The Blue Hour

The Desert Inn Motel pool sat empty at 3 AM, its chlorinated water reflecting a sickly moon. Elena sat on the plastic lounge chair, her fourth airline-sized bottle of vodka warm in her hand. The cable tv in her room had been flickering infomercials for two hours before she couldn't stand the artificial light anymore.

She'd flown to Phoenix with nothing but a carry-on and a reservation. No forwarding address. No explanation to Mark, though the bottles in his recycling bin and the lipstick on his collars had been explanation enough.

A black cat jumped onto the adjacent chair, watching her with yellow eyes that seemed unnervingly judgmental. It was probably the motel's stray, well-fed by lonely guests.

"You too, huh?" Elena slurred.

The cat's tail switched. It had that look—seen it all before, sweetheart.

She'd wanted the dramatic exit. Instead, she'd gotten a room that smelled of artificial cherry and late-night regret, a pool that closed at dusk, and the realization that at forty-two, she'd become the kind of woman who left her husband two weeks before their twentieth anniversary because he'd fallen in love with a twenty-four-year-old named Kelsey who probably didn't know what an IRA was.

The cat stood, stretched, and walked to the pool's edge. It dipped one paw in, then another, staring at its reflection.

"Don't," Elena said.

The cat looked back at her, then turned and walked away without a sound, disappearing into the darkness between buildings.

Elena stood up. The world tilted dangerously. She considered it—just slipping into that blue water, letting it take the weight off for a while. But she'd spent twenty years taking care of everyone else, cleaning up messes that weren't hers.

She went back to her room instead, turned off the cable, and lay on top of the stiff sheets. Tomorrow she would call a lawyer. Tomorrow she would figure out where she'd live. Tonight, she just needed to sleep.

Through the thin walls, she heard muffled crying from room 104. Elena closed her eyes and thought about the cat, cool and indifferent and alone, and somehow that made it easier to finally drift off.