Surface Tension

The baseball game flickered on the cable news channel while Javier watched his wife across the pool. Elena stood near the deep end, laughing at something Mark from accounting had said, her hand resting casually on his forearm. The water cast rippling reflections across her face, making her expression unreadable.

Javier sat on a lounge chair, nursing a warm beer. They'd come to this neighborhood summer party together two hours ago, arriving as a unit, departing as separate orbits. The divorce papers sat in his glove compartment, unsigned.

"You watching?" Mark called out, pointing at the patio television. "Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded."

Baseball. Always baseball with Mark. The man treated every conversation like a sport he had to win.

"Not really," Javier said.

He remembered the cable guy who'd come to their house last week—early thirties, eyes that lingered on Elena too long. She'd complained about the interruption, but later Javier had found her standing at the window, watching the company truck drive away. The cable had been working fine. She'd called for a service appointment anyway.

Elena dove into the pool now, slicing cleanly through the water. Mark watched, then followed her in. They played some childish game, splashing and ducking each other, while the neighborhood looked on. Someone's wife whispered something to her husband. People noticed everything.

Javier stood up. The pool lights had come on automatically, casting the water in an artificial blue glow that made everything beneath the surface look distorted. Like looking through the wrong prescription glasses, which he'd done for six months after meeting Elena, before admitting he needed vision correction.

The baseball crowd cheered from the television. Something important had happened. A home run, probably. A victory.

He walked to his car, the engine still warm, the unsigned papers waiting like a sentence he'd already served. Behind him, laughter rose from the pool—Elena's voice, Mark's, the rest of them. The summer night held its breath around him, heavy and unfinished, and he drove away while they were still playing.