Poolside Palm Reading

Sarah balanced her glass of sparkling water on the lip of the infinity pool, watching the condensation weep down the sides. Below, the Pacific stretched endless and indifferent. She'd swallowed her vitamin D supplement that morning with the same grim determination she applied to everything since her promotion — a necessary chore, like performance reviews and networking events.

"You're going to worry that glass right into the pool," said a voice behind her.

She turned. Marcus, the regional VP from Chicago. Everyone called him 'the fox' — not for his cunning, but for how he'd smooth-talk his way out of accountability. His reputation preceded him like expensive cologne.

"It's sturdy," Sarah said. "Like my resolve to skip this mixer."

Marcus laughed, settling onto the adjacent lounge chair. He'd already had a few. The corporate retreat was barely six hours old. "I won't tell anyone you're hiding. Your secret's safe with me."

She studied him more closely in the dying light. The fox charm, she realized, was just loneliness in a tailor-made suit.

"Read my palm," she said, surprising herself. "Since we've got nothing better to do."

Marcus hesitated, then extended his hand. Sarah traced the lines with practiced fingers — her grandmother had taught her, a party trick from the old country. Heart line strong but broken. Head line curving toward creativity. Life line interrupted, then renewed.

"You've lost something important," she said softly. "But you'll find it again."

His smile faltered. Something raw flickered behind his eyes. "Maybe I already have."

A palm frond rustled overhead, casting dancing shadows across his face. The moment stretched, charged with possibility.

"The water's nice," Marcus said, standing. "Join me?"

Sarah considered her untouched vitamin supplements in her room, her carefully planned networking strategies, her inevitable return to the gray Minneapolis winter. Then she slipped off her cover-up and stepped into the pool.

The water was warm, forgiving. Marcus dove in beside her, surfacing with a grin that finally reached his eyes.

"Fox," she said.

"Hmm?"

"My grandmother said foxes only show themselves when you're ready to see them."

He treaded water beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "What else did she say?"

"That sometimes the thing you think you're hunting," Sarah said, "is actually hunting you back."

Marcus didn't disagree. They floated there as the stars emerged one by one, two souls adrift in the warm artificial pool, neither particularly interested in being saved.