Surface Tension

The hotel pool was empty at 3 AM, the water still except for the occasional ripple from the ventilation system. Elena sat on the edge, her legs submerged, the chlorine smell stinging her nose. She clutched the bottle of vitamin D pills in her hand—her mother's "bone insurance," the oncologist had called it, as if supplements could arrest the metastasis already hollowing her spine.

Elena had flown to Phoenix to be with her, but there was nothing to be done except wait. The hospice nurse would arrive at nine. Until then, Elena swam in the artificial turquoise of the hotel pool, trying to wash off the hospital smell that clung to her skin. She'd never learned to swim properly. Her mother had promised lessons one summer, the summer she'd first found the lump.

That summer had dissolved into appointments and waiting rooms. Now, thirty years later, they were back to waiting.

Her phone buzzed on the pool chair—Marcus, calling from London. She'd told him not to come. He'd insisted on flying out tomorrow. She thought about the way he looked at her sometimes, like he was memorizing her features against some future absence. The vitamin bottle felt heavy in her hand.

She stood up, the water dripping from her legs, and tossed the bottle into the pool. It sank slowly, a white plastic tombstone descending into the artificial deep. Then she dove in, holding her breath at the bottom, surrounded by the muffled silence, the way her mother must feel now, in that hospital bed, suspended between worlds.

When she surfaced, gasping, she noticed the hotel pool boy watching from the doorway. He looked maybe twenty, holding a net for leaves. Their eyes met, and he gave her a small, knowing nod. He'd seen people do worse things in the water at 3 AM.

Elena climbed out, dripping and shivering. She'd leave the vitamins there. Let the pool boy fish them out in the morning, or let them dissolve into the chemicals, becoming part of something else, something artificial and blue and permanent. Marcus would arrive tomorrow, and she'd let him hold her. For now, she sat on the edge, watching the water smooth itself over, healing the surface tension she'd broken.