The Lightning Summer

The air smelled of chlorine and impending rain. Sarah stood at the edge of the pool, her bare toes curling against the warm concrete, watching Elias where he floated on his back in the center of the water. His hair, once the same rich brown as hers, had gone silver at the temples sometime during the twenty years they'd been married. Had it been gradual? She couldn't remember anymore.

"You're going to get struck by lightning," she said. The sky had turned that bruised purple color that meant a storm was rolling in fast. "Come inside."

Elias laughed, the sound carrying across the water's surface. "There's no lightning yet. Besides, I'm just reliving the glory days. Remember when I played baseball? I was quite the athlete."

"You were a relief pitcher who played three games before you blew out your shoulder," she said, but there was affection in it. At least, she thought there was.

The screen door banged open behind her. Their daughter's cat, a mouser named Shadow who'd adopted them six years ago when Maya moved to New York, trotted out and settled beside Sarah's feet. The animal pressed against her ankle, purring like a small engine.

"Mom called," Sarah said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's selling the house."

Elias stopped floating. He treaded water, facing her now. The pool lights had turned on automatically, casting everything in an artificial blue glow. "The house in Connecticut?"

"Yes. She wants to downsize. She asked if we wanted anything before she puts it on the market."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd ask you. But honestly, Eli, I don't know why we'd need any of it." She paused. "I don't know why we need this house anymore either."

The first crack of lightning split the sky, a jagged line of white that illuminated everything in harsh brightness. Thunder followed, shaking the ground beneath them. Rain began to fall, warm and sudden, flattening Sarah's hair against her forehead.

Elias swam to the edge and pulled himself out of the pool, water streaming from his body. He stood beside her, both of them soaked now, the rain coming down harder. Shadow had already darted back inside.

"Are you asking for a divorce?" he said quietly.

"I think," Sarah said, watching the rain create concentric circles on the pool's surface, "I'm asking if you're happy. Really happy. Not just comfortable. Not just used to this. Happy."

"The baseball metaphor," he said. "That's what this is about. I peaked at twenty-two, and now what?"

"I don't know what I'm asking," she admitted. "I just know I've been standing at the edge of this pool for twenty years, watching you float, and I've never learned to swim myself."

He took her hand then, both of them dripping wet in the downpour. "Teach me how to be happy," he said. "That's what you're really saying, isn't it?"

The second lightning strike was closer, brilliant and terrifying. In that flash of white, Sarah saw him clearly—the lines around his eyes, the silver hair plastered to his skull, the fear he'd never let himself show before.

"Yes," she said. "That's what I'm saying."

They stood in the rain as the storm broke around them, not moving toward the house, not moving away from each other. Just standing together at the edge of everything they'd built, waiting to see if there was anything left worth saving.