Riddles at the Pool's Edge

Maria stood at the edge of the community pool at dusk, the water reflecting the bruised purple of sunset. She'd been **swimming** every evening since the divorce, as if the laps could burn away the residue of twelve years that clung to her skin like chlorine.

The **vitamin** D supplements sat on her bathroom counter, a failed experiment in self-care her therapist had suggested. Another bottle of promises in a world where nothing got fixed with a pill.

She missed Barnaby, the Golden Retriever Daniel had taken when he left. The **dog** had been hers first, a wedding gift from her mother, but in the division of assets, Daniel had insisted. "He needs a backyard," he'd said, as if Maria's apartment existence made her unworthy of love—canine or otherwise.

The pool was nearly empty. Only an elderly man in the corner lane, his strokes methodical and slow, like clockwork winding down. Maria adjusted her goggles, preparing to disappear beneath the surface again.

That's when she noticed the new neighbor on the third-floor balcony overlooking the pool—a woman with dark, watchful eyes and an expression of inscrutable calm. She reminded Maria of the **sphinx** she'd seen in Egypt during that last disastrous attempt at salvaging their marriage with a vacation. Daniel had complained about the heat the entire time while Maria stared at the ancient limestone creature, wondering what riddle it posed that she couldn't answer.

Now, standing poolside in her declining years, Maria finally understood the riddle wasn't something you solved. It was something you lived inside.

She dove into the water, the sudden coolness shocking her lungs. In the silence beneath the surface, weightless and suspended, she could almost believe she was okay—alone, childless, starting over at thirty-nine with a master's degree in a field that no longer hired women her age.

When she surfaced, gasping, the sphinx-woman was gone from the balcony. Maria pulled herself from the pool, water streaming from her hair like tears she refused to cry. She gathered her things, vitamin bottle clinking against her keys, and walked toward her apartment.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. It didn't sound like Barnaby, but for a moment, Maria let herself pretend. Tomorrow, she'd go to the shelter. Tomorrow, she'd start living with the riddle instead of trying to solve it.