What the Sphinx Knows

The sphinx had been watching them for six years — a porcelain statue on the fireplace mantle, its chipped wing catching the last orange light of sunset. Elena ran her finger along the crack in the ceramic, thinking how Marcus had brought it home from that estate sale, drunk on cheap wine and the thrill of their newlywed ambition.

"You're like a riddle I can't solve," he'd whispered that night, pressing his lips to her shoulder. Now she wondered if some riddles weren't meant to be answered.

Their dog, Buster, a bewildered golden retriever with arthritis in both hips, nosed at her hand. His brown eyes held that accusation dogs give when routines fracture. He'd been sleeping in Marcus's office since the argument.

The bear tattoo on Marcus's forearm — a childish thing he'd gotten at eighteen, its ursine grin forever frozen in ink — had seemed charming once. Now it felt like a warning she'd ignored.

He was staying at his sister's. Two weeks of silence, except for texts about the mail, the bills, whether she'd fed the dog. As if Buster might starve in the span of eight hours.

The sphinx's painted eyes seemed to mock her. Ancient thing, keeper of secrets and impossible questions. What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon?

She thought about how they'd been — four legs when they stumbled home from parties, laughing into each other's mouths. Two legs when they built this life, this house with its ceramic guardian. Now?

Now she understood the third part of the riddle. The cane. The trembling hands.

Buster whined, and the front door opened. Marcus stood there with cardboard boxes and an orange that looked impossibly bright against the gray afternoon. He held it out like peace offering, like apology, like beginning.

"I," he started, then stopped. The sphinx waited. Buster's tail thumped against the floorboards.

"I don't want to solve it," Elena said. "I just want to live it."

Marcus set down the orange. His bear-tattooed arm reached toward hers across the distance of two weeks, three years of quiet erosion, and the sphinx's enigmatic smile as the light finally faded.