The Dog Under the Palm

The **cable** guy was an hour late, and Elena was already three glasses deep into wine she'd promised herself she wouldn't drink until sunset. She stood on her balcony, staring at the **pool** below—its blue surface perfectly still, like water in a dream. The new neighbor's **dog** barked incessantly, some small anxious thing that clearly hated being left alone. Elena knew the feeling.

She was forty-seven, divorced, and inexplicably crying over a man she'd met three times at industry conferences. David was married. Of course he was married. They always were.

"Ma'am?" The cable guy's voice startled her. He was younger than she'd expected—twenty-five, maybe, with gentle hands and eyes that didn't quite meet hers. "Your signal's been restored. Just needed to replace the line from the pole."

"Thank you." She wiped her cheeks. "How much do I owe you?"

"Company covers it." He hesitated. "My dad died last month."

Elena blinked. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"He was a drinker too." His tone wasn't judgmental, just quiet. "Used to sit by his pool every evening, wine glass in hand, talking about the woman he should've married instead of my mom." He paused. "He died alone."

The **palm** tree rustled behind them, its fronds catching the last light. Somewhere below, the dog finally stopped barking.

"What's your name?" Elena asked.

"Marcus."

"Marcus, would you like to sit for a moment? I have more wine."

He smiled, almost sad. "I'm on duty, ma'am. But thanks." He tapped his toolbox. "My dad always said the trick is figuring out which cables are worth keeping connected, and which ones need cutting."

As he walked away, Elena poured the rest of her bottle into the pool. The water rippled, distorting the reflection of a woman she was finally ready to leave behind.