Cat's Cradle

They get the gate code, the garage door opener, the combination to the front door lock, and the number to call or text if they need anything else—anything at all.

“We should be all set,” Travis insists, “this is all great, thanks so much.”

When he finally closes the door behind them, leans back against it with a long, relieved sigh, Pat just shakes his head and laughs.

“Gonna make it, bud?”

“Think maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink,” is all Travis will allow, no matter how high Pat raises that no shit eyebrow of his.

A bell dings through the house, when the main gate out at the road opens and closes.

“That’s it,” Travis grins, peels his shirt off and flings it at Pat as he heads for the back doors. “They’re finally gone.”

His socks and shoes are next to go, kicked off next to the sofa, then his pants and underwear, which get left in a heap on top of them.

“Just you and me now, bud,” he says, backing out onto the patio while Pat leans against the kitchen island, still fully dressed and shaking his head at Travis like he’s crazy.  “Catch you out there—don’t keep me waiting.”

Then he turns around and walks, naked as the day he was born, across the patio and down the gentle incline into the perfectly-warm pool.

“You remember, right,” Pat calls after him, voice amused, “about the external security cameras on the property? They put it in all caps in the info email? And the dude mentioned them on the tour—twice!”

Travis doesn’t pay him any mind, just calls back over his shoulder, “hope they like the view!”

Then he dives under the water and glides there, weightless and breathless, until his lungs burn.

He turns onto his back once he surfaces, floats there in the slanted rays of the late afternoon sun, feeling just a little dizzy, a little spinny, but not in a bad way. He drifts into the shadow of one of the umbrellas at the side of the pool, opens his eyes to stare up clouds drifting slowly across the wide expanse of sun-bleached blue, watches a wide-winged bird dipping and swooping overhead.

He stays there until he hears the slapping of Pat’s slides shuffling along the concrete pool deck, opens his eyes to see Pat standing just above him, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, dark glasses and a cap, and sunscreen in hand.

“If we’re going bare-assed all week, get ready to spend a lot of time helping me with this.” He shakes the bottle of sunscreen at Travis, like that’s some kind of warning.