For the first time in weeks, there were no wrappers, no bottles, no footprints. Only the pool, quiet and obedient, waiting for his care. He set the chemical kit aside and sat down in the chair his wife used to claim after her swims.
The setting sun caught the water, gilding its surface with fire, and for a moment it almost looked like it had when she was here. Arthur leaned back, closing his eyes. “It’s clean again,” he whispered, as though she might still be listening.