Poolside Surveillance

Elena lay on the lounge chair at the apartment complex pool, sunglasses hiding eyes that had been tracking apartment 4B for three weeks. The corporate espionage file on her tablet labeled her a "spy," but the truth was more pathetic: she was a twenty-seven-year-old accountant hired to confirm that her boss's ex-wife was living with someone new.

The pool water glittered with that specific late-afternoon gold that made everything look cinematic, even surveillance. Elena watched as Martin—the man in 4B—stepped onto the pool deck with his daughter. The girl was maybe six, carrying a bright orange noodle, laughing at something he said.

Elena felt like a zombie, hollowed out by weeks of watching other people's happiness through Zoom lenses and patio doors. Her girlfriend had left two months ago, citing "emotional unavailability," which was rich coming from someone who'd been having an affair with her personal trainer.

Martin's phone buzzed. He checked it, smiled, then looked up toward the apartments. Elena followed his gaze to a woman she'd never seen before—brunette, maybe thirty, leaning over a railing and waving.

That was it. Confirmation delivered. Elena could close the file and email her boss.

Instead she watched Martin and the brunette and the little girl with the orange noodle, and realized she was the only one at the pool who wasn't swimming in someone else's life. She'd been so busy spying on other people's beginnings that she'd forgotten how to start anything of her own.

Elena opened her tablet and typed her resignation instead. Then she took off her sunglasses and walked toward the pool ladder, the water suddenly looking like something she might actually want to dive into.