The Weight of Wet Hats

Marcus stood at the edge of the pool, cable coiled around his forearm like a sleeping snake. He'd come to fix the underwater lighting system—a job that paid better than it should, given how rarely anyone actually swam here. The community pool was always empty, a vast expanse of chlorinated blue reflecting the indifferent sky above.

He'd forgotten his hat again. His mother's old fisherman's cap, the one she'd worn through chemotherapy, sat on his dashboard back at the shop. Without it, he felt exposed, scalp burning even through the overcast.

"You're going in like that?"

Marcus turned. A woman in the Jacuzzi—maybe forty, maybe fifty, it was hard to tell with the way steam curled around her face. She held up a yellow bottle. Vitamin D. The good stuff, prescription strength.

"My doctor says I'm deficient," she said, gesturing to the pills. "But I think some of us are just built for darkness."

Something tightened in Marcus's chest. He'd been taking vitamin supplements since his mother died—D, B-complex, iron. A pharmaceutical attempt to metabolize grief.

"The lights," he said, then regretted how abrupt it sounded. "I'm here to fix the pool lights."

"They haven't worked in three years," she said. "Nobody's complained."

"The board voted on it last month. Said it affects property values."

She laughed, but it wasn't unkind. "Everything affects property values. My ex-husband said my depression affected the property values. That was during the mediation, when they were dividing the assets."

Marcus hesitated, then sank onto the pool edge. The cable dragged behind him. "My mother died two years ago. I still call her phone sometimes just to hear her voicemail."

"What does it say?"

"'Hi, this is Eleanor. I'm probably swimming.' She loved swimming. Even when she was sick, she'd come to places like this. Just sit on the edge and dip her feet in."

The woman slid deeper into the water. "My mother died ten years ago. I still dream I'm swimming toward her, but the pool keeps getting longer."

They sat in silence. Water lapped against the tiles.

"I don't think I'll fix the lights," Marcus said finally. "Some things should stay dark."

She held up the vitamin bottle. "Want one? I have plenty."

"No," said Marcus. "I think I'm done trying to supplement this."

He gathered his cable and stood. Without his hat, the wind hit his head, cold and honest.

"Come back tomorrow," she called out. "If you want. I'm usually here around noon."

Marcus nodded, already turning toward his truck. Behind him, the pool reflected nothing at all—just sky, water, and the long distance between things.