The Betting Pool

Margaret stood by the hotel pool, the water reflecting the sickly orange of the sunset, nursing her third gin and tonic. The corporate retreat was in full swing behind her — laughter, networking, the hollow bonhomie of people who'd rather be anywhere else.

She spotted David across the water. He was leaning in too close to Karen from Accounting, his hand resting familiarly on her arm. Margaret felt the familiar tightening in her chest, the same sensation she'd had when she found the hidden credit card statements three months ago.

The office betting pool had started as a joke — five bucks on when they'd finally call it quits. Margaret had put money on never, mostly out of spite. Now she watched David laugh at something Karen said, his head thrown back, exposing that vulnerable stretch of neck she used to kiss in their kitchen on Sunday mornings.

She remembered the spinach stuck in his teeth on their first date, how she'd debated telling him, eventually reaching across the restaurant table with a napkin. That small intimacy had felt like a secret language between them. Now she didn't even know what language they spoke.

Her brother had been a actual spy for the government before the accident. He'd told her once that the hardest part wasn't the lies — it was remembering which version of the truth belonged to which cover story. Marriage, she was beginning to understand, was its own kind of espionage. You gathered intelligence, you compromised, you told yourself the casualties were acceptable.

David's grandfather had played professional baseball. David kept his old glove on the shelf in their home office, weathered leather that still smelled like cedar and sweat. Some nights, drunk and lonely, Margaret would put it on and pretend she was catching something — anything — that wasn't slipping through her fingers.

She set down her drink and walked toward them, the concrete burning her bare feet. Sometimes you had to be the one to call the game. Sometimes you had to walk away while there was still something left to save.