The Desert Within

The water in the pool was still—too still. Miriam stood at the edge, her phone face-down on the lounge chair behind her, screen glowing with unanswered texts. Mark was at the bar, talking animatedly to a junior analyst from the Chicago office, his hair catching the desert sun in ways that made him look ten years younger than he was. Ten years younger than the version of Miriam that had survived two rounds of layoffs and a divorce.

"You should come in," a voice said. Miriam turned to find Sarah, the new VP, standing poolside in a designer swimsuit that cost more than Miriam's first car. "Corporate's built a whole pyramid scheme around this retreat. Might as well enjoy the perks."

Miriam laughed, surprising herself. "Is that what they're calling it this quarter?"

Sarah's smile didn't reach her eyes. "We're all climbing something, Miriam. Might as well enjoy the water while you can."

Later, Miriam's iPhone vibrated on the nightstand. A notification from her mother: Your father's doctor called. She watched the screen dim, the weight of it pressing against her chest. Outside, the pyramid-shaped resort rose against the indigo sky, its illuminated windows like cell samples multiplying. She thought about her father, about the way his hair had thinned but his hands remained steady through the chemotherapy. About the way Mark had looked at her across the pool earlier—not with desire, but with something harder, more knowing.

She slipped into the pool alone. The water was shockingly cold, shocking her into clarity. She floated on her back, staring up at the pyramid's silhouette, and for the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was drowning. She was just floating, suspended in the vast dark between what she'd built and what she'd lost, and the strange quiet of being exactly where she was meant to be.

The phone lit again on the nightstand. She let it ring.