The Last Call from Paradise

The palm fronds scratched against the balcony door like nervous fingers. Elena sat on the hotel room floor, back pressed against the cool glass, her iPhone glowing in the darkness. Three missed calls from Sarah. Two texts from Mark. One voicemail she'd been avoiding for three days.

She'd come to Costa Rica alone—or so she'd told everyone. The truth was messier. The truth involved Sarah's husband, a drunken night at the holiday party, and the way Mark had looked at her like he was drowning and she was oxygen. Now Sarah wanted to talk. Now Sarah was calling.

Elena's thumb hovered over the screen.

A dog barked somewhere below—a stray that had been following her since she'd arrived on the beach yesterday. It had mangy fur and one ear that stood at attention while the other flopped lazily. She'd given it her leftover casado at dinner. It had looked at her with eyes that seemed to understand everything.

"Friend," she whispered, not sure if she meant the dog or Sarah or Mark or herself. The word felt hollow. She'd spent fifteen years collecting friends like accessories—people who fit different compartments of her life. Work friends. Gym friends. Wine friends. Sarah had been supposed to be everything friend. The maid of honor at her wedding. The godmother to her children. The person who held her hair back when she drank too much and told her the truth even when it hurt.

Now the truth was hurting.

The phone buzzed again. Sarah's name flashed across the screen. Elena closed her eyes and let it ring. When it stopped, she listened to the silence. Below, the dog barked once, then quieted.

She knew what she had to do. She knew what she should have done the morning after the party. But cowardice had a way of feeling like self-preservation, and now here she was, hiding in a paradise she couldn't enjoy while her best friend's marriage fell apart and her own life waited to be dismantled.

The dog barked again, closer this time. Elena opened her eyes. Through the glass, she could see it standing on the sand, looking up at her balcony. It wasn't really her dog. She wasn't really alone. And maybe that was the problem—she was never really anything with anyone.

She picked up the iPhone. Her hand didn't shake. The palms outside swayed in the breeze, indifferent to human betrayal. Below, the dog sat down, waiting. Some creatures, Elena thought, knew how to stay. She pressed Sarah's name and let it ring.