Before Summer Ends

I floated in a hot pink glitter tube while families argued over sunscreen and kids screamed through cannonballs. No one looked twice at the girl drifting lazy circles in the deep end.

That was the point.

I only had one thing left to do before summer ended.

Kill the man in Room 214.

The motel pool smelled the same as it always had. Too much chlorine. So much chlorine I could taste it before I even opened my mouth. It burned my nostrils and coated the back of my tongue until everything tasted sharp and chemical, like someone had tried to scrub the whole place clean and failed.

The walls around the pool were tiled in a dirty linoleum color, pale green and blue like old toothpaste. The grout had gone gray in the corners. A neon sign buzzed above the office window, blinking VACANCY in pink-red bursts even though half the letters stuttered when the wind blew. White plastic lounge chairs lined the concrete, cheap and sticky from heat, sunscreen, spilled soda, and whatever else had been baked into them over twenty years of summers.

August had turned everything soft and rotten.

The air. The towels. The trash in the cans. The motel itself.

Room 214 was on the second floor, above the pool, the third door from the stairs. Beige curtains drawn halfway. Ice bucket on the little metal table outside. One pair of brown leather sandals was placed neatly beside the door.

He had always been neat.

That was one of the things people liked about him.

I watched his door without turning my head.

From where I floated, I could see his reflection in the sliding glass window of the office. He stood near the vending machine with a can of beer in one hand and his phone in the other, smiling at something on the screen. He looked older now, of course. Thinner in the face. Softer around the middle. His hair had gone salt-and-pepper at the temples in a way most women probably found handsome.

His wedding band flashed when he lifted the beer to his mouth.

Gold. Polished. Ordinary.

The same hand had locked the deadbolt.

A little girl screamed as her brother shoved her off the steps into the shallow end. Their mother shouted his name, annoyed but not surprised, and went back to rubbing sunscreen over her shoulders.

The man in Room 214 laughed.

Everyone else smiled.

He was good at that. Making people smile. Holding doors. Calling waitresses sweetheart in a way that somehow didn’t sound ugly until you knew better. Helping strangers carry coolers up the stairs. Tipping the housekeepers. Remembering names.

Every August, he came back to this motel like a man returning to his favorite fishing spot.

The front desk clerk remembered him.

The diner across the road remembered his coffee order.

The owner remembered he liked Room 214 because it was “quiet.”

No one remembered the girls.

Or maybe they did, but remembering was dangerous. Remembering meant saying something. Saying something meant proving it. Proving it meant dragging your shame out into daylight and hoping people didn’t stare at it too long.

Most people would rather look away.

I knew that better than anyone.

I let my fingers trail through the warm pool water. It didn’t even feel refreshing. It felt like bathwater left too long in a tub. My pink glitter float squeaked under my arms as I drifted past the NO DIVING sign painted in chipped blue letters on the concrete.

I had imagined this day so many times I thought I would feel different when it finally came.

Calmer, maybe.

Braver.

Instead, I felt sixteen again.

Sixteen and sunburned. Sixteen and stupid enough to think a nice man with a wedding ring couldn’t be dangerous. Sixteen and embarrassed by my own body, my own wanting to be noticed, my own need to believe that kindness meant safety.

I closed my eyes.

The chlorine burned.

Someone yelled, “Marco!”

A chorus answered, “Polo!”

I opened my eyes again.

He was looking at me.

Not directly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just a slow glance over the rim of his beer can, his eyes moving from my wet hair to my glitter float to the room key tied around my wrist.

He smiled.

My stomach tightened.

There it was.

Not guilt.

Not recognition.

Interest.

Even after all these years, even with the wedding ring, even with gray in his hair and a belly pressing against the waistband of his swim trunks, he was still hungry.

And suddenly I knew.

I wasn’t here too late.

I was right on time.

I didn't have to approach him.

He approached me.

Predators almost always do.

I'd noticed him watching me from the pool for the better part of an hour. Not obvious enough for anyone else to catch it. Just little glances over the rim of his beer can. Eyes lingering a second too long every time I floated past.

The same look.

Sixteen years hadn't changed it.

I climbed out of the pool just as the sun dipped behind the motel roof. Water ran down my legs and collected in my flip-flops with every step. The concrete had cooled enough that it no longer burned my feet.

I wrapped a towel around my shoulders and pretended not to notice him.

"You survive?" he asked.

I looked over.

"What?"

"The water." He nodded toward the pool. "Thought you might turn into a raisin if you stayed in there any longer."

I laughed because that's what people do when strangers make harmless jokes.

"I was thinking the same thing."

He smiled.

"I don't think I've seen anyone float that long."

"I had time to kill."

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He chuckled.

"Vacation?"

I nodded.

"Something like that."

He closed the paperback he'd been pretending to read and rested it on his knee. Up close, he looked exactly like the kind of man my mother would've trusted. Sunspots on his forearms. Reading glasses hanging from the collar of his T-shirt. A gold wedding band dulled from years of wear.

"You here alone?"

There it was.

The question sounded innocent enough that if anyone else had heard it, they wouldn't have thought twice.

"For now."

"My wife's never understood why I come here every August." He shrugged. "Says it's too hot."

He laughed to himself.

"I tell her that's the whole point."

I looked at the ring again.

The same ring.

Or one just like it.

My heart started beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

This was him.

It had always been him.

"You drink wine?" I asked.

He looked surprised.

"Depends who's asking."

"I bought a bottle earlier." I lifted the brown paper bag I'd left beside my chair. "I won't finish it by myself."

For a second, I thought he'd say no.

Instead, he smiled.

"Well... it'd be rude to let good wine go to waste."

He stood, brushing invisible dust from the back of his shorts.

"My room's upstairs."

"So's mine."

We climbed the stairs together.

I hated how normal it felt.

The ice machine hummed at the end of the walkway. Someone's television played through paper-thin walls. A baby cried somewhere near the office before settling down again.

Life kept going.

Just two people walking to a motel room.

I unlocked my door.

My hand was already damp.

He waited politely in the hallway until I stepped inside.

"What kind is it?" he asked.

"The wine?"

"Yeah."

"I honestly don't know."

That part wasn't a lie.

He laughed.

"Guess we'll find out."

He stepped over the threshold.

I closed the door behind him.

My fingers found the deadbolt.

I'd imagined this sound for sixteen years.

Instead of feeling powerful, my hand shook so badly I missed it.

Metal scraped against metal.

I stared at it.

Come on.

Not now.

I tried again.

Click.

Such a small sound.

I always thought it would be louder.

He turned toward me.

"You okay?"

I looked up too quickly.

"Hm?"

"You seem nervous."

"I don't usually invite strange men into my room."

I let out a short laugh.

He smiled.

"That's probably smart."

If only you knew.

He wandered toward the little table by the window while I stood with my back against the door, trying to remember how to breathe.

I'd spent sixteen years imagining what I would say if I ever saw him again.

Now that he was standing six feet away, I couldn't remember a single word.

I set the bottle of wine on the little table between the beds.

Neither of us reached for it.

The air conditioner rattled beneath the window, pushing warm air around the room instead of cool. Somewhere outside, a kid shrieked after jumping into the pool. A moment later, someone yelled, "No running!" followed by laughter.

"I should probably introduce myself," he said.

He smiled when he said it.

The same easy smile.

The kind that told people he was harmless.

I wondered how many women had trusted it.

"You don't have to."

He chuckled.

"No?"

I shook my head.

"I already know your name."

Something flickered across his face.

Gone almost as quickly as it came.

"You from around here?"

"No."

"You seem familiar."

"I doubt that."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

I looked at his left hand.

The wedding band caught the last bit of sunlight coming through the curtains.

"I remember your ring."

His smile stayed where it was but it wasn't as easy now.

"I'm sorry?"

"I remember staring at it."

The room became very still.

He laughed once.

"I think you've got me confused with somebody else."

"No."

"You do."

"I don't."

Silence.

Outside, somebody cannonballed into the pool again.

Water slapped against concrete.

He looked toward the window before looking back at me.

"I think maybe I should—"

"You always ask for Room 214."

He stopped.

"You've been coming here every August for at least sixteen years."

His jaw tightened.

"I don't know what this is."

"I know."

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

I nodded.

"I used to hope I had."

Neither of us spoke.

I reached into my beach bag.

My fingers closed around the cold metal.

For a second...I couldn't move.

This was it.

Sixteen years.

Every therapy appointment.

Every nightmare.

Every August, that made my stomach hurt for reasons I couldn't explain.

Every version of this moment I'd played over in my head.

My hand was shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

He noticed.

"You okay?"

It was such a normal question. So ordinary.

It almost made me laugh.

I pulled the pistol from my bag.

His smile disappeared.

His eyes dropped to the gun.

Then back to me.

Neither of us said anything.

"You..."

His voice caught.

"I think you should put that down."

I wrapped both hands around the grip because one wasn't steady enough.

"I've spent sixteen years wishing for this moment."

His breathing changed.

Not much.

Just enough for me to hear it.

"I don't know who you think I am."

I nodded.

"I know."

"I've never—"

He swallowed.

"I have a wife."

"I know."

"I have daughters."

"I know."

"I didn't—"

For the first time since he'd walked into the room, he looked afraid.

Real fear.

Not embarrassment.

Not confusion.

Fear.

His eyes darted toward the door.

Toward the deadbolt.

Toward the window.

Looking for a way out.

There wasn't one.

I realized then that I'd imagined this all wrong.

I thought seeing him afraid would make me feel bigger.

Stronger.

Instead, it made him look smaller.

Just a man.

An aging man with thinning hair, a wedding band, and shaking hands.

Not the giant who had followed me into every August since I was sixteen.

Just...

A man.

"What do you want?" he whispered.

I looked past him and out the window.

The pool shimmered blue beneath the setting sun.

Kids were still laughing.

Someone had climbed onto my hot pink glitter float.

"I want next summer."

He stared at me.

"I want Room 214 to stay empty."

A tear slid down his cheek.

Whether it came from fear, regret, or the realization that someone finally remembered.

I didn't care.

"If I ever see your truck in this parking lot again..." I said quietly, "...I'll finish what I came here to do."

He believed me.

I could see it.

"Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and pull the trigger," I said, my voice low enough that I almost didn't recognize it.

He didn't move.

"Go."

His eyes stayed fixed on the gun.

For a second, I thought he was going to call my bluff.

Then something shifted behind his eyes.

He believed me.

He nodded once before fumbling for the deadbolt. His fingers shook so badly he missed it the first time.

Good.

Let him know what shaking felt like.

He pulled the door open and stopped in the doorway.

I don't know if he wanted to apologize.

To explain.

To beg.

I never gave him the chance.

"Get the fuck out."

He disappeared down the walkway without looking back.

I waited until I heard his truck start.

Then I waited until I couldn't hear it anymore.

Only then did I lower the gun.

My arms felt like they weighed a hundred pounds.

I slid down the motel door and cried.

Not because I'd let him go.

Because for the first time in sixteen years...I had hope he would never come back.

_______________________________________________________________________

One year later.

The chlorine still burned my nose before I reached the gate.

The neon VACANCY sign still buzzed above the office, blinking every few seconds before catching itself again. The white lounge chairs were still missing slats. Somebody had patched one with duct tape.

Some things never changed.

I slipped into the pool and climbed into the same hot pink glitter float I'd bought seventeen summers ago.

It had faded some.

The glitter wasn't as bright.

Neither was I.

I drifted lazy circles around the deep end.

A little boy jumped from the side of the pool, soaking me.

His mother apologized.

I smiled.

"It's okay."

She smiled back.

I leaned my head against the float and looked toward the second floor.

Room 214.

The curtains were open.

Housekeeping stripped the bed before disappearing inside with fresh sheets tucked beneath one arm.

A family checked in later that afternoon.

A little girl ran to the railing with a stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm, pointing excitedly at the pool below.

Her father carried a cooler.

Her mother fumbled with the room key.

They laughed about something I couldn't hear.

I watched them unpack.

Then I stopped watching.

The sun dipped lower, turning the water the color of melted gold.

I closed my eyes.

Summer would end tomorrow.

There was nothing left for me to do.

I let the water carry me wherever it wanted.