The Unraveling at the Desert Edge

The pool at the Desert Orchid Resort was shaped like a teardrop, which Marcus found either profoundly pretentious or unintentionally hilarious. He couldn't decide which. The cabana boy had just brought him his third gin and tonic, heavy on the gin, and Marcus pressed the cold glass against his **palm**—his left one, the one without the wedding band that was currently sitting on the nightstand back in room 217.

He was supposed to be at a conference. Instead, he was watching the **cable** repairman work on the telephone pole across the street, the man's orange vest blindingly bright against the washed-out blue of a Palm Springs sky. Marcus had checked his phone seven times in the last hour. Elena wasn't responding.

"You look like someone waiting for bad news," said a woman's voice.

Marcus turned. A woman in her forties, maybe older, sat on the adjacent chaise. She had the kind of face that suggested she'd seen enough disappointment to find it almost boring. Dark hair, expensive sunglasses, a martini she hadn't touched.

"Just waiting for any news," Marcus said.

"Married?"

"You sound like the **palm** reader they've got set up near the lobby."

"I'm better." She slipped off her sunglasses. Her eyes were the color of chlorinated water. "I don't charge." She gestured toward his empty ring finger. "You took it off what, three days ago? Four?"

"Five," Marcus said, surprised by how easily the truth came out. "I came out here for a tech conference. Elena was supposed to join me Friday. She texted Thursday night to say she couldn't make it. Haven't heard from her since."

"And you're sitting by the **pool** at eleven in the morning drinking gin instead of attending sessions about cloud infrastructure."

"You're not at the conference either."

"I'm avoiding my ex-husband," she said. "He's in room 312 with his new fiancée. She's twenty-four. I keep trying to feel something about it—anger, jealousy, relief—but mostly I just feel tired." She took a sip of her martini. "You think Elena's with someone?"

"The cable guy," Marcus said, then immediately regretted it.

The woman laughed, a real laugh that surprised them both. "You're funny. That's something."

Across the street, the cable repairman descended his ladder. Marcus's phone buzzed. Not Elena—a work notification about a server outage. His entire life, reduced to pings and vibrations.

"You know what's funny?" the woman said, setting down her drink. "We think these moments are supposed to feel enormous. The moment everything changes. But they don't, do they? They just feel like sitting by a **pool** in the middle of the day, drinking too much, watching a stranger repair a **cable** you're not even sure connects to anything anymore."

Marcus looked at his **palm**, at the faint tan line where his ring used to sit. He thought about Elena's voice when she'd said she loved him, the way it had started sounding rehearsed about two years ago. He thought about the servers back home that needed his attention, the conference sessions he was missing, the way his own life had become something he maintained rather than lived.

"I'm Sarah," the woman said.

"Marcus."

"Well, Marcus," she said, standing up and smoothing her dress, "I'm going to order another drink. You're welcome to join me, or you can keep waiting for news that isn't coming."

Marcus watched her walk toward the bar. His phone buzzed again—Elena this time. *Can we talk?*

He slipped the phone into his pocket without responding and stood up. The pool reflected the desert sun, blinding and perfect, and for the first time in five days, Marcus didn't feel like crying at all.