The Shallow End

The office pool was three hundred dollars and growing. Everyone had put money on who would be next in the layoffs, each name written on a slip of paper and dropped into the glass bowl on the receptionist's desk. Marcus had surreptitiously checked yesterday—his own name was there, twice.

He sat in his cubicle, watching Jennifer from accounting walk past like a frightened cat, darting glances over her shoulder. Meanwhile, Greg from sales was practically drooling over the new regional director, tail-wagging enthusiasm so transparent it made Marcus's teeth hurt. The corporate ecosystem had reduced itself to primal instincts: some would fight, some would flee, and some would curl into balls hoping not to be noticed.

Marcus stared at his computer screen. The spreadsheet blurred before his eyes. His division's numbers were good—better than good. But good numbers hadn't saved Sarah from HR yesterday morning. She'd left carrying a potted plant and a box of family photographs, while everyone pretended to make phone calls.

The organizational chart appeared on his monitor, a complex hierarchy of names and titles connected by thin black lines. It looked like a diagram of a bomb, and someone was holding the detonator.

"Marcus?" The voice belonged to Ellen, his supervisor. He turned to find her standing in his doorway, her expression unreadable. "Can you come to the conference room?"

His heart hammered. He followed her down the hall, past cubicles where coworkers avoided eye contact, past the reception desk where the glass bowl waited with its tally of futures. The conference room's blinds were drawn. Inside sat the regional director and someone Marcus didn't recognize—HR, presumably.

"Please, sit," the director said. Marcus sat, his palms damp against his thighs. The fluorescent light hummed overhead. This was it, he thought. This was how it ended: not with a bang but with a severance package.

"We've been reviewing the division's performance," the director began, and Marcus stopped listening. He was already gone, already home, already walking his golden retriever along the quiet streets of his neighborhood. He could almost feel the leash in his hand, the evening air, the first stars appearing above the rooftops.

"...and we'd like you to take over as division lead," the director finished.

Marcus blinked. The room came back into focus. Three faces watched him expectantly.

"What?" he said.

"Your predecessor has been reassigned," the director said. "We need someone who understands the business. Someone steady."

Steady. Marcus thought about the spreadsheet he'd memorized, the client relationships he'd cultivated, the long nights he'd spent preparing for moments exactly like this. He'd played the game perfectly.

"I'd be honored," he heard himself say.

Handshakes were exchanged. Dates were set. Congratulations were offered. Marcus walked back to his cubicle in a daze. On his desk, his phone lit up with a message from his ex-wife: *Need you to take the kids this weekend.*

He typed a response: *Of course.*

Later that evening, after the celebratory drinks with colleagues who now regarded him differently, he let himself into his quiet house. His dog greeted him with desperate enthusiasm, the way only a creature who loved unconditionally could. Outside the window, a stray cat picked its way across the neighbor's fence.

The pool in the backyard was still empty—winter's gift to the water bill. Marcus stood on the deck staring at it, the blue concrete basin waiting to be filled. He'd won. He'd survived. He'd been given the promotion everyone else had secretly wanted.

So why did he feel like he was drowning?

He sat on the deck's edge, his hand resting on his dog's warm flank. Above, the palm fronds whispered in the evening breeze. Tomorrow he would be division lead. Tomorrow he would make the hard choices. Tomorrow he would be the one determining whose futures ended in that glass bowl by the reception desk.

"It's just business," he said aloud, testing the words. They sounded hollow, like something spoken into an empty pool.

The dog whined softly, pressing closer. Marcus closed his eyes and breathed. In the darkness, everything was simpler. No spreadsheets. No promotions. No calculations. Just the warmth of a living thing beside him, the scent of night-blooming jasmine, and the distant sound of a television from three houses away.

He stood up and went inside, leaving the empty pool to the stars.