The Weight of Water

Marcus stood at the edge of the infinity pool, the tropical sunset painting the sky in bruising shades of purple and orange. At forty-three, newly divorced and staring down the barrel of what his therapist called 'a period of transition,' he'd done what any rational man with too much alimony and not enough self-awareness would do: booked a solo trip to a couples resort in Costa Rica.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

A small, scruffy dog wandered over from somewhere behind the palm trees that lined the property. It was the kind of mutt that looked like it had survived three lifetimes of street living—patchy fur, one ear that flopped, eyes that had seen too much. Marcus knelt, extending his palm. The dog sniffed it thoroughly, then seemed to decide Marcus was acceptable, leaning into his touch with a gratitude that made something in his chest ache.

"You too, huh?" Marcus whispered.

He'd given up the dog in the divorce. Not his choice—Rachel was allergic, supposedly, though she'd never mentioned it in seven years of marriage. The day he moved out, Buster, their golden retriever, had watched him pack with what Marcus could have sworn was genuine confusion. Two weeks later, Rachel was posting Instagrams of Buster with her new boyfriend. The dog had adapted just fine.

Marcus stripped down to his swimsuit and slid into the pool. The water was that perfect, engineered temperature—cool enough to shock, warm enough to linger. He began swimming laps, back and forth, back and forth, his body remembering a rhythm from high school varsity, before marriages and mortgages and the slow erosion of whatever dreams he'd once had.

Somewhere around lap twenty, he stopped, treading water in the deep end. The dog had settled on the pool deck, watching him with what looked like genuine interest. Marcus floated onto his back, staring up at the first stars appearing in the twilight. The water held him, and for a moment, he didn't have to be the man who'd failed at marriage, or the guy vacationing alone at a resort for honeymooners, or anyone at all.

He was just weightless.

"This is fine," he said aloud to the dog. "I'm swimming. I'm fine."

The dog thumped its tail, once.

Marcus laughed, a short sharp sound that echoed across the empty pool. Maybe tomorrow he'd actually believe it.