Palm Fronds in the Dark

The lightning struck somewhere offshore, a white fissure that cracked the sky open. Elena counted the seconds—one, two, three—before thunder rolled across the Gulf like a heavy sigh.

She stood on the balcony of room 312, vitamin bottle in hand. The B-complex pills rattled as she shook two into her palm. David called it her little ritual. He didn't understand that it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely.

"You coming back to bed?" David mumbled from the darkness of the hotel room.

"In a minute."

The resort pool below was empty, rain needling the surface in a million tiny impacts. Beyond it, palm fronds whipped in the wind, each leaf a dark stroke against the gray-lit sky. They looked like hands throwing themselves open in surrender.

They'd come to St. Petersburg for their tenth anniversary, though Elena wondered why they bothered. David spent most of the conference calls on the balcony, discussing quarterly projections while she read paperback thrillers by the pool. They were two people who'd learned to occupy the same space without occupying each other.

The lightning flashed again, closer this time. Violet-white veins through the clouds.

She swallowed the vitamins dry, feeling them catch in her throat. The doctor had said her fatigue was stress-related. Recommended B12, maybe talk therapy. She'd bought the vitamins. She hadn't bought the therapy.

David appeared in the sliding door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Storm's keeping you up?"

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

She looked at him—really looked at him. The gray at his temples. The way his shoulders slumped when he thought no one was watching. How long since she'd touched him with intention, not habit?

"About how we're supposed to be celebrating," she said. "And I'm out here counting seconds between lightning strikes because I can't sleep, and you're asking what I'm thinking about like it's a question on a form."

The silence stretched between them, charged and heavy.

Then: "I asked you that question because I didn't know what else to say. I didn't know how to tell you I feel like we're strangers who share a last name."

The thunder crashed directly overhead. The pool erupted in silver.

Elena crossed the balcony and took his hand. His palm was warm, familiar. "We could start over," she said. "Right here. Not strangers. Just us."

The rain soaked them both as they stood there, watching the lightning paint the sky, holding on like survivors washed ashore.