Palm Springs, Last Inning

The air conditioning in the conference room hummed like a dying refrigerator. Sarah pressed her palms against the glass, feeling the desert heat radiate from the other side. Below, the palm trees swayed in a wind she couldn't feel, their fronds like tired fingers waving goodbye.

"You look like a zombie," Marcus said, sliding into the seat beside her. His tie was already loosened, the first crack in his corporate armor.

"Three days of synergy workshops will do that to a person." She didn't turn away from the window. "Did you know there's a baseball field behind the hotel?"

"I saw it. Empty."

"My dad used to take me to games. Every Saturday, same seats, section 114." Her voice caught. "He died four years ago tomorrow."

Marcus reached over, his palm covering hers on the glass. "I didn't know."

"Why would you? We've been working together for three years and I know more about your quarterly projections than your life." She finally looked at him. "We're all just zombies, aren't we? Walking around with these hollow corporate shells, pretending anything matters beyond the next deadline."

The silence stretched between them, filled with things they'd never said.

"Let's go," Marcus said suddenly.

"To the bar? The networking mixer?"

"To the baseball field. It's not empty anymore. Some kids are playing. We could watch."

She looked at his loosened tie, at the palm trees framed by the window, at this man she'd worked beside for a thousand days without really seeing him.

"Okay," she said.

Outside, the air hit them like forgiveness. In the distance, a baseball arced through the twilight, and for a moment, neither of them felt dead at all.