Poolside

The afternoon heat pressed down soft and sultry over the resort’s sun deck, glinting off the shimmering turquoise of the pool, where kids shrieked and laughed between bellyflops and splash fights. Over by the edge of the accessible lounging area, Margot had staked out a prime spot. A wide reclining lounger set just perfect angle to let her soak up all the sun.

Her dark blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, some strands curling around her cheeks in lazy rebellion from humidity and salt air. Her dark brown eyes flicked lazily over the glossy pages of a fashion magazine, the kind thick with perfume inserts and glossy excess, held open across her stomach. She turned the page with a slow rustle, one hand still glistening faintly with sun tanning oil. Her other arm lay sprawled across her toned stomach, fingers resting just above her teal bikini bottoms.

The suit hugged her snugly, white horizontal stripes clean against sun warmed skin. One leg stretched out straight along the lounger, her toes lazily flexing. The other side, where her left leg would have been, the rounded form of her hip shifted, the fabric of the bikini curved neatly above the absence. There was no awkwardness in how she lay, no self conscious twist to hide what wasn’t there. Just a woman enjoying the sun, tanned and smooth, in control of her comfort and her body.

Her crutches, aluminum gleaming in the light, had been stashed beneath her chair, set at a careful angle so nobody would trip, the rubber tips barely peeking out from under the lounger. She hadn’t needed them since she’d lowered herself into the chair earlier with practiced ease, Jamie keeping an idle hand on the frame just in case. Claire had whistled when Margot settled back, drink already in hand.

Speaking of, Margot reached for the glass now, the movement slow and precise. The frozen cocktail sat on a small table beside her lounger, frosted over, layers of colorful slushy alcohol dressed with a slice of orange. She took a sip, the cold hitting the roof of her mouth before the sweet liquor settled warmly in her chest. “Mmh,” she muttered to herself, voice content and sleepy. “Dangerously good.”

She reclined again, the lounger creaking faintly beneath her as she stretched her good leg, letting the sun trace its golden fingers along her thigh, over her ribs, over the slight rise and fall of her chest. Somewhere, Jamie’s laughter rang out, probably still flirting with the pool staff and Claire had gone off in search of cold towels, but Margot wasn’t in any hurry to move. The breeze was just enough to keep her skin from overheating, and the magazine was trashy in the perfect way, models draped in absurd layers of couture, expressions frozen in impossible aloofness.

A cluster of younger guests passed by, their eyes flicking briefly to Margot, maybe at the crutches, maybe the gleam of her missing leg where it met bikini and skin, but she didn’t bother acknowledging it. She didn’t need to. She knew she looked good. Her body strong and lean, skin tanned smooth from the trip. She exhaled slowly, letting her head tilt back, letting the sun work its magic.

Letting herself just exist. Here, like this. Complete.