Strikes

Sarah slid into the hot tub, the water blistering against her skin. Inside the house, the retirement party for their VP was in full swing, but she needed air. Her friend Elena had been through four marriages and said this was the fifth: the one where you realize you're never going to be happy, so you might as well be rich.

"That's a dark take for a Tuesday," Sarah had said.

Elena had swirled her wine, examined the wall's texture. "I've been divorced as long as you've been alive. At some point, lightning stops striking and you just notice the pattern."

Sarah was thirty-eight. Her hair, once mouse-brown and forgettable, was now mouse-brown, forgettable, and streaked with silver at the temples. She touched it underwater, feeling the strands drift like seaweed.

The office betting pool had her going next. Everyone knew about the whispers at the holiday party, the way she'd lingered after the presentation, the drunk confession in the elevator. They just didn't know with whom.

Behind her, the sliding glass door opened.

"Hiding?"

She didn't turn. "Strategically withdrawing."

Marcus's laugh was dry. He lowered himself into the hot tub, wincing. His leg was heavily bandaged—the story was a golf injury, but Sarah knew better. She'd seen the lightning flash through the skylight during the boss's keynote, seen Marcus silhouetted on the roof, his tie loosened, his usually impeccable grey hair wild in the wind.

He'd fallen. It had been graceless, human, nothing like the sharp-suited predator who'd haunted her thoughts for six months.

"The VP's in there asking about you," Marcus said now. "Wants to know if you'll take the London position."

"What did you say?"

"I said you'd think about it."

He watched her, eyes dark in the pool light. "Sarah. The whispers—"

"I know about the pool."

Marcus stilled. "Not that kind of whisper. I mean: I started them."

The water churned between them.

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "sometimes you set fire to something just to see if it burns."

Sarah stood up, water streaming off her, and walked inside. The party noise swallowed her whole. She found her friend Elena by the bar, ordered two shots, and said: "Tell me everything about London."