Still Life at the Deep End

The pool at the Hotel Arizona was supposed to be for guests, but Elena had been coming here every Tuesday for three months, slipping in through the garden gate with a stolen keycard. She wasn't a guest. She was the regional director's wife, and he was supposed to be in Chicago.

She sat on a lounge chair in her swimsuit, clutching her iphone like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. The screen glowed with messages that went unanswered. *Where are you?* *The kids are asking.* *Please come home.*

"You're back," said a voice from the deep end.

Elena jumped. David was treading water in the center of the pool, his dark hair slicked back, eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach drop. He was the night auditor, twenty-six to her forty-two, and they had been dancing around each other all summer. He knew she was married. He didn't care.

"I thought you'd be off by now," she said, though her voice came out thinner than she intended.

"Break room's flooded. Pipe burst." He swam to the edge, resting his arms on the concrete. "Fitting, isn't it? Everything here's falling apart."

Elena watched the water bead on his shoulders. Something coiled tight in her chest—guilt, desire, the crushing weight of her own cowardice. Her husband's calls had become accusations. His absence had become a presence.

"There's something wrong with the cable," David said quietly, nodding toward the television mounted above the bar. Snow hissed across the screen. "Everything's just static now."

"Everything." The word hung between them.

Her iphone buzzed again. She didn't look.

"You could stay," David said. "No one has to know."

The pool lights flickered on beneath the water, casting rippling shadows across his face. Elena stood up, her legs trembling slightly. She could feel the moment stretching, could hear the door closing on something that had barely begun.

"Somebody always knows," she said, and walked back through the garden gate, leaving her phone on the lounge chair, screen up, messages lighting the darkening pool like tiny stars."