The water was the same.
That should not have surprised me.
The coral had not changed because Annie left.
The fish had not reorganized themselves around my emotional life.
Near the end of the dive, a green turtle moved below us.
I almost laughed into my regulator.
Annie would have pointed at it with both hands, as if the rest of us might fail to notice an animal the size of a dining table.
The memory came easily.
It did not knock me over.
It moved beside me for a while.
Then the turtle disappeared into deeper water, and I guided the group toward the mooring line.
Back at the shop, the husband helped unload the equipment.
“That was exactly what I needed,” he said.
“What part?”
“Not thinking about anything except breathing.”
“That is most of scuba.”
His wife squeezed his arm.
“He’ll reorganize the gear bag tonight.”
“It may require further work,” he said.
After they left, Hank handed me my phone.
“Buzzed twice.”
“Did you read it?”
“I have ethics.”
“You opened my mail last year.”
“It looked like a bill.”
“It said personal.”
“Bills are personal.”
The first message was from Mom.
Did you unpack?
I typed:
