What Swims Beneath

Marcus stood at the edge of the lake where his marriage had ended—not with some cinematic confrontation, but with a quiet conversation that left him hollowed out, like a tree struck by lightning and still standing. That was three months ago. He hadn't been back to the water since.

His dog, Buster, nosed his hand, insistently pressing a wet snout against Marcus's palm. The old golden retriever had belonged to both of them, somehow. In the divorce decree, Sarah had taken the house. Marcus had taken the dog, though Buster seemed to belong more to memory than to either of them now.

"You want to go swimming?" Marcus asked, his voice rough from disuse. Buster's tail thumped against his leg, a metronome marking the rhythm of something Marcus couldn't quite name.

The water was cold enough to make him gasp, sharp and immediate, and for a moment he felt something like clarity. He swam out farther than he should have, the lake bottom dropping away beneath him, until he was suspended in that gray space where you could drown or keep fighting and it would all look the same from shore.

That's when he saw Elena.

She was sitting on the dock, legs dangling over the edge, smoking a cigarette with casual precision. They hadn't spoken since the funeral, since his brother's casket had lowered into the ground and she had whispered, "I'm sorry," and he had nodded, unable to speak.

"You look like shit, Marcus," she called out, not unkindly.

He treaded water, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must seem. "Living the dream."

"Sarah moved out."

He nodded, water slicking his hair back from his face. "I know. I helped her pack."

"Jesus." Elena flicked her cigarette into the water, where it hissed and died. "Why didn't you call?"

"The cable's still in my name," he said, apropos of nothing, and then couldn't explain why he'd said it. The cable connection that ran to the house where Sarah lived now, where he was still paying for channels neither of them watched.

Elena laughed, and it was the first real thing he'd heard in months. "You're still paying for her cable? Marcus, you magnificent idiot."

"It's just automatic. I haven't gotten around to—" He stopped himself. What was he saying? This wasn't the conversation he'd imagined having in the middle of a lake, dog paddling beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Come here," Elena said, and Marcus swam to the dock, pulling himself up beside her, Buster following with clumsy grace. They sat there without speaking, watching the water darken as evening settled in, and somewhere in that silence, Marcus felt something loosen inside him, like a cable that had been pulled too tight for too long had finally snapped.

"I missed you," he said, and it wasn't a confession, exactly, but it wasn't nothing.

Elena's shoulder pressed against his, solid and real. "I know. I missed you too, friend."

Buster shook himself out, spraying them both with lake water, and Marcus laughed, really laughed, and for the first time in three months, he thought maybe he could learn to swim again.