The Cat at the End of the Season

The pool was empty at 3 AM, the water still and black as obsidian. Elena sat on the lounge chair, her legs pulled to her chest, watching the way the floodlights made ripples across the surface. Her palm was damp against the vinyl, whether from humidity or the gin she'd been nursing for three hours, she couldn't tell anymore.

She'd found the receipt in his pocket that morning — two tickets to a baseball game, section 114, row 6, seats 15 and 16. Prime seats. Expensive. The date was last Tuesday, when he'd told her he was working late.

The worst part wasn't the lie. It was that he hated baseball. He'd always called it a boring game for boring people, watching grown men stand around in grass waiting for something to happen. So who had he taken? Who was the woman who liked baseball enough to sit through nine innings with a man who found the sport tedious?

A cat jumped onto the adjacent chair — a calico with a torn ear and the weary posture of something that had seen too much. It watched her with yellow eyes, then began to clean its paw with deliberate, unhurried strokes. Elena reached out, her hand hovering. The cat allowed the touch, then butted its head against her palm, a sudden and devastating intimacy.

"You too, huh?" she whispered.

She thought of him running his hands through her hair this morning, the way he'd lingered at her neck, the uncharacteristic tenderness that had seemed romantic at the time but now felt like guilt. The way he'd looked at her, really looked at her, as if trying to memorize something he was about to lose.

The cat settled beside her, its warm weight against her thigh. They sat together as the sky began to lighten, the palm trees around the pool casting long, strange shadows. She wondered if he was asleep right now, if the other woman was running her fingers through his hair, if he was whispering things he didn't mean into someone else's ear.

The cat stood suddenly, stretched, and jumped down, disappearing into the shadows. Elena finished her drink. The ice had melted completely. She stood up, dropped the glass in the recycling bin, and walked back to their room.

He was asleep when she opened the door. His hair was messy against the pillow, his breathing even. She watched him for a long moment, then began to pack her suitcase.