Mirror Image

I know LW stories are supposed to dive down into the gory details of marital crime and punishment. But I've got the attention span of a golden retriever, and adultery is so emotionally polarizing that I tend to veer off into aliens, time travel and Greek gods rather than rehash a boring litany of hackneyed grievances.

Lately though, I've been fresh out of new ideas. So, I thought I would pick through the nuances of infidelity, for a particular case. This is the "twins" warhorse, which has been ridden so many times that the poor thing is bowlegged. I tried to keep the interactions real, avoid the biggest cliches and ensure that the responses and behavior were logically consistent with the characters -- please enjoy - DT.

MIRROR IMAGE

The moans were getting louder as I rushed down the companionway. The door was closed. But I was in no mood. So, I barged in. She had been riding him. Now she was in the process of scrambling off and ducking under the covers. I looked at that perfect little body with its tear drop tits, tiny waist, and round muscular ass. It was the same one I'd loved for so long and it gave me a pang.

Her gorgeous face registered embarrassment and something else as she said, cooley, "What the fuck Erik!??" My buddy Steve, chimed in, "Yeah? What the fuck!!? I just plowed ahead, "Jenny's been killed!" They both stared at me incredulously.

I was barely holding it together as I added, "The Italian Police contacted me as soon as I arrived back in Naples. She was out working the dive site, and some incredible motherfucker ran her over with a jet ski."

Jane gasped. Steve just looked at me goggle-eyed. I added, sorrow laden, "It messed up her head so badly that they had to identify her by the boat ID and contact information on the diving gear." They continued to look at me like a pair of sheep.

I had been in Rome all day discussing that very matter with the Praetor. The idiots in the Bay of Naples had been getting increasingly out of control as the summer progressed, which had hampered our work on the sunken city of Baiae.

Baiae was a rocking place in Roman times. It was where the uber-wealthy kept their summer homes... the Roman equivalent of Palm Springs or Vegas. Nero and Tiberius had villas there as did Hadrian. Hadrian even died in his. It was also the place where the Romans perfected the orgy. Or, as some Roman wag put it, "Baiae was where girls went to play at being girls, old women as girls and some men as girls."

Unfortunately, though, Baiae was located in a geologically unstable area called the Phlegraean Fields and bradyseism over the centuries sank it under the Bay of Naples. Now, most of that fabulous city lies ten to thirty feet underwater.

Jenny and I had been doing EU-funded research of the underwater part of the old city through an ANA partnership at the Parco Sommerso di Baia. Since Jenny never went anywhere without her sister, we lived with Jane and her husband Steve on Lagoon 42.

The Lagoon is a lovely fractional-rigged sloop catamaran, configured with separate sleeping cabins in each of the hulls and luxurious common living quarters in between. Weather permitting, we would normally anchor above the ancient city. But the Tramontane winds had been blowing for the past week, so we were tied up at the marina, a quarter mile away.

Anchoring at the dive site was preferable because we didn't have to use a RIB. We would simply surface and dump our gear onto the landing step of the catamaran. The cat also kept the insufferable idiots and their jet skis away from where we were working. Those assholes had gotten so out of control that I had made the hour-long trip up to Rome to talk about it. Meanwhile, we were docked at the Ormeggio Day Dream Mare marina.

Jenny and I were the licensed archaeologists. Jane and Steve were both cinematographers. Their role was to document our conservation work for the Italian government and then turn it into content for our internet channel. The four of us were partners and we made big money off the history nuts who couldn't get enough of famous underwater sites... like Thonis-Heraklion and Cleopatra's tomb in Egypt, or the Antikythera shipwreck, and of course Baiae.

Jenny and I were the stars of the underwater show. We would fin our way over the abandoned streets and tumbled down villas of ancient Baiae, with its intricate statuary and frescos, and Jane and Steve would film it.

Naturally, any small thing we removed from the site had to be GPS-located, photographed, and tagged for the ANA. The Italians are downright medieval about souvenir gathering, so we meticulously logged anything we brought up.

Jenny must have been working on the coordinates of the next part of the project, which was the exploration of the remains of Caligula's famous bridge from Baiae to Puteoli. We were going to start work there tomorrow.

My wife had surfaced next to the dive flag... which was good diver safety protocol. The flag warned people that there were divers in the area. But some drunken fool decided to use it to slalom his jet ski around and Jenny's appearance on the surface coincided with the cocksucker's arrival on a Seadoo.

Shit happens. There's no rhyme or reason for it. A loved one gets hit by a car, or they have a heart attack, or they slip and fall down icy steps and, in an instant, a vital human life just evaporates. In Jenny's case, it was a matter of horrible timing. Five seconds earlier and the idiot would have passed harmlessly over her, five seconds later and Jenny would have been able to dive back down under him.

The utter inanity of the thing was impossible to comprehend. But trust me... it's better to be the victim than the survivor. I know... because that was me. Jenny was at peace at age twenty-nine. While I had a lifetime to suffer and grieve. It was a chilling prospect.

The shock numbs you... at first. Then you get pissed at whatever fucked up deity would allow something like that to happen. I mean, seriously! I was finished! - done! - with the platitudes that organized religion uses to put lipstick on that butt-ugly pig. Now, I was barricaded behind the adamantine walls of my island fortress. While rage at the cosmic injustice burned inside me with the white heat of a thousand suns.

The Italian police told me that - for the sake of honoring my recollection of my wife - I didn't want to see the body. But they still needed a DNA sample from Jane, just to confirm that it was indeed Jenny. They had the offender in custody, but he claimed it was an accident. So, the worst they could charge him with was involuntary manslaughter. The police encouraged me to go after the guy civilly. But I wanted to see the cockroach burn in hell, not sue him.

I was utterly dead in the water, now... lost at sea, adrift... you know... all those trite phrases that lazy writers use to convey utter misery. I knew that there was no coming back from Jenny's death, and I was unredeemable.

*****

I met Jenny at Stanford. She was a captain and long stick defender on the women's championship lacrosse team. I played the same role for the men. So, the Athletic Department's PR people did an article about us.

I had watched Jenny play, and I knew she took no prisoners, especially close to the goalie arc. But it was hard to judge how incredibly beautiful the woman was while she enthusiastically disemboweled unwary middies with her four-foot hickory d-pole.

Up close... Jenny was a genuine contradiction. Watching her on the field, I could tell she was exceptionally strong, supple, and athletic. But I had no idea how womanly her body was. Lacrosse uniforms are loose and baggy to allow maximum freedom of movement, but the PR people knew what they had.

Hence, they, or perhaps Jenny herself, had put her in a skin tight Cardinal jersey and white booty shorts that showed off a bubble butt that belonged in a church -- so I could worship it. And instead of wearing her defender's chest pad, Jenny had hoisted her marvelous tits to stun. I was in lust.

I looked like a complete doofus when I saw the outtakes. Which wasn't because I was that "special" -- well, honestly, I'm generally a half bubble out of plumb -- but that's irrelevant. I knew in that instant that it was either Jenny, or nobody. Ask any ten of your friends and I will bet a third of them will tell you they know what I'm talking about.

Your predisposition toward a member of the opposite sex is a strange brew of nature and nurture. Hence, you might not know that you have the potential to feel that way. But if the stars align properly... you will get a jolt of lightning in your cerebellum, and in an organ a bit further south, that screams, "This is the one." That was what happened to me.

So, I asked Jenny if she would like to grab a Jamba, up Saint Theresa from the Roble Gym - where our picture session was held. I'm taller than average and a typical backline lacrosse player, meaning solid, not bulky, not a pretty boy, not handsome, more like rugged. But I had my share of admirers. So, I expected Jenny to accept the offer. Instead, she said, genuinely surprised, "Why?"

Okay... answer that question -- I mean, in a way that she doesn't cause the woman to run screaming for help. I could have said, "Because I want to get in your pants" -- nope... maybe, "Because I want you to bear my children." That would have been honest, but stupid -- at least if I ever wanted to see her again. So, I tried, "I've watched you play, and I was curious about what made a fierce little critter like you tick."

I mean, there's much less physical contact allowed in women's lacrosse. It's why the girls don't wear helmets. But Jenny was a literal killer in the slot. Anybody from the other team who was foolish enough to venture in there had to know exactly where Jenny was, or they would get their stick broken... or maybe something more personal.

Jenny looked like that was the last thing she expected me to say, and said flippantly, "Okay -- lead on." She was almost exactly a foot shorter than me. So, we were decidedly the odd couple when we walked into Jamba Juice. We didn't talk much until after we'd ordered our smoothies, Aloha Pineapple for me, with a big shot of protein, and Caribbean Passion for her... 3G energy... could I love her more?

Jenny was one of those women who is personality first and looks second. Nevertheless, she was simply stunning sitting there, legs dangling off the stool. She had huge wide set blue eyes and perfectly proportioned features under that thick mop of ash blonde hair. I couldn't take my eyes off her wide, sexy mouth.

I might've tried the usual getting to know you gambit of, "So, what are you majoring in?" But I could see that a person as smart as Jenny would think I was a dork if I used an opening line that moldy. So, I said, "How did you get into lacrosse -- especially as a defender?" Now THAT was something she wanted to talk about.

She gave me a kittenish smile and said, "I like the challenge. You might eventually be lucky enough to discover that I'm all woman. But I'm as tough as any guy. I've always been that way. You can't look like I do..." and she gestured down that incredible body, "and not have men try to dominate you. So, I spent my teen years learning how to control the space... so to speak."

She was using a lacrosse analogy. It told me everything I needed to know about Jenny's indomitable soul. You have to be strong and courageous enough to enforce your will in the space that you are defending. I could see that I wasn't going to be able to pull my normal hijinks with a woman who was that strong and intelligent. So, I said, "Nobody understands what you just said better than I do, and I respect that."

Jenny got an odd look, like I had surprised her. I added tentatively because there was an alternative theory, "So do you date?" She nearly fell off her stool laughing. She finally recovered enough to say, "Are you asking me if I'm a dyke because I play lacrosse?" I was too shamefaced to say anything. Which set off another round of hilarity. Jenny finally, wiped her eyes and said, with challenge in her voice, "Why don't you ask me out and see?"

*****

Scholarship athletes lived in the dorms in those days. The price of Stanford tuition made the triple that I was stuck in, worth the inconvenience. The other two guys were there to play football. One roommate, Darren, was a caricature of the college linebacker. He would have probably been locked up for assault a long time ago if he hadn't found an acceptable outlet for all that testosterone. His side of the suite was more like a den than a human habitation.

Steve was a lot more serious about his academics. Just like I was. So, the two of us took the room with the bunk. Steve was the polar opposite of his Neanderthal brethren, smart, well dressed and an earnest student. We got along great. He was one of the Cardinal's wide receivers, four inches shorter and perhaps thirty pounds lighter than I was. But he was the fastest whiteboy I've ever seen. Meaning, he occasionally got the ball thrown in his direction in games.

Steve was also one of those guys blessed with a California-surfer, pretty boy good looks. But he was a very tough guy. I had seen him get absolutely leveled and pop up with a smile on his face, like, "Is that the best you've got?"

I was serious about archaeology, and Steve was in film school. In fact, both of us were at Stanford because it was one of the few places that emphasized arcane studies like ours. Why was I in something as career limiting as archaeology? Well, I might have had a predisposition toward digging up ancient things. But mainly, my dad and mom were both in the field, and I naturally followed them down the same path. That's how a lot of weird professions get their next generation. Jobs are easy to find if your parents are already doing them.

Archaeology isn't so much about learning history as it is immersing yourself in the culture that you plan to work in. That's why the classicalists on campus are as different from the medievalists as each of us is from the engineers. So, I was constantly immersed in the details of life in ancient Rome... Whut? And you don't believe that a guy whose raison d'etre was keeping the Stanford goalmouth uncluttered could be sensitive?

The jocks had to live in the dorms. But Steve was also a member of Sigma Phi Epsilon, more fittingly called the Sig Apes... that was a social fraternity over on Campus Drive. And once in a while he would bring me along to one of their parties. Hey! I'm an archaeologist... primitive mating rituals are part of the curriculum.

Hence, that Saturday... Steve and I were holding up the wainscotting in the common area where dancing and other unspeakable acts were taking place. Each of us had a ubiquitous red cup in hand, just perusing that evening's livestock. That was when I saw Jenny out in the middle of the floor dancing with some species of preppy swine. I mean, who wears a blazer to a keg party?

It was unmistakably Jenny. She had her arms around the dude's pencil neck and her boobs hoisted into his chest, head resting dreamily on his shoulder. He was gripping her magnificent, buns like he was sizing a pair of cantaloupe. Man plans and God laughs his ass off. I hadn't even been out with the woman yet. But my jealousy meter spiked off the end of the scale.

Steve noticed where I was looking and said enviously. "I'd like to get me some of that myself, but she's been stuck on that arrogant asshole since the beginning of the semester. He's the fraternity's president but the only thing impressive about him is his bank account. He takes her to all kinds of places that I can't afford. Like they just spent a weekend in Cozumel -- flew down on Friday and back on Monday."

Precisely one day late and one dollar short! That was the story of my life. I'll bet that every one of you has been where I was. I was seriously invested in a woman who was with somebody else. Depression vied with jealousy and the winner got to say, "I told you so!"

It upset me so much that I chugged my Solo cup. Hey! waste not want not - and said, abruptly, "I'm leaving." Steve called after me, "Faint heart, buddy... I'm going to stay and take my shot at that hot little piece." Did I mention that Steve was a world class pussy hound. Oh my God!!! What if he succeeded?! He did play football after all. That only added to the anguish.

I walked back to the dorm, hands in pockets and head hanging down, thinking about my unfortunate lot. When you're a kid, you ricochet around the dating pool like a bunch of random billiard balls. And unless you want nothing more than just sex, you are always hoping that you will connect with somebody. I thought that I'd done that with Jenny. Now, I could see that the object of my obsession wanted to fuck around. That knowledge was eating my soul from the inside out.

My rational brain kept telling me to "forget about the bitch and move on." But my heart didn't buy it. My attraction to Jenny was so intense that I couldn't imagine life without her, even though we had had exactly one conversation. That was how nuts I'd gotten. Even so, I couldn't imagine what could be worse than what I had just witnessed... silly me.

Steve was gone from that Saturday night until the following Monday morning. When he did show up, he looked - to coin an old Texas phrase - ridden hard and put up wet. The first words out of his mouth were, "On my God!! Can that woman ever fuck."

I said, heart in throat, dreading what he would say next, "What woman?" Steve said, "Jane Greenwood, you know... the hot little piece both of us were admiring."

I was in the final stages of dying from a thousand cuts when something registered. I said, "Her name is Jenny, not Jane. I know that because the two of us did a cover for the Cardinal." Steve looked at me and said, "Dude! It's definitely Jane. I ought to know. I just spent the past forty-eight hours in bed with her."

I looked at Steve totally bewildered... hating his guts and calling myself a weenie because that was really unfair - but he was fucking my woman... even if it was in my dreams. Finally, he snapped his fingers and said, "I think she has a sister named Jenny. That has to be the girl you're thinking of."

I said, astonished, "Sister!!? That WAS Jenny. I ought to know what she looks like. I spent most of Friday afternoon with her and we have a date for next Friday - which I'm calling off, I might add."

Steve whipped out his phone, dialed, and said, "Hey babe!" There was a pause. He chuckled lecherously and said, "Me too, and thanks." Then he added, "You have a sister named Jenny, right."

There was a short period of uh-huh-ing and head nodding. Then he said, "My nerd roomie -- he didn't mean that, it was just Steve's unsubtle way of reminding me that I played a "minor" sport -- says he has a date with her for next Friday."

A period of silence ensued while Jane apparently checked with Jenny. Then Steve said, "Okay, the Axe and Palm at five on Friday." He turned to me lopsided grin on his face and said, "Mystery solved, dude, they're twins.

*****

The Axe and Palm is an unrepentant student hangout in the Old Union -- burgers, fries, smoothies, and everything in the typical coed diet. They even take Stanford Meal plan cards.

The axe refers to the Cal-Stanford rivalry, and if you walk across the square in front of the building, you will know where the palm comes from.

Steve and I had a serious problem as we approached the booth. Twins come in two varieties. There are the ones who dress completely differently to emphasize their individuality and there are the ones who dress exactly alike to fuck with the rest of humanity. Jenny and Jane were in the second category.

There are usually some distinguishing features that allow you to tell twins apart. But these two looked like you'd been crosschecked in the head, and you were seeing double. The same gorgeous round face, perfectly symmetric features, abundant hair and heartstoppingly sexy body. Both were precisely the same height and had the same posture. It was like you were looking at a woman and her reflection.

They sat opposite each other in a booth waiting for us to join them -- smirks all over their sadistic little faces. The dilemma was... who's your date? Steve's problem was compounded by the fact that he and his woman had spent a debauched weekend in bed. I mean... it it's never a good idea to ask a girl if she was the one you'd been fucking and the two cruel little bitches weren't giving us any hints.

Steve finally sat down next to the closest one, and she said, laughing, "I'm Jenny." Embarrassed, Steve scrambled to his feet, hitting his knee on the table as he did, and we do-si-do'd so that we were sitting next to the right twin.

It was weird talking to the same person on both sides of the table. Identical twins form from a mono-fertilized zygote. The zygote splits into two parts after conception, resulting in two separate embryos. Because the two embryos are the same egg/sperm combination, they have the same genetic origins and thus the same DNA, which makes all identical twins look eerily alike.

Nature and nurture and minor differences at the genetic level can build in enough difference that you can tell most twins apart. But the truly identical ones, meaning the conditions of their development are exactly the same, can produce what Steve and I were sitting with -- two people who were so eerily similar that they had to tell you who they were.

Even so, the personality of each twin was as different as night and day. My Jenny -- and I was beginning to think of her that way, since I planned to move heaven and earth to make her mine -- was an old soul... a tough, no nonsense, woman with a highly refined sense of humor. She found life amusing. While Jane was a light hearted party girl, who thought that life was far too short to waste it following rules.

Both of them were smart, bordering on geniuses. But Jane was a free spirit, and Jenny was always so serious. Since that more or less described the difference between Steve and me, it was fortunate that we had each found the right sister.

The four of us laughed and talked for quite a while. Then the ladies left for the inevitable visit to the little girl's room. As soon as they did, Steve said, "Hey man, can you find something to do for a while." I fixed him with a baleful stare and said, "Just make sure you use your bunk, or the floor. I don't want to come back to anything nasty in my bed."

I watched the girls returning, smiling secretively. They were barely suppressing their glee as they slid back into the booth. I said sternly, "Driver's licenses." Steve gave me a WTF look and the two of them turned red and began to giggle. I just sat there with my hand out and the stare that I normally reserve for the other team's attackmen. The twin sitting next to Steve said, "It was her idea."

I said, "Respect for the other person is an important part of being together. So, you two had better stop messing with us." Jenny, who was clearly the enforcer of the two, said, "Get a life... it was just a little joke. We do it all the time. We were going to tell you as soon as we got ready to leave." Aha... the twin mindset, self and other self... both of you against the world. It must be nice.

Steve, who wasn't that deep, could care less about the twins' little trick. All he was interested in was getting laid. So, he and Jane vanished shortly thereafter, leaving Jenny and me to take a romantic walk around the Lag, which is the alleged lake that sometimes exists in the middle of campus.

I went right to the point, as we strolled along in the soft night of that idyllic place. I knew it was insane. But as the Brits say, in for a penny, in for a pound and the way that I felt about Jenny was too important to not... at least... get the face-off out of the way. I said, "It's probably fatally early and I don't know what your current situation is. I also don't know whether you feel it, or not. But I can't let this linger."

Jenny looked wary, like I was about to announce that I liked my women tied up in a rubber suit. So, I quickly added, "There is something about you that is so special that I want to explore a real relationship -- I mean, like exclusive. Nobody says that on a first date but that's how much you've affected me."

Jenny tensed for a second. Then she nodded her head affirmatively.

I added, "We're both serious people who seem to share the same world view, and I would like to find out whether we have a future together. I'm hoping that we do... nothing more than that."

Jenny got an odd look. She seemed to be saying to herself, "There is a God." Then she said, "I haven't dated much. It's not like I couldn't. But I'm sick of the spoiled rich kids, narcissists and frat rats who keep asking me out." She grimaced and added, "By the way, your friend Steve is a perfect example of that kind of self-involved turd. He and Jane make a perfect couple."

Then Jenny stopped, turned to face me, and said, as if it was something she had thought about -- a lot! "You, on the other hand, are different. I mean, archaeology... seriously?! You are as much of a thug as I am, and I respect that. Plus, you're a hunka-hunka burning love. So yes... I would like to find out what, in your inimitable words, makes you tick." My heart soared as a relationship was born.

*****

The door of Jenny and Jane's apartment banged open as we practically fell into the room. What we'd been doing in the hall was more like wrestling than making out. I had told Jenny that I had to kill a couple of hours while her sister and my roommate made the two-backed-beast in our dorm room, and she had casually suggested that we spend it in her apartment in Escondido village.

That residence was for grad students only, but Jenny's family were big donors, so exceptions were made. Yes, the love of my life was filthy rich, not that that mattered to either of us. But it did explain her sister Jane.

We started kissing as Jenny fumbled for her key card. It was like both of us had touched a 48,000-volt wire. Her mouth opened and she moaned loudly. Then, without breaking the kiss, she handed me the card, threw her arms around my neck, climbed me like an agile little monkey, and wrapped those strong shapely legs around my waist. I had the presence of mind to kick the door shut. Otherwise, we would have put on a live sex show for the entire complex. That was my last rational act.

We stumbled across the room, not managing to knock anything over, Jenny still clinging to me like a marmoset. I dumped her on the couch, legs spraddled, while I cleared the decks below. Jenny writhed frantically, shucking her clothes. Her hard little body with its long legs, nubile hips and gorgeous round breasts were like something chiseled up by Botticelli. The predatory stare she was giving me told me that she wasn't afraid of anything in the sexual realm. How could I BE so lucky?!!

I dropped between her wide-spread legs, and we kissed again. Her mouth opened wide, and she gave a deep groan of pure lust. Jenny was like a woman on a mission, now. She momentarily fumbled between us. Then she let out a loud gasp and a cry. I felt something hot and slick envelop me. I slid up her passage as we stared into each other's eyes. Then, her eyes rolled up, and her mouth fell open.

What followed was that fabled moment when you both realized this was the beginning of a lifetime of passion. There would be no going back from that. We finished the act with me standing up, holding Jenny by her rock-hard butt, her naked back forced against the wall, arms and legs wrapped around me like an octopus. In the meantime, I was pounding myself toward the metaphoric light.

Jenny had already come so many times that my only goal was getting to the finish line. When that moment arrived, she crooned in my ear, "Come in me, baby!! Please Come!!" Then the entire universe shrank to the singularity that preceded the Big Bang - only to expand outward in a cataclysmic release.

Jenny made a loud cry of surprise and then went limp. I crushed her dead body to me as I finished off the unavoidable. I'd sort out later whether I'd killed her or not. I transferred Jenny back to the couch, with her head lolling. She was perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds, so it was easy to lay her there gently.

Her eyes popped open, and she looked confused. Then I saw her powerful mind take control, and she said with a mischievous smile, "I'm never letting you go." And that was the long and short of it. We would be together forever.

*****

Our courtship was immaterial. Getting to the stage where we truly knew and trusted each other took a long time. But we enjoyed every minute of the journey, and we were inseparable. Neither of us ever doubted the value and benefit of our choice. We had found each other.

Jenny was a complex woman, brilliant, motivated, and passionate. At the same time, she could be soft, loving, and kittenish. I never questioned her devotion to me, and I tried hard to justify her gift. The sex was spectacular. But that was the least of our relationship. We sustained ourselves by our friendship. Life isn't easy. But having a capable and trustworthy companion makes it a whole lot easier.

Jane and Steve had gone a different route. They were both less serious about life -- they called it, "more spontaneous" -- so they had no idea what they would do after graduation. But they both knew it would be together, which was good enough for me.

I got us established with the ANA through my folks. I'm a classical archaeologist, which naturally means Europe, specifically Italy and Greece. Jenny, meanwhile, had passed the archaeology certification courses at Stanford, so we were a team. Our move raised an immediate problem, however, because Jenny never went anywhere without Jane. The idea for the boat sprang from that fact.

Since I worked on ANA digs all over the Italian peninsula, it seemed a lot more convenient to base myself on a boat. It also gave me the flexibility to work underwater. So, in addition to the required licensing, Jenny and I got a Technical Scuba Diving cert from the PADI, so we could work below 130 feet. Those were the shipwrecks that the folks who only mixed gasses could reach.

As I said, the twins' parents had money. So, they loaned us $250K to buy a used Lagoon 42. The Italian government made up the difference in the half-million dollar asking price to incentivize me to sign a long-term contract.

The Lagoon was a perfect arrangement since the twin hulls provided two separate sleeping quarters. Those were spacious enough that the four of us never had to be on top of each other. I DID spend a lot of time on top of Jenny, without any concerns about the other two boat residents overhearing our lovemaking. That was due to the insulating properties of fiberglass and water.

Jenny and I mainly worked the sites we were contracted to explore. That was all around the Mediterranean, from Salamis and Actium, and the shipwrecks there, to Alexandria, to the western coast of Italy.

The majority of the work was underwater. However, we occasionally worked traditional digs as assigned. Jane was Steve's right hand, and a talented cinematographer. We would also occasionally use her as an extra if we worked on a ground site.

Steve might be the eternal surfer dude, but he was the fellow who came up with the idea of putting Jenny and my explorations on the internet. I mean... archaeologists are all about the past -- not the world wide web. So, Steve handled that end of the business. The money from the content that we generated was astonishing. We paid off the whole boat in six months.

The thing that tied the four of us together was the link between the two sisters. That was as close as ever. And I eventually got used to my wife having a doppelganger. By that point, I could tell which twin was which by their aura. You know what I'm talking about, the general effect people have on others.

But in order to do that, I needed the other twin as a point of reference. So, it was customary for them to say, "Jenny" or "Jane" before interacting individually with us. And yes, that was definitely out of the ordinary, but it prevented confusion.

Nonetheless, I don't want you to think it was all one happy family. Living together caused tensions, it's just natural. Jane and Jenny never fought. But both of them would have their occasional husband spats and once in a while Steve and I would get into it. Those never amounted to much. But they happened. When they did... the rule was that we would all just walk away until things died down.

Steve and I got along okay. There were none of those "fuck you! NO! fuck you!!" rows that can happen living in the same confined space. But we'd matured differently. In many respects, Steve had become even less serious about the important things in life, like ethics and responsibility. So, there was no buddying around like in our dorm days. Steve had his thing, and I had mine.

We spent a lot of time with our respective spouses, or ashore doing whatever interested us, which was never the same thing. As time passed... Steve's favorite hobby was getting drunk at every trattoria in every town wehere we were docked. That was bad enough. But once a pussy hound always a pussy hound and Italy has a lot of attractive signorinas.

Occasionally, I would drink a bottle of red with the guy, just for old time's sake. Mainly, we'd sit while Steve's wandering eye appraised the goods on offer. As usual, he was flirting with a... stacked in a way that only the Italians can produce... little sweety across the cobbled square. I finally said, "Knock it off man. You're married... would you like Jane to do the same thing to you. It's frapping disrespectful."

He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, "Who says she doesn't?" I said, gobsmacked, "Do you mean to tell me that the two of you have some kind of arrangement?" He said, with disdain, "Only one pussy, for the rest of your life... seriously? I want to experience things while I can. You really need to grow up, buddy."

I understood that statement... didn't like it... but I understood it. Jane and Steve had gotten together in college. That's an environment where everybody is more-or-less the same age and socioeconomic status.

It's like hunting in Wisconsin. The wildlife is plentiful but limited to deer. So, you bag the one with the prize antlers, which in Steve's case was Jane. However, the wildlife in our present situation was unconstrained, like in Africa, and it was only a matter of time before Steve decided to go rhino hunting.

That made up my mind. Our partnership was going to end. Yet... the unfortunate fact was that there was no way to separate Jenny from Jane, at least, in the short term. So, we struggled on. But I had begun planning for the day when Mr. Bumblebee chose to pollinate the wrong flower.

Steve had left me with the impression that Jane had no problem with his philandering. But I needed an unimpeachable source to test the theory. Hence, I took Jenny to the Clodia Club to discuss the situation.

It was an expensive date. But the view from the rooftop across the Gulf of Pozzuoli was worth it. Jenny was in an LBD that fit her little body like a glove. My wife was a perfect combination of sex appeal and athleticism. She wore a string of genuine lapis-lazuli beads in the space between the delectable mounds of her cleavage. The lapis-lazuli perfectly matched the color of her eyes. Once more... I thought, "How can I be so lucky."

After the waiter brought the Chianti Volapié bottle, I said, "There is something we have to talk about." Jenny got the look that every person gets when they hear those grim words. She said warily, "Does it involve us?"

I laughed and said, "It will never involve us. But there have been some bizarre things going on between Steve and your sister. And I want to do a little sanity check." Jenny seemed overcome by relief, but then her face morphed into the unhappy look that people get when a topic that they have been trying to avoid is brought up.

I said, "Aha! So, you DO know about Steve's little problem with fidelity. How is Jane taking it?" Jenny said glumly, "She's still getting used to it... It's a brand-new feature in their marriage and she hasn't decided what to do. It might be a deal-breaker, or it might not. Most of the problem is that she and I will never be separated, and we are presently all living together.

Then she reached across the table, took my hand, and said, "Steve will have to leave if Jane decides she can't put up with his philandering, because you and I aren't going anywhere. I'm more in love with you than ever."

Then she added, "There's a proposal to resolve this. I don't want to talk about it. So, don't ask me." That was excellent news. I squeezed Jenny's hand and said, "We have plenty of money. We can buy Steve out and he can live the bachelor life anywhere he chooses.

Jenny said, "That's easy to say. But Steve likes his situation. He has an occasional fling, and he has Jane all the rest of the time. He's not going to give that up without a strong incentive." My wife added in a voice that told me the message was vital, "You have to realize that Jane's the other part of me and I'd do anything to make her happy. So, please let me handle it."

Okay... so murdering Steve and burying him in Caligula's back yard is out -- right?

I said, "How do YOU feel about the situation?" Jenny gave me an odd look and said, "I tried to talk some sense into Jane. But she has the same problem I do. The idyllic life that we have been leading will get flushed if she pulls the plug on her relationship with Steve." Then she added, impishly, "Unless you're into threesomes."

I said, earnestly, because that raised another question, "As attractive as that sounds -- I would never sacrifice our unbroken bond. It's my bedrock." Then I added, with grim resolution, "I know that you are completely mine. Being in this as one soul gives me the courage and confidence to skate along the leading edge like I have."

I stopped and said sincerely, "It would kill me if I lost you."

*****

That conversation took place a month before the dire event. But I was thinking about it as I sat, feet dangling in the water, on the Lagoon's port landing stage. Pride is the deadliest sin, and maybe I have an overabundance of it. Or maybe I'm just that shallow. But to me, extravagant displays of emotion are just so unmanly.

So, I keep it bottled up inside. That's why I was sitting alone on the landing platform... trying to stuff it all back in. Yeah -- I know -- kinda stupid and not too healthy. Nonetheless, I viewed myself as tough, and I felt like I owed it to Jenny to not act like a raving lunatic, which was how I felt. But the pressure was tearing my guts out.

I told myself that Jenny would want me to be graceful and dignified in how I handled myself. Admittedly... the ravages of my wife's passing were written all over my face. But I didn't get disgustingly drunk - or loudly rail against unkind fate to every poor victim I could corner. I tried to be gracious and kind to the people who offered condolences. In private... I cried bitter tears into my empty bed.

Nevertheless, Jane was most affected by Jenny's sudden and untimely demise. I guess that made sense. I mean, it's one thing to lose another person. But Jenny... was in actual respect... Jane, right down to the genetics.

Jane and Steve were in the middle of having sex when I'd bolted into their cabin. After that, Jane just sat there staring off into space... half covered to the waist, with her spectacular naked tits hanging out. It was as if she'd joined her sister in death.

Steve's behavior was a little weird too. His first reaction almost seemed like relief. Of course, he was way too smart to let me see that. So, he put on his sympathetic face, which I'd seen a million times and knew was utterly phony, and said, "Oh my God!! I'm so sorry, buddy. What can I do to help?"

I looked at Jane, who was still catatonic, and said, "Well, you could get some medical attention for your wife. I don't know how losing a carbon copy of yourself will affect someone. But she looks like she needs immediate help." I added, with an embarrassing sob, "I'll handle the rest."

After that... I marched in the somber parade of every surviving spouse. There were the usual official tasks, such as getting my love cremated and sent back to her folks. Of course, I accompanied her ashes back to Malibu. They buried Jenny in a beautiful little spot her parents owned on the bluffs above the Bay. She could enjoy the whale watching for eternity.

I held out until the official ceremony ended and all the well-wishers had left. The gravesite had been landscaped within an inch of its life, and there was a marble bench next to Jenny's headstone. I sat on that bench, watching the endless waves roll onto the rocky shore. It was a perfect metaphor for the human condition.

There was nobody to see me in that beautiful place. So, I lowered my head into my hands and wept pitifully. Finally... I stood and returned to the realities of my shattered life.

*****

Meanwhile, Jane had been taken off our boat to the Ospedale Cardinale Ascalesi, which is a primary care facility in Naples. She was diagnosed with shock and transferred from there to the U. S. Naval Hospital in Naples. Steve was supposed to accompany her. But, as he told the admitting clerk, "There's nothing I can do as long as she's a veggie..." sensitive guy, my buddy, Steve.

So, Steve stayed on the boat, which was where I found him when I returned from Jenny's funeral, five days later. Steve was on the foredeck grabbing a few rays. He looked tan and relaxed. While I must have resembled the guy riding the pale horse. Steve gave me a glowing smirk and said, idly, "How was the funeral?"

I answered, sadly, "It went as well as could be expected. Her parents were as devastated as I was. But at least they still have Jane." I looked around and said, curiously, "Where is she?"

Steve gave me a languid look, like my bringing up Jane was boring him, and said, "They took her to the nut house in Capodichino... over by the airport."

I said, concerned, "What's wrong with her? How is she?" Steve shrugged his shoulders and said, "Don't know. Nobody's called me, so I guess she's alright." The man's total disregard for his wife's condition was so blatantly disrespectful that I decided I really did hate him.

I said, astounded, "You mean you haven't visited her." Steve said offhandedly, "Well, what can I do. She's totally out of it, man! The only thing that will happen if I visit her is that I'll get in the way." That was an accurate statement even if it was utterly unfeeling.

Jane had suffered an irreparable shock. I mean... the person who had been, in actuality, a carbon copy of herself, was resting forever in sunny California. I looked at Steve and he finally saw what I thought of him, perhaps for the first time, since he reacted like I was a threat. Hint... I was.

I hissed, "You're a piece of shit!" Then, I spun on my heel and walked back to my rental car to make the twenty-five-mile drive to USNH Naples. The hospital is located inside a modern complex in Capodichino, a suburb of Naples. Driving up to it, it could have just as easily been located in Nebraska.

The admitting desk hassled me about my relationship with the patient. So, I had the humiliating experience of having to call Steve to get him to allow the medical types to release Jane's information. After Steve had snidely consented, the admitting clerk pecked around and looked at me with confusion as she said, "Jane Greenwood was discharged four days ago... at her own request."

I said, astounded, "Now wait a minute... Are you telling me that Jane was only admitted for three days." The woman pecked some more and said, "She refused treatment, so we held her for seventy-two hours. Then she was given a prescription for Trazadone and discharged."

I said, "thank you" and wandered back to the parking lot. I sat in my car, in the bright Italian sunlight, totally bewildered. Seven days had passed since Jenny's death. In that time I had made the arrangements and then flown to the U. S. and back. At the same time, Jane had been admitted and released from the hospital and then disappeared without a single word to either her husband or me.

I mean, the disconnect was unreal. Steve acted like his wife's going off the deep end was a minor inconvenience, while Jane had just vanished into the wind. Really!?... Jane's home was on the boat and that was where she ought to have gone no matter how big a D-bag her husband was.

The two of them were still having sex since I'd been the coitus interruptus. So, it wasn't like they hated each other. But the most significant event in Jane's life had occurred and rather than seeking solace from her husband, or me, Jane had disappeared to parts, unknown, like she didn't want to see either of us. This was getting suspicious.

I could have engaged in clever machinations to track Jane down and then weasel the truth out of her. But I'm an archaeologist, not Magnum PI. So, that approach was out. I reasoned that my only recourse was to return to where I lived, which was no longer my happy home. I needed to sell that fucking boat - pronto.

The busy work of closing Jenny's life with proper love and respect and the hassle of tracking down her dingbat sister and her philandering husband had provided a brief distraction from my dire situation. But as I stepped onto the landing platform and walked up onto the afterdeck, the truth descended on me like a cloud of mustard gas.

The Lagoon has a spacious and airy afterdeck covered by a polymer roof. Along the starboard side bulkhead, there is a comfortable banquette-style booth, and on the port side, a ship's ladder leads up to the pilot station, with a little couch seat squeezed in behind it.

The inside of the Lagoon is even more luxurious, with a galley and wraparound banquette couches surrounding a big table. The companionways to the left and right lead down into the sleeping quarters in the two hulls.

We altered the interior layout of the hulls by eliminating one of the two bedrooms in each and turning the extra space into private living quarters. Each couple had a bed and a little sitting room in their hull, along with a head. We also added soundproof hatches at the bottom of the companionway because both girls could get a little loud. But that was all behind me now.

The future is always the problem. I mean... the past is the past, there is no changing that. And you always have the distractions of your current situation. But the events of your life going forward... now, that's a horse of a different color... a scary one I might add.

It's like the weather... there is no way to control or even predict it. So, even If it's sunny outside there is always the killer hurricane sitting there over the horizon. Jenny's death had proven that beyond a shadow. Now I was left to wonder what else was in store for me. One thing was certain. I would never find another woman like my wife.

I sighed, walked up to the bar in the living area and made myself a light whisky and water. It was just past noon. But I needed something to mellow myself out. Steve was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief. He was the last person I wanted to deal with.

It hardly ever rains in the Bay of Naples, but it can be a doozy when it does. It was the season of the Tramontana Winds, and there had been black clouds building around Capo Miseno all morning. Those normally presaged a violent storm. We were tied up to the dock on the windward side, but I decided to toss out the fore and aft anchors on the lee side to ensure that the boat wasn't blown around too much.

The first of the big windblown drops hit me, and I scrambled back inside, battening the sliding door as I went. If Steve arrived during the storm... he could just soak outside until I opened the door, which I might or might not do, given the way I felt about him.

I was sitting on the couch contemplating the oncoming storm when I felt the boat rock, like somebody had gotten off the bed in one of the hulls. There was a crack of lightning and then rolling thunder. I thought... seriously??! It was like a slasher flick.

It was almost pitch-black outside -- with only the four 40-watt bulkhead lights providing any illumination in the cabin. I sensed movement in the companionway. I glanced toward it and nearly passed out... it was the ghost of my dead wife!! I yelled, "shit!!" and tossed the contents of the glass over my shoulder -- whisky and water splattered against the cabin window.

That was when my rational brain kicked in and I said, sounding like I'd just swallowed a pigeon, "Where have you been?" Jane gave me an almost haunted look and said, "I've been waiting for you to return." She walked over, sat opposite me on the banquette and said, "I was watching the boat from the Punta Castello."

The Punta Castello was the remains of an ancient Roman villa that sits on the lip of the shore, a hundred yards from the boat. Most of it had disappeared into the Bay but the Italians had made the part that wasn't submerged into a luxury hotel and venue.

I said, "Where's Steve?" Jane got a bitter look and said, "He took off." She added, bitterly, "I didn't want you involved in what I had to do. So, as soon as you left this morning, I walked over from the villa, where I was keeping an eye on things, and told Steve to get out."

She got a grimly satisfied look and said scornfully, "He took the offer. Of course, the couple of hundred thousand that my parents promised him for his trouble and the secret I could hold over his head helped him make up his mind." I didn't respond. It saved me doing something about the asshole.

Jane added bitterly, "He skimmed almost a half million from the channel proceeds. So, he won't starve." Jane added harshly, "It hurts to see how little he cared. But I already knew that from his fucking around. At least the heartbreak has been flushed. We'll never see him again."

I had a couple of thoughts. First... Jane had done a ballsy thing, which was not typical for her. Maybe her sister's death had changed her. The other was that Jane was still half owner of the Lagoon. So, I said, "Are you going to continue to live here, now that your husband is gone?"

Jane gave me a mysterious look and said, "Why not? You still have your work, and I did all the actual editing and running of the website. So, why don't we keep doing what we've been doing?" Then she stopped and said gently and with love, "We both miss her to our very bones. Maybe we can heal together."

*****

And thus began the rest of my life. Jane's presence was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, her presence enforced a return to normalcy that I wouldn't have been able to achieve if it weren't for her. Jane was a warm and lighthearted companion, and the resumption of the archaeological work was just what I needed to drag me out of the suicidal depression that I was in.

On the other hand, it's hard to spend your days with somebody who is a perfect likeness to your dead wife, right down to the mannerisms. The odd part was, sometimes I would catch Jane looking speculatively at me. It was as if she had something important to tell me.

If I caught her doing that, she would get flustered. Once, I even said, "What??" Jane turned a lovely shade of scarlet and said, "It's nothing. I was just thinking how much I miss my old life."

That could be interpreted a bunch of different ways. The times when we were a happy foursome were idyllic, indeed. But what Jane had just said seemed more personal. Was she regretting that she'd ended up marrying Steve? Or was it something deeper... something I couldn't as yet fathom.

Whatever it was, Jane and I had a surprisingly easy time adapting to each other, especially when it came to the basics of living. We simply continued the routine that Jenny and I followed. That is... until the extinction event. I even thought, "Jane's so much like her sister that they have the same habits."

Now, it was like the world was rebalancing, and I was free to do exactly what I was born to do--dig up and preserve the ancient world. I know that sounds incredibly dorky, but it was who I was. I mean, I have my opinions about the geekiness of people who are obsessed with politics or fishing, So don't judge.

Hence, I went back to exploring and Jane recorded my adventures. It brought in a lot of cash. That led to the idea of presenting each Roman Emperor's involvement at Baiae in individual episodes. So, the likes of Nero, Caligula, and Caesar himself all had their internet moment. That was a very lucrative decision.

I could also tell how much money Steve had been skimming by comparing what we were making now to what we were making then. It just goes to show you how easy it is for bad guys to fool decent people. My ex-friend obviously had no respect for me - whatsoever.

Even so, the thing that got me pondering was a technical issue. One day, Jane finned down to a hundred and forty feet with me, as I inspected the wreck of a Roman Liburnian warship off Misenum. Jane and Steve had never gone below 60 feet before. So, how was Jane suddenly able to go much deeper? And why was she so oddly knowledgeable about nitrox?

Besides the issue of the bends, the water pressure increases as you go deeper. So, it isn't easy to breathe at depth. The compression on your chest is a scary feeling at first and you have to train yourself to relax and use the trimix. So, I said, when we got back on deck, "Where did you learn how to do technical diving? Jenny was the only one who knew how to do that?"

Jane looked at me like that was a stupid question and said, "Duh... same body, same mind, what don't you get about Jenny and me being duplicates?"

That was utter bullshit. I said, "Tec diving is something you have to learn. It's not simply a matter of holding your nose and diving deeper. You must have felt the compression on your chest down there... and where did you get the trimix rig? Jenny was the only one who had one of those."

Jane said blithely, like I was missing something obvious, "Jenny got one for me when she taught me how to do it. We shared everything." I didn't question that. I'd lived with the women long enough to know that twin reality differs from how you and I see things... I was sure of that. I mean, it must be weird to have a living, breathing copy of yourself to interact with. It would have been odder if they hadn't shared everything.

A few months passed and the changes continued to appear. It was just the two of us, now, living on the boat. But we both missed a crucial part of our past life. I mean... I'd lost my wife, and Jane had lost her twin. And the emotional vacuum that created began to draw us closer.

Hence, we spent a lot of quasi-romantic moments sipping a good red and enjoying the beautiful sunsets over the Bay of Naples. I mean seriously... it was just natural to share something like that with the other denizen of the boat.

I had always thought of Jane as the lightweight of the two twins. Daddy's money had insulated her from any consequences. Unlike Jenny... Jane was totally uninterested in the big picture, or her role in it. So, she enjoyed herself like the fat guy at the all you can eat buffet.

I wasn't dropping moral judgements. Jane was who she was, a happy-go-lucky little songbird with no depth. She was gorgeous, just like her sister Jenny... smart and exceptionally witty. If you needed a smart-ass remark... you could always count on Jane to provide it.

But Jane lived strictly in the moment, not thinking about the implications of what she did. That was never truer than in her approach to partying, which was like the proverbial kid in a candy store. She grabbed for the gusto anywhere she could find it -- including the many men in her life.

Now - it seemed like Jenny's loss had matured Jane. Because she was much more sober and thoughtful. There was none of the flibbertigibbet chattering and shallow interest in fashion and making herself prettier, which had been Jane's hallmark.

Jane had been a minor player in the drama prior to the event that had so cruelly hollowed out the center of our lives. Now, we worked and lived in a strange new reality where we were aware that somebody was missing. But we had, and we needed, each other.

It was a bizarre situation because Jane was Jenny's mirror image. That led to uncomfortable moments when I would momentarily forget that Jane wasn't Jenny. I would be watching Jane do something mundane and then startle awake, like I'd dozed off while driving, which was actually a good thing. Because otherwise... I might have followed through on the feelings lurking there, just beneath the surface.

At first, Jane slept in her side of the catamaran, and I slept in mine. But eventually it dawned on both of us that there was no sense in spending the night wrapped in loneliness and despair when a person suffering the same loss was enduring the exact same emotions just twenty-five feet away.

So, one night, we were eating a superb Risotto that Jane had whipped up. She cooked exactly like Jenny. I wondered if it was genetic. Anyhow... I had had a particularly rough night, and I was telling Jane about it. I said, "I just can't sleep without Jenny lying next to me." Jane laughed and said, "I get it... while I don't miss Steve, I DO miss having a male body to keep me warm at night."

Yikes... THAT cat was fully and completely out of the bag. I said, casually, "Well, you could sleep with me. But no hanky-panky. You're my sister-in-law so that would almost be incest, and this is Italy, not West Virginia.

Jane laughed heartily. Then she said, "And what would be wrong with that?" I said, firmly, "You're still married. Your husband might be a cheating D-bag. But I don't mess with married women. Especially my sister-in-law."

Jane said, nonchalantly, "It won't be for much longer. I made it clear to Steve that I had him on the hook on a particularly thorny matter and I was dying to pull the trigger. That is... if he didn't do exactly what I told him to do. Plus, my daddy, the big-time lawyer, is arranging the actual divorce. It won't be long until the papers arrive that tell me I'm free of that amoral creep."

Amoral... Seriously??! Where did that come from? The word moral and Jane had never been used in the same sentence. I said, "Whatever... but the ethics of fucking my sister-in-law, are not up for negotiation. The sanctity of the marriage bond is a sacrament to me. It's a deeply held belief and there's no equivocation about the line that it draws in the sand. Fidelity is the bedrock of all of the 'richer, or poorer, sickness and health' pledges and I am willing to die on that hill."

Jane's response was surprising. It was almost like she thought I was judging her. That was odd since Jane had slept with a lot of men before hooking up with Steve, and she'd never given a single thought to the implications of her catting around. Now she seemed to want to split hairs about what constituted fidelity -- seriously!!??

Jane's reaction was so peculiar that it made me backpedal. I said, "I don't know what you thought I was saying. But I wasn't being judgmental. The special circumstances that put us on this boat have wiped that slate clean. Still, it's uncomfortable to talk to a person who is in every respect the love of my life, knowing that you really aren't her."

I got a very odd reaction to that statement.

I added, sincerely, "I mean, seriously... the way we fit together is uncanny. It's exactly how it was with Jenny. I suppose the sympatico is logical given your similarity to your sister. I paused and added, "We might even have a future together. But I don't see us getting sexually involved until some of the complications are removed."

Jane looked devastated. It was obvious that she had hoped she would seamlessly replace Jenny, and I suppose in some sort of strange twin way that made sense. We were both lonely and Jane was, in fact, Jenny - right down to the same genes. So, in her mind, it was next -- ahem -- woman up.

But life doesn't work like that. Jane was my married sister-in-law... which constituted an unbreachable divide until she was single again. Then we could carefully build that next bridge... if we both wanted to. Even so, I was going to have to get to know Jane a whole lot better before I decided about that, and given Jane's past and the depth of my feelings for Jenny that would take time.

Nevertheless, the irony was that we both needed each other to feel whole again. And the beds were big and roomy. So, I said, "I suppose that it makes no sense to sleep apart when we are both longing for companionship. So, we should try it, at least as an experiment."

And that is how I found myself snuggling next to my not-wife as the wavelets lapped hypnotically against the hull of the catamaran. It was both wonderful and heartbreaking lying in an intimate place with a person who could have been my dead wife. Jane felt the same, she even smelled the same and she was wearing the same running shorts and T-shirt combination that Jenny used to wear. But it was Jane lying next to me, not Jenny.

Jane fell asleep like a woman who had finally reached safe harbor. I had the same feeling, but it produced the opposite effect. Sleep eluded me. It was the newness of the thing, I suppose. Yet there was something else -- I couldn't put my finger on it. But it had been nibbling on my brain stem like a hamster on a lettuce leaf.

I'm not some sort of New Age hippie who walks around with crystals in his pocket trying to align his chakra. But I believe that the sum of every person lies in the subliminal things that make them unique. It's the various micro facial expressions, body language actions, and even their unconscious habits. So, if two people are literally the same at the DNA level, their day-to-day effect will still be different in the sense of who they are... different enough that you can distinguish between them... eventually.

And for some time, my senses told me that the woman I was sleeping with was Jenny, not Jane. Yeah... it might be wishful thinking and I had no hard evidence. But that thought is bound to keep a fellow awake at night. So, I slipped quietly out of bed and put on an Under Armour warmup suit to go up on the afterdeck to think about it.

It wasn't like I was immersed in the silence of the sea. Baiae was rocking at 1:30 in the morning. The Punta Castello was lit up a couple of hundred yards to my right... and the sounds of a welterweight bacchanal drifted across the calm black water of the marina. I poured myself a gin and tonic and sat on the bench next to the port side pilot's ladder.

I was trying to unravel the knotty ball of twine that was my life. The obvious question was, if Jenny was the surviving twin, then why would my wife, who supposedly loved me, allow me to agonize over her loss? What could possibly justify that?

The answer hit me like a giant shit-ball, fired from the big guns of the battleship Missouri. One of the twins had been fucking my douchebag partner when I barged in on them! So, if the survivor was indeed Jenny... then she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The logic rolled out from there. Jenney knew that confirmation bias would make me assume that she was Jane. Of course, at the time Jenny wasn't thinking at all. I mean... if I was distraught, I can't imagine the shock that hit my wife. I didn't know why Jane was doing Jenny things while Jenny was doing Steve. But the one-two punch of loss and guilt probably blew a few circuits in my wife's cranium.

I mean seriously... when I left her, the woman had been a certifiable zombie and I didn't see her again until I'd returned from her funeral in California -- which, I might add, opened up another can of worms. My heart sank.

I could also see why Steve bolted like a little bitch. He knew I wouldn't hesitate to drop him over the side with an anchor tied around his neck if I'd caught him fucking Jenny. That must have been the secret Jane, or was it Jenny, was referring to -- it definitely sent the rat scurrying.

Of course, Jenny also had a life choice to make. She could have just said, "Ta da! I'm back!" which would have earned her a well-deserved divorce and maybe a trip over the side as well. Or she could continue to play the part of Jane, hoping to work her way back into the same relationship that Jenny and I had had before the apocalypse.

I mean seriously... it made perfect sense. Jenny was tough and focused, and she and her sister were virtually indistinguishable. They were different in the micro details. But unless they're way up there on the spectrum... no guy is going to memorize or even notice the little things that distinguish one twin from the other. Especially if the other twin isn't around for comparison purposes. Hell, I barely remembered what Jenny wore from day to day.

So, I wouldn't think otherwise if Jenny presented herself to me as Jane. Naturally, there were small differences in habits and behavior. But Jenny was a very smart woman, and she could keep up the pretense for as long as it took. Her only mistake was doing something that Jane couldn't do, which was deep dive. Her explanation was weak and that had lit the fuse.

So, there was a theory of the crime... all I needed was proof. I mean seriously... I had concocted a fantasy that qualified me for a rubber room, while Occam's handy-dandy razor says that the simplest explanation is always correct. So, maybe Jane was just Jane.

The complicating factor was that... a lot of water had passed over the dam since that fatal day and frankly, everything that had happened in the ensuing six months had convinced me that the woman I was living with... meaning, the one I'd interrupted having sex with Steve, had personal integrity. She wasn't a cheater. I made myself a promise to get the whole story tomorrow.

I finally went back to bed around 3 AM. Jane didn't stir when I crawled under the covers. For some time, all the subconscious niggling about who she actually was had messed with my sleep. Now, the decision to confront the question took the weight off my shoulders and I slept like the dead. The sun woke me shining through the cabin windows. Yipe!! I never slept in that late.

I did my morning routine in the head, dressed in a comfortable light pullover sweater and shorts, and went up the companionway into the living area. Jane, we'll call her Jane, absent proof to the contrary, was bustling around like Suzie Homemaker. I stopped and savored her beauty.

She was dressed in her usual white boat shorts that showcased her long muscular legs and bubble butt. Her dirty blond hair was done up in a pony tail that emphasized the classic features of her perfectly symmetrical face, high cheekbones, faultless jawline, huge wide set blue eyes and lips so sensual that you wanted to just suck on them.

Jane said brightly, "Good morning sleepy head." Then she stretched sinuously, like a cat and added, "I slept better than I have since that horrible day." I muttered, "I need coffee -- stat!!" I walked past her to the Keurig and brewed up a brimming cup of hazelnut. Then, I walked to the outside dining area, carefully shielding the mug from drips.

The weather on the Campanian coast is absolutely perfect in the month of June. Today was no exception, warm scented breezes, bright shining sky and not a hint of anything dire -- at least not yet. Jane sat opposite me, cheerfully munching on a protein bar, and said, "So, what's up for today? Are we going to continue to explore the Portus Julius?"

I said, casually, "No - I think we need to spend this morning solving a different mystery." Jane gave me a cheerful smile and said, "I love a change of pace. What do you have in mind?" Okay... the die was cast, the ram was touching the wall, and the jig was up, so no more dithering.

Then a strange phenomenon occurred. Most of you know that that old devil instinct sits on your shoulder, waiting to jump in when logic fails. That was what happened to me. The truth had always been out there. But the circus of death and grieving I'd partcipated in had colored my perceptions. Now, I was sure that the woman sitting opposite me was my wife, Jenny.

The fact that Jenny had been gaming me for six months didn't make me mad. It was actually kind of flattering. Since, it was obvious that my wife was playing for time, trying to find a way to mitigate the impact of her cheating. I mean really... when this had started Jenny only had two options - either fold her cards and give up on our marriage or continue to play a role that must have killed her.

Jenny's willingness to sacrifice her own identity spoke volumes about her commitment to me. It also explained why she had gotten Steve out of the picture so ruthlessly. The asshole would have brought down the whole house of cards if he were still around.

My attention snapped back to the beautiful woman sitting opposite. She said teasing, "Earth to Erik." I gave her a big grin and said, "I'm sorry. I was just trying to figure out how to phrase the question." Jenny returned the same companionable smile and said, "Start from the beginning."

I said, "Well, first of all, the problem isn't anything archaeological. It's an age-old moral issue that has more twists and turns in it than a Stephen Cannell novel. But what it boils down to... is the ancient question of how a man handles the discovery that his wife has been unfaithful."

Jenny's eyes changed. It looked like she was going to battle-stations behind them. She said carefully, "That's a complex question, don't you think? I mean... there are plenty of brainless sluts... which is all the explanation you need. But if a mature and intelligent woman chooses to have sex outside of marriage, there are powerful motivational and contextual factors guiding that choice."

I said, "Okay, I get that... what you are saying is that most cheating is just bad choices and weakness-- simple immorality. But a woman's decision to stray is occasionally motivated by a highly personal cause. In which case, the woman justifies the betrayal as necessary... or that the end, justifies the means."

I added, as a way of keeping the conversation reasonable and friendly, "I accept mitigating circumstances... depending on what they are. I mean... there are always tradeoffs in anything you do... the question is, who ultimately benefits, who gets hurt, and why."

Jenny said, "Are we talking in theory, here?" I said, "I don't know, my love. Maybe we should discuss this based on reality, rather than phony role playing." It took a second for my words to register. Then the mask dropped, and my wife emerged. Jenny said calmly, "How did you find out?" She almost seemed relieved.

I said, "It was the sum of things, nothing in particular. Just small differences between you and Jane... they eventually added up to the right conclusion." Now, I'm sitting here hoping you can explain why I found you fucking that incredible asshole."

Jenny paused. She must have anticipated this moment. But the ball was actually in play, now... no hypotheticals. My wife's beautiful face was stark with tension as she said, "First, you must accept that twin reality is different from normal people's. Jane and I were one person in two bodies... There was no separation between our thoughts and feelings. So, what hurt one of us hurt both of us."

Jenny hastily added, "We weren't robot clones. You've been with me long enough to know that. We led our lives differently. In fact, my meeting and falling in love with you was an eye-opening experience. For the first time I had a connection with another person, one that was like what I had with Jane. It was glorious and perhaps the first step in normalizing my life."

I said, gently, "Anybody with a pair of working eyes and a few functioning brain cells could see that. But it still doesn't explain why I caught you fucking Assbreath." The question remained, and Jenny still needed to answer it.

I made a -- "so, talk" -- gesture and Jenny said, calmly, "First I want to make it clear that my reasons for doing it have nothing to do with you, or any dissatisfaction with my marriage. I did it to seal a deal that would have gotten Steve out of Jane's life, permanently."

Really?! Seriously?! I gave my wife a well-deserved look of disbelief.

She continued. "I know that sounds lame. But you have no idea what was happening with Steve and Jane -- and through our shared connection, me. The man was becoming increasingly abusive while flaunting his affairs in front of my sister. So, we finally asked him what it would take to get a divorce. I even told you about those negotiations."

I remembered and nodded.

Jenny looked at me with an intensity that underlined her words. "Steve had two simple demands... money and me." He said he would take the money and run if I would give him one genuine afternoon of sex."

What the actual fuck??! I slammed my hand on the table, slopping our coffees out of their cups. Jenny had a glint of anger in her eyes as she said, "Steve had a real thing about you. I think it was because you are twice the man he is and yet you don't even seem to be trying."

She added, "Which explains why I was part of the package. It was Steve's way of evening the score." The look of scorn on Jenny's face told me what she thought of that tactic, "Blackmailing a girl into sex behind her husband's back isn't exactly the way to establish alpha dominance, you know."

Jenny's face flushed as she added, "Of course I initially said no-way, I mean seriously... besides the obvious morality concerns, I find the man repulsive on every level. But Janey kept begging me. She was getting more and more desperate and I was getting concerned about her mental health. That was when we came up with the plan.

Jenny said, "It was simple. The two of us would just switch identities, like we'd done in the past and you would never be the wiser... even if you walked in and found Steve and me together."

I held up my hand in a "stop" gesture and said with as much meaning as I could muster, "I'll have a hard time forgiving you fucking that man. But the thing that is the hardest to accept is that you chose Jane over me when you did."

Jenny said, adamantly, "It wasn't a matter of choosing... I spent my entire lifetime in a twin bubble. So, it never dawned on me to handle things otherwise."

Then she paused and said sadly, "That world is gone now. You are all I have left and I will do anything to prove that it will always be just you and me, together... nobody else."

Jenny's face got a look of pure sorrow as she said, "Me giving Steve what he wanted was a chore, nothing more. I did it for my twin. I know it was meant to humiliate both you and me. But Steve was a nobody. So, who cared what he thought. And you would never possibly know. So, no harm."

Jenny's face clouded as she said, "But then fate intervened. I don't know why Jane went out to the dive site. It must have been spur of the moment. It had nothing to do with what I was doing with her husband. She hated him." Then, Jenny's tough exterior crumbled and she started to blubber, "Janey was always a flibbertigibbet bless her sweet soul." Then the wracking sobs began.

So, there it was. First... you have to remember that cheating was a trivial concern. At least, compared to the emotions associated with the profound loss that I thought I'd endured. And in the half year since the tragedy the woman who I believed was Jane h put a lot of effort into distancing herself from anything associated with unfaithfulness.

Hence, there was none of the mindless anger connected with a fresh betrayal. Instead, I was overcome by a burning desire for revenge. Steve's role as the instigator put him squarely in my crosshairs. I would find him... and there would be a reckoning at a time and place of my choosing. That was inevitable. But the details of my former friend's extreme pain and suffering fall outside the scope of this story.

So, Jenny had been gaslighted into doing something she would never have done in a normal situation. Of course, her giving in to Steve's pressure tactics might have posed a serious problem if it wasn't crystal clear that her downfall was motivated by her love of her twin. Plus... their plan WAS indeed foolproof. There was no chance of discovery because the two of them had literally swapped bodies.

Jenny and Jane saw life through their twin lens. So, it was understandable that they would cook up a harebrained scheme like that. The logic might not make sense to a normal person. But it sounded perfectly sensible to the two of them.

Jane's death was the confounding element. Nobody could have anticipated it. But it left Jane dead and Jenny exposed as a cheater. The saving grace was that the death created a six-month grace period in which Jenny could try to prove that her straying was an anomaly.

I mean... Jenny was a gorgeous woman. She could have had an Italian stallion in her bed every night and I would've never thought anything about it since I believed she was Jane... and Jane was free to do whatever she pleased. But during that entire period, Jenny had been steadfastly loyal, never leaving my side. The message was clear.

But still, one killer question remained. I said, "How could you let me mourn your death for six long months. What could possibly justify that?"

My wife looked at me sympathetically and said, "What were my alternatives? I know you and I know how you feel about cheating. So, I knew what would have happened if I'd revealed that it was me in bed with that slimeball, not Jane."

I said firmly, "I would be an angry and bitter divorcée and you would be living in Malibu with your folks." Jenny jumped on that statement, "So, I think you can see that my only option was to pretend that I was Jane and try to create enough space to win back your trust."

My wife paused and added, "Believe me, it was sheer agony spending every day so near, and yet so far. But it was the only way for me to prove my devotion. So, I had to tough it out." Then Jenny stopped and said with agony in her voice, "More importantly - it was fitting penance for what I had done."

So, all of the questions had been answered and the jury had delivered the verdict, "Not guilty by reason of extortion... and a certain amount of twin weirdness."

Be that as it may, however... I also realized that Jenny's single foray into extra-marital sex had utterly nuked our marriage. I might understand and even accept Jenny's actions in the abstract... which I honestly did. But I could never lose the flash of her naked hips thrashing their way toward orgasm.

That sight vaporized our special bond like the instantaneous flash that obliterated Hiroshima. And just like Hiroshima's landscape afterwards... our marriage was utterly desolate. So, the only remaining question was whether there was even a potential for rebirth.

I took an honest look into my heart and the green shoots of a new beginning were already beginning to sprout. That was what six months of perspective buys you.

However, my immediate problem was that there was a weeping bundle of female protoplasm huddled in the booth opposite me. Jenny was rolled in a tragic little ball crying pitifully. I moved to her side, put my arm around her and she burrowed under it like a small woodland creature seeking shelter, sobbing, "I've lost my twin and now I'm going to lose you. There's nobody left in my world. I want to die."

Whoa there!!... Let's get this back to some semblance of reality. By then, Jenny had tunneled so far under my arm that it was like talking to somebody at the bottom of a rabbit hole. So, I dug her out, turned her to face me, lifted her tear-stained face and said, "Who says you've lost me. I still love you and I want you. It's just that we'll have to climb a killer mountain to get our marriage back." Jenny's face brightened with hope as she said, "Mountain?"

I said, "I've been thinking about that and the only answer I can come up with is to start over again... from scratch -- no you me and your twin -- and no ghost of your twin's douchebag husband lurking in the background. We are going to have to rebuild our loving bond one painful day at a time from the first date. Are you with me on this?"

Jenny immediately extended her hand. She said, "Hi... I'm Jenny Greenwood. I have a lot to learn about life without my twin. But you seem like a nice person. Would you be willing to help me?"

*****

Some parts of the process were easier than others. For instance... The six months that quasi-Jane and I had spent as man and sister-in-law had forged a relaxed and easy-going comradeship that Jenny and I just carried forward. But the goal was different now. We were forging a new marriage - to replace the one that was destroyed by Jenny's cheating.

Of course, the best way to build intimacy is through married sex. But there was a problem there, and it was all about me. My wife was gorgeous and pathetically willing. But I couldn't bring myself to make love to her.

The reason was atavistic. I had been a witness to Jenny losing herself with another man. Yeah, I know... that's what's supposed to happen when you have sex. But experiencing Jenny's passion as a third-party, made me ambivalent about intimacy with her.

And let me stop you right there! I'm not that naive... I know that a passionate woman will inevitably reach a point of no return... and Jenny was one very aroused female when I burst in on her. I'd seen it as she scrambled off Fuckface, breathing heavily, nipples erect and the funky smell of sex everywhere.

I had no thoughts about Jenny's turned-on condition at the time, since I thought she was Jane. Now, I was slammed by the emotional pangs that any guy would experience seeing their wife in sexual thrall to another man, and frankly that sight turned me off to the idea of ever having sex with Jenny again.

I loved Jenny. She loved me. But I couldn't get the bad pictures out of my head. They raised so many questions. Did she do the same things with him? What did she do differently? Was she hotter, more abandoned? Had she come with him?

And for Jenny's part, she was so riddled with guilt that she couldn't relax, couldn't get into it. We both tried. But we just couldn't keep the motor running. So, ultimately, we would roll away from each other... me seething and her crying.

Then, after the fourth failed attempt, Jenny took the bull by the horns, or perhaps by a more appropriate appendage. My wife said, with steel in her voice, "We can't keep living like this. I know I failed you. But I can't un-ring that bell. We've worked hard to get most of what we lost back. Each day we are more and more a married couple - I can feel it.

But I want it all. I want you to be my husband in every sense of the word. My body aches for you. And until we can lead a normal sex life, we will never be fully together. So, tell me honestly, what's preventing us from making that final link?"

I said, "It's simple, really. The vision of you totally out of control with that asshole, puts too many wicked thoughts in my head." Jenny turned purple with embarrassment as I added, "So rather than enjoying your amazing sexuality, it is almost like I'm standing in the room taking notes on our performance."

Jenny said, "Thank you for being honest. It's true. I love sex -- and I crave satisfaction. That's a biological imperative. But it has nothing to do with how I give myself to a man. When you and I are together, every atom of my body is yours, I lose myself in you."

Jenny continued, voice hoarse with contempt, "I was as involved with that piece of crap as I would be with a dildo. What you saw was me trying to come. He was a means to an end, nothing more."

Then Jenny paused and gave me a piercing look. She said, "You would know that I am totally yours if you stopped thinking and started feeling. I mean seriously... I love you. You love me. So, maybe it's time to turn off our brains and just fuck."

I propped my head on one elbow and looked at my wife as she lay there so open, and willing. I could see the power in her lower body. Jenny has exceptionally muscular hips, flanks, and legs. Her torso and arms are less developed. But they are perfectly proportioned and they radiate grace and power.

But her real glory lies in her exceptional face framed by that wealth of hair. And at present... that face wore the same expression as a starving lioness. That was an appropriate analogy, because in one explosive burst... Jenny grabbed me in what might be best described as a headlock and began frantically kissing my neck and shoulders.

It was a brilliant move. Because I didn't have a chance to think. Jenny was kissing and nipping and moaning frantically. I could feel her hunger as she writhed against me. And in that instant, I wasn't THINKING. I was FEELING. And my lizard brain knew that whatever my wife had done with Assbreath was a drop in the bucket compared to her endless desire for me.

All of the pent-up pain, regret, and anger just drained out of me, and I lost myself in Jenny's infinite passion. She was on top of me, moaning loudly and frantically humping the bulge that was restrained by my jammies. I rolled her violently over on her back as I slid my Pajamas down, wondering why I had EVER worn them in the first place.

Jenny was gazing at me with the most intense "Fuck Me!!" stare. Looking into those huge luminous eyes I could see that they were wild with desire for me, and me only. She was willing me to knock down every psychic barrier between us. Then those eyes rolled up in her head and stayed there.

No more lame intellectualizing. The heat and the smell transmogrified me. Now I was the Hulk, "Fuck puny human woman!!!" I grabbed each of Jenny's knees and spread her wide. She gave a deep-throated growl of sheer satisfaction, which changed to a groan as I plunged into the hottest, wettest three centimeters of heaven that mortal man will ever visit.

My penetration started Jenny off on an ecstasy of yowling. It was an animal growl, equal parts sensation and redemption. Her hips turned into a blur, and her breathing sounded like she was hyperventilating. My wife was clearly building to a once-in-a-lifetime orgasm... one that had been waiting in the wings for the past eight months.

When it hit, Jenny shot her legs straight up in the air opened them as wide as she could and began to shudder uncontrollably. Her passage clamped on me with violent vaginal flutters and quivers, accompanied by a sense that a river of red-hot lava was running through where we were joined.

Then Jenny arched herself into an almost perfect arc and began to violently fuck back against me. Her heels and shoulders were the only things touching the bed, as she continued violently throwing herself onto my cock. Finally, she threw herself back on the bed, totally spent on one level and utterly aroused on another.

Then, the oddest thing happened. My wife grabbed the side of my head in both of her strong little hands, opened her eyes, and stared directly into mine. She was communicating that she was totally and completely THERE in the moment with me.

After which, she abruptly rolled out from underneath me - turned and presented those magnificent, muscled buns. She looked back over her shoulder with a smolderingly visceral female challenge. I plunged back in her, and she shrieked again.

That started Jenny out on a wild, ass-rotating frenzy head hanging down, face hidden by her hair, and her shoulders working with effort as she pushed back against me. I grabbed the nipple of her right breast rolled it and pulled.

My wife began a frantic play-by-play, "Oh God so good It's been so long oh fuck me don't-stop-don't-stop-don't-EVER stop AHHHHHHHH!!!" And she collapsed face first onto the bed with me still pounding her ass like a man possessed. But I couldn't cum. I think it was because I didn't want it to end.

And yet, the inevitable had to happen. Jenny was making weak little grunts as she tried to elevate her butt. She was exhausted, her face was buried in the pillow, and drool was running out of the corner of her mouth. But she was offering herself, nonetheless.

Her last brave effort to please me pushed me over the edge and words like "Arrived like the Midnight Express" do not begin to describe what happened next. It was painful in the best sort of way. I kept making lurid grunting noises while Jenny made deep satisfied moans, still weakly moving, giving her all to me.

Lubricated by our mutual sweat, I collapsed on her muscular back and slid off onto the floor. Jenny held the pose she had been in when I pulled out of her, with her gorgeous rear end still slightly raised. Then it slowly settled down into a stillness like she had passed out.

I pulled myself shakily to my feet and sat next to Jenny on the bed. She was still shaking with the little aftershocks lying face-down in a puddle of drool. But I could see that one corner of her mouth was turned up.

I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, "That exorcised a lot of demons."

A sarcastic voice from somewhere deep in a pillow, said, "I assume you see the difference, now?"

*****

So, intimacy was back on the menu and our nascent bond kept growing stronger until we were a tightly bound, binary couple. Meaning we only needed each other. The faith that I had invested in Jenny was repaid by a life of joy and contentment. The only loose end was Jenny's identity.

We had been living like a married couple for over a year, but technically, we were not married. To the rest of the world, Jenny was Jane, my divorced sister-in-law. Now, it isn't odd for a guy to marry the sister of his deceased wife. But it is decidedly strange to marry his putatively deceased wife posing as her sister. Yet, that was our situation, and it had to change.

So, we were sitting together in the breakfast nook one glorious Campanian morning when I said, "Why don't you invite your folks over for a little ceremony." Jenny looked at me puzzled. That was when I hauled out the ring box. Jenny's eyes went wide with hope.

I said, matter-of-fact, "Your rings are buried with Jane. And of course, everybody thinks you are your sister. So, the only way to make this official is to marry you again as Jane."

That would be a true test of devotion. Since Jenny would lose her identity for the rest of her life. But the barriers would be infinite if I had to resurrect Jenny in order to marry her. But when I asked Jenny how she felt about becoming Jane. She laughed and said, "I'll be anybody you want, as long as we're together."

So, Jane Greenwood and I wed in a romantic, beachfront ceremony at the Lido del Faro on Capri. Her parents were the only other people in attendance. I felt that I owed it to them. I suspect that Jenny's mother had figured out who I was actually marrying. But she was smart enough to just go with the deception.

Jenny, who was now Jane, wore a pure white silk Chiton with a garland of flowers woven into her thick blond hair. The drape of the Chiton on Jenny's magnificent body would have launched at least a thousand ships back in the day. But that sight didn't come close to matching my new/old bride's celestial beauty.

We were in a tight embrace as the priest recited the words. Jenny's eyes were pools of love... slightly overflowing at the sides. As for me... I was thinking about the improbability of the thing. We literally had to conquer death to do it. But we had each other. Nothing would ever separate us. And somewhere up in heaven's celestial club scene, a gorgeous little party girl paused her dancing long enough to smile.

EPILOGUE

If boys are a man's legacy. Then girls are his reward. So excuuuuse me if I spend too much time with my daughter Brooke. Brooky was an eleven-year-old spitfire, with every one of her mother's good qualities from steadfast courage to an emerging beauty that had me shopping convents. She was my constant companion, best pal, and partner in crime. Words cannot express how much I loved her.

Brooke was tiny, compared to her nine-year-old brother Blake, who was my spitting image -- poor guy. And just like her mom had been... Brooke was a long-stick on the local kid's select lacrosse team, which played in a boy's league so they wore helmets and gear like I did.

Although she was smaller, Brooke made up for her lack of size with elite speed and skill. And she took no shit from any of the boys. Lacrosse isn't hockey. But there are occasional scrums like the one that Brooky had just instigated, where, until the referees broke it up... it looked like my darling little daughter was trying to chop wood with her stick.

The other parents were muttering about Brooke's aggressiveness, as she was being dismissed from the contest, still yelling at the other team's bench. While her mother sat next to me glowing with pride. Jenny knew that Brooky's feisty spirit was the promise that the next generation would handle the same challenges with the same undaunted courage.

I looked over at my beautiful partner and she gave me back a glowing blast of love. The final score is all that matters in the game. And a decade after the unfortunate events in Italy I knew that my wife and I had met the challenge and won.

We would live our lives, and raise our kids and die in each other's arms, preferably someplace more interesting than the suburbia that we were presently mired in. But we would do it together, on our terms. That's true love.

Author's Note

Randi says this is her final event. So, thanks, one last time my dear friend. You have personally, and through your events, been a colossal influence on me and many other writers on this site. I know that even the best of us eventually get tired of rolling that rock up the hill. But please understand that you have been an important person in many people's lives.