The Hat at the Pool's Edge

Marcus stood at the edge of the hotel pool, his fedora pulled low against the California sun. Below him, his colleagues splashed and laughed, their swimming trunks bright flashes of color against the turquoise water. He'd been running from this moment for three months—this company retreat, this forced camaraderie, this reminder that he was the only one who hadn't moved on.

The hat had been Elena's. She'd bought it for him in Rome, two months before the accident. "You look like a film noir detective," she'd said, smoothing the brim. Now it was all he had left of her voice, preserved in the curve of felt and the faint scent of her perfume that lingered in the band.

"Marcus!" Sarah called from the water. She was the new VP, thirty-two and relentlessly optimistic. "The water's perfect. You've been standing there all day."

He adjusted the hat, shielding his eyes. "Not much of a swimmer these days."

"Come on. Just dip your feet in."

He thought about the last time he'd seen water that shade of blue. It had been Elena's eyes, clouded over in the hospital bed. He'd been running then, too—running from memories, running from their apartment, running toward anything that could numb the hollow space in his chest.

Sarah climbed out of the pool, water streaming from her skin. She stopped beside him, dripping onto the concrete. "You know, my dad wore a hat like that after my mom died. He said it made him feel like he was still married, like she could still see him."

Marcus's throat tightened. "Your father—"

"He's remarried now. But he kept the hat in his closet for years." She touched his arm, her fingers cool and damp. "Marcus, she can see you whether you're wearing it or not."

He looked at the pool again. At the people swimming through the water, their bodies cutting through the surface, emerging and submerging. Always moving forward.

His hands trembled as he reached up and removed the hat. His hair, grown longer than he'd ever worn it, caught the light. He set the fedora on a nearby chair, feeling exposed and light.

"Teach me," he said. "How to not drown in the shallow end."