Pool of Lost Summers

The vitamin bottle sat on their nightstand for six months before Maya finally threw it out. D3, the doctor had prescribed, for the bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep could touch. Mark had started taking them too, a shared ritual in a marriage that had stopped having rituals years ago.

They were standing by the pool at his boss's annual summer party. The water reflected a bruised twilight sky, and Maya felt an odd kinship with it—something bright that had grown murky with neglect.

"You're not yourself," Mark said, not looking at her. He was watching his boss's Golden retriever chase a tennis ball into the water.

"I'm bearing up just fine," she said, the word tasting like salt.

That morning, their cat had disappeared. Bast, named after the Egyptian goddess, a rescue who had chosen them six years ago during what passed for their honeymoon phase. Maya had searched the neighborhood for hours, calling until her voice gave out. The silence that returned felt like a door closing.

Now she watched Mark watch the dog, and something in her chest that had been holding its breath finally let go.

"Remember when we talked about getting a dog?" he asked suddenly. "Before everything got complicated."

"Before we got too busy to notice we were unhappy?" she said, and the honesty of it shocked them both.

The retriever shook water from its fur, droplets flying like something breaking apart. A memory surfaced: a bear they'd seen on a hiking trip years ago, standing in a stream, catching salmon. Mark had held her from behind then, his chin on her shoulder, both of them breathless with wonder. She couldn't remember the last time he'd touched her outside of obligation.

"I should go," she said.

"Maya—"

"No. It's not dramatic. It's just done."

The pool lights came on, illuminating nothing they wanted to see. As she walked to her car, she realized she didn't feel exhausted anymore. The vitamin bottle was in her purse, unopened. She'd mail him the rest.

Somewhere, Bast was watching. The bear was still fishing in a stream she might never visit again. And she was finally, finally hungry.