Running on Empty

Elena found the vitamin bottle on Marcus's nightstand three days after the funeral. Prescription strength. The label warned about dizziness, drowsiness, 'may cause thoughts of—' the rest was worn away from his thumb rubbing it raw.

She'd never known. They'd been friends since college, best friends, the kind who finished each other's sentences and knew each other's coffee orders by heart. She'd known about his divorce, his drinking, the way he sometimes stared at the ocean for too long. But not this.

Marcus's dog, a rust-colored retriever named Barnaby, pressed his wet nose against her palm. He'd been waiting by the door since Tuesday.

'Come on, then,' she said, grabbing the leash. 'Let's go.'

They ended up at the beach where they'd scattered his ashes. Elena started running without deciding to, her boots sinking into wet sand, Barnaby bounding ahead. Running had been Marcus's thing—his therapy, his church, his way of processing a world that never quite made sense to him. He'd tried to teach her once, back when they were twenty-three and everything felt fixable. She'd quit after a week, complaining about shin splints, but really just afraid of what her mind would do with all that quiet.

Now she understood.

Her lungs burned. Her thoughts scattered like sandflies. She kept going until her legs gave out, collapsing near the water's edge where the waves licked at her shoes. Barnaby circled twice and settled beside her, his chin on her knee, watching the horizon with the same intensity Marcus always had.

Elena thought about the spinach casserole she'd brought over last week, how he'd only picked at it. She'd thought he was just being polite about her terrible cooking. Now she wondered if he'd already stopped caring about food, about anything.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the vitamin bottle. The pills rattled like tiny accusations. The ocean offered no answers, just the endless rhythm of waves against shore, the same rhythm Marcus had chased for years.

Barnaby whined softly and Elena realized she was crying, really crying, for the first time since the phone call. She let the pills fall into the surf, watching them dissolve, and pressed her forehead against the dog's warm shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered to the water. 'I'm sorry I didn't know how to ask.'

They stayed until the sun dipped below the horizon, and when they walked back, Elena didn't run. She walked, and it was enough.