For two months.
Then the resort was sold to a development group from Miami, and half the staff were dismissed during a meeting where the new owner used the phrasestrategic realignmentnine times.
I walked out carrying a cardboard box, a desk plant named Gloria that had belonged to Molly, and a severance check that would cover approximately six weeks of rent if I stopped eating.
My car made the clicking sound all the way back to the apartment.
I parked near the marina because I did not feel ready to go home and look at South America growing on the bathroom ceiling.
That was how I found Reef Rascal.
The sign was faded.
The front door stuck halfway open.
A golden retriever slept across the entrance with his head resting on a coil of rope.
I stepped over him.
He opened one eye.
“Sorry.”
He went back to sleep.
Inside, an older man stood behind the counter arguing with a printer.
The printer made a grinding sound.
The man unplugged it.
“Problem solved,” he said.
I looked around.
Fins.
Masks.
Photographs of coral reefs.
A chalkboard advertising beginner lessons.
The man noticed the box in my arms.
“You selling plants?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He pointed at Gloria.
“Dog eats dirt.”
The dog sighed from the doorway.
“I just lost my job,” I said.
