What the Pool Knows

The pool water tasted of chlorine and unresolved arguments. Maya surfaced first, slicking her wet hair back, while Tomas treaded water behind her like a guilty ghost.

"You had spinach in your teeth during the presentation," she said, not looking at him. "During the part about the Egyptian exhibit."

He groaned, floating onto his back. "And nobody told me. Wonderful."

"That's the point, Tomas. We're supposed to be a team."

The sphinx statue at the pool's edge watched them with its stone riddle-face, wings half-spread as if preparing to take flight from their marriage. Above them, the Cairo hotel's glass roof filtered desert sunlight into something softer, kinder.

Maya began swimming laps with aggressive precision. Stroke, breathe, stroke. She'd lost the baby three months ago. They'd stopped speaking about it two months ago. Now they swam.

"The curator asked if we were okay," Tomas called out. "During the reception."

Maya didn't stop swimming. "What did you say?"

"I said we were swimming in it."

She stopped at the pool's edge, gripping the rough tiles. Her arms trembled from exertion or emotion—she couldn't tell anymore. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and opaque. Then Tomas swam to her, his fingers finding her ankle beneath the water. "The sphinx's riddle wasn't about walking on four legs then two then three. It was about how you stop being something you were supposed to become."

Maya looked at him really looked at him. His wet lashes clumped together. He'd been crying in the pool, where tears were invisible.

"We had spinach salads at dinner last night," she said softly. "Because the doctor said—"

"I know. Folate. Iron. All the things."

He pulled her down into the water with him, and they floated together in the chlorine-scented quiet, two mammals suspended in artificial blue, while the stone sphinx kept its ancient counsel above them.

"We're still swimming," Maya whispered against his wet shoulder. "We're still swimming."

Behind them, room service arrived: two spinach salads, uneaten.