The Riddle's Answer

Elena stood before the glass case, the ancient Egyptian sphinx staring back with limestone eyes. She'd been running from this moment for three months—ever since Marcus died.

"You're wearing his hat again," Sarah said, appearing beside her. Elena touched the brim instinctively. It was a weathered fedora, smelling of pipe tobacco and the cologne Marcus always wore.

"It helps me think," Elena replied.

"The board meets tomorrow, El. They want your decision about the restoration project."

The sphinx exhibit—the museum's crown jewel—needed restoration. Marcus had been leading it when the heart attack took him. Three months of running water in the shower couldn't wash away the guilt of not being there. Not being the one to find him.

They'd had dinner plans that night. She'd made his favorite—creamed spinach with garlic. It sat in the refrigerator for a week before she could bear to throw it out.

"The sphinx asked riddles, you know," Elena said. "'What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?'"

"Man," Sarah said. "Child, adult, elderly."

"Some interpretations say it's about vulnerability. How we start dependent, grow strong, then return to needing others. Marcus never wanted to need anyone."

Sarah's hand found her shoulder. "You're running out of time, Elena—not on the decision. On the grief."

Elena watched water ripple in the fountain beyond the exhibit. Running, always running. From the grief, from the empty apartment, from the spinach dish she'd never make again without crying.

"I'll take the project," she said. "Marcus would have wanted me to finish it."

"And the hat?"

Elena touched the brim again, then removed it carefully. She set it on the display case beside the sphinx.

"He's not here anymore. I am."

The sphinx seemed to smile as Elena walked away, no longer running from anything at all.