The Weight of Empty Water

Margot stood at the edge of the lake at midnight, the water black as spilled ink. Three months after David's funeral, she'd finally come back to the cabin—a place that now felt like a museum of someone else's life.

She stripped down to her skin and stepped in, the cold shocking her lungs. She'd been a competitive swimmer in college, had met David at a meet where he'd timed her heats. Now she struck out toward the center of the lake, each stroke a rebellion against the silence that had swallowed her life. Swimming had always been her meditation, but tonight it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

A crack of lightning split the sky, illuminating the shoreline where Buster, David's golden retriever, sat watching. The poor dog had stopped eating after the accident, had taken to sleeping on David's side of the bed. Margot had considered putting him down—God, she'd considered a lot of things in the dark hours.

Thunder rolled across the water like the earth clearing its throat. Then she saw it: a massive shape at the tree line, standing on its hind legs. A bear, drawn by the smell of the garbage she'd forgotten to secure. It dropped to all fours and ambled toward the cabin, toward Buster.

Margot's body reacted before her mind caught up. She turned back toward shore, swimming harder than she had in decades. The cold was nothing now. The bear was twenty feet from the porch when she hauled herself from the water, naked and shivering, grabbing the flashlight from the dock and screaming—an ugly, primal sound that tore from her throat like something foreign.

The bear froze, then retreated into the darkness. Buster was at her side instantly, pressing his warm weight against her leg. Margot collapsed onto the wooden planks, her chest heaving, and began to laugh. It started as a chuckle and built until she was gasping, tears streaming down her face, the dog licking salt from her cheeks.

The lightning flashed again, and in that brief illumination she understood: grief wouldn't kill her, but it might make her wish it would. Yet here she was—alive, breathless, ridiculous. She stood, her body trembling with cold and something like hope, and led the dog inside. Some ghosts you walked away from. Others, you learned to live beside.