The Water Holds Still

The pool at the Motel 6 was still at 2 AM. Elena floated on her back, the chlorine stinging her eyes, thinking about the voicemail she'd listened to six times. Mark's voice saying he'd be late again. Always late.

She'd found the cat hair on his jacket this morning. Long black strands - their cat, Dusty, never went near his closet. And the dog hair on his scarf. Golden retriever fur. They didn't own a dog.

The water buoyed her up. She thought about cable television, how they'd lie in bed watching shows they didn't even like, just to fill the silence. How Mark had stopped touching her somewhere around season three of whatever series they'd been bingeing.

Her hair floated around her like dark seaweed. She was thirty-five now. She'd wanted children by thirty. The pool reflected a sky empty of stars - city lights had washed them out years ago.

She touched the ring on her finger. It felt heavy underwater.

"Check out time's 11," said a voice from the deck.

Elena didn't turn. A man was sitting there, smoking. His dog - a golden retriever - lay beside him.

"Not staying," she said.

"No one ever does."

She swam to the edge and pulled herself up. Water streamed off her. The air was cold.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm deciding," she said.

The dog thumped its tail against the concrete. A good sound. Honest.

Elena stood up. She wrung out her hair. For the first time in years, something in her felt light.

"Deciding what?"

"Whether to go back."

She picked up her towel. Her phone sat on the chair - eight missed calls. She didn't look at them. Instead she watched the pool's surface smooth itself out, erasing the ripples where she'd been.

"There's a cat," she said suddenly. "At home."

The man nodded like this meant something.

"Go get her," he said.

Elena walked to her car. She didn't call Mark back. She drove north instead, watching the sunrise paint the sky in colors she'd forgotten existed.