think I'll take a swim first."

Richard's smile faltered for a microsecond before recovering. "Suit yourself. Don't be long."

Mara stepped out of her heels and walked to the pool's edge. The water was cold against her skin, shocking and real. She dove beneath the surface and held herself there, suspended in the blue silence, where for a moment she could almost remember the girl she used to be, before she'd learned to tread water so expertly that nobody noticed she was drowning.