Riddles in the Shallow End

The pool at the Sunset Palms Resort had that peculiar chlorine scent that always reminded Elena of hospital corridors. She floated on her back, staring up at the constellation of LEDs embedded in the ceiling—fake stars for people who couldn't be bothered to look up at real ones.

Marcus sat at the edge, legs submerged, watching her with that same unreadable expression he'd worn for months now. The dog they'd adopted three years ago, Buster, had passed away in February, and somehow the silence of their hotel room felt louder than their apartment ever had with Buster's snoring.

"The cable's out again," Marcus said, breaking the water's surface tension with his foot. "No news, no distractions. Just us."

Elena paddled over to him. "Is that supposed to be romantic?"

"I don't know what it's supposed to be anymore." He trailed his fingers through the water, creating ripples that distorted his reflection. "Do you remember that riddle? What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?"

"The sphinx's riddle." Elena rested her chin on his knee. "Man. Crawling as a baby, walking upright, then with a cane in old age."

"I always thought it was missing something," Marcus said quietly. "What about the part where you carry someone else's weight? Where you stop being one thing and have to figure out what comes next?" His hand found her wet shoulder, his thumb tracing the familiar curve of her collarbone. "We've been stuck at noon for a long time, El."

The air between them felt thick with everything they weren't saying—the failed treatments, the miscarriage, the way they'd started having entire conversations without making eye contact. Elena realized suddenly that she couldn't remember the last time they'd laughed at something that wasn't on a screen.

"What if we skip to the cane part?" she whispered against his skin. "What if we just lean on each other?"

Marcus's breath hitched. Above them, the fake stars twinkled with programmed indifference. Somewhere beyond the hotel walls, the real stars burned, indifferent to human heartbreak and human hope alike.

"I'm tired of riddles," he said, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. "I just want the answer."

"There isn't one," she said, and kissed him. "That's the whole damn point."

The pool's filtration system hummed on, cycling the same water through the same pipes, purifying nothing that really mattered.