The Last Vitamin of Summer

Marcus stood at the edge of the apartment complex's pool, clutching a grocery bag like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth. He felt like a zombie these days—sleepwalking through his marketing job, his marriage, his own life. The calcium channel blockers sat in his pocket next to a single orange he'd forgotten to eat.

She appeared at the other end of the pool—Claire, his neighbor three doors down, the one who smiled like she knew something he didn't. She was doing laps, her movements cutting through the water with purposeful grace.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, pulling herself up on the deck. Water slicked her hair back, revealing a face that laughed at the corners even when serious.

"Worse," Marcus said, surprising himself. "I think I've become one."

Claire studied him. "What's your poison?"

He laughed, bitter and short. "Vitamin D deficiency, they said. Take these supplements. Get some sun. But I think it's something that can't be fixed with pills."

"Funny," she said, "I was just about to make dinner. Spinach salad with warm orange vinaigrette. My grandmother swore it cured everything from broken hearts to dead marriages."

Marcus should have said no. He should have gone back to his apartment, back to his wife who'd stopped asking how his day was three years ago. But instead he followed Claire up the stairs, watched the water bead on her skin, thought maybe vitamins came in forms doctors didn't prescribe.

That night, while his wife slept with her back to him, Marcus lay awake imagining he could taste the orange on Claire's fingers, could feel the chlorinated water from her skin against his. He took his calcium pills dry, swallowing them with the knowledge that some deficiencies never truly heal—some hungers just learned to live beneath the skin, waiting for the next poolside encounter, the next shared meal, the next almost-thing that made being a zombie almost bearable.