Riptides

Brad Foster, 2017 ©

Through the oval window, George stares out at the vast sparkling ocean that stretches to eternity. Next to him, Amy sleeps in the half-reclined seat. He gazes upon her, as he ponders what his friend Howard had told him a day before their vacation: She spent a lot of time with Roger during your business trip.

George clutches her hand, though she remains oblivious to his affection. When the plane banks towards their destination, he turns his attention back to the ocean. Its depths remain full of possibilities.

Amy watches him as he checked into their resort. George tries to hide it, but he’s been tense since they landed. Later that night, she asks him what’s wrong, but he offers her no answers. Instead, he says he’s tired from the long day. She knows that’s not what is on his mind. They spend the rest of their dinner mired in superficial dialogue.

How can I ask her?

As if reading George’s mind, Amy asks what is bothering him. It used to be so much easier to tell.

Inside, George panics: Not here, what if there’s a scene? Now is not the time.

He reassures her that he’s just tired from the long trip. After all, they had to get up at an ungodly hour to catch their plane. Amy nods and they end the evening, speaking of things that do not matter.

***

Amy wakes early in the morning. She looks over at George — his sleeping form is a gulf away on the room’s king-sized bed. Not so long…