Signal Loss in the Deep End

Elena leaned against the wrought-iron fence, the cable company's van parked conspicuously behind her like a confession she couldn't quite make. The Richards' estate sprawled before her—immaculate lawn, the kidney-shaped pool shimmering with that impossible blue that only money could buy, and somewhere beyond the French doors, the man whose cable she'd been secretly sleeping with for three months.

"You're staring again," Richard called from the pool edge, his voice loose with expensive scotch. "Come in, Elena. The water's perfect."

She'd come to fix the internet, not to swim. But here she was, July sweat sticking her uniform to her skin, watching Richard float on his back like he'd never known a day of doubt. His wife was at Pilates, his daughter at camp, the house empty except for them and the new cable box on the marble countertop.

"I should go," she said, though she didn't move.

Richard's hand moved through the water, creating ripples that distorted his expensive watch's reflection. "Stay. Have a drink. When does the cable guy ever get treated like a guest?"

That was the thing, though—she wasn't a guest. She was the help, literally and metaphorically. The affair had started with a routine service call and ended with his hand on her thigh and promises he'd never keep. Now she stood at the threshold of a life that wasn't hers, watching a goldfish circle its bowl on the patio table, trapped in glass that someone else had chosen.

"Your fish," she said, suddenly. "It's dying."

Richard followed her gaze. The goldfish floated at an angle, its gills laboring. "Jesus. Sarah's been overfeeding it again." He waved a dismissive hand. "I'll buy another tomorrow."

The words settled between them like sediment. Of course he would. Of course he could.

Elena thought of her apartment with its window box of stubborn herbs and the way she'd nursed a dying peace lily back to life over six months last winter. She thought of Richard's hands on her skin last week, the way he'd looked at her afterward like she was something he could fix and then leave.

"The cable's fixed," she said. "I should go."

"Elena, wait—"

But she was already walking toward the gate, past the pool and the dying fish and the life that could never be hers. Behind her, she heard Richard splash as he stood, but she didn't look back. Some things, she realized, were meant to remain unconnected.