Endless Cycle

I hate funerals.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. I don't hate the actual burial itself, the placement of the casket into the ground. Nor do I detest a mausoleum placement ceremony where the urn holding the ashes of the departed is gently placed into its niche. Those are fine ceremonies with which I have no problem whatsoever. The parts of a funeral I hate, the parts I despise with a passion, are the actual memorial services themselves. I cannot stand all the talky parts that seem to accompany every damn funeral.

You know what I'm talking about. They have an emcee: a priest or rabbi or whatever religious officiant is hired to pretend to know the dead person they are speaking about. And that's not even the worst part. The worst part is when the emcee invites various people to deliver speeches about personal memories or some anecdotal story about the deceased that maybe is supposed to make you laugh or choke up with sadness, or maybe feel both at the same time. At least, that seems to be the intent. The problem is that most of those friends or relatives don't know shit about public speaking and, even if they do, they are choking up or sobbing themselves: they can barely get their words out of their mouths. Everyone in the audience coos in sympathy because gosh it's so sad, isn't it? It's such a tragedy just how much they miss [insert relative's or friend's name here]! Suddenly, it's all about the speakers rather than the dead person the service is supposed to be for. I hate that. It's the worst.

The worst of the worst is when the kids who are "voluntold" to speak about their departed close relative break down halfway through their speech. They can't continue; they run off the altar or stage, overwhelmed with loss and sobbing wildly. They run down the aisle into the foyer or whatever it is as the doors bang loudly behind them. When that happens, I'm not sad for the kid; I'm angry at the parents. What were those "loving" relatives thinking? You can't put that kind of pressure on a kid! Especially at a time like that. Jesus! When that happens I just want to go over to the parents and slap some sense into them. But of course I don't; I just sit there like everybody else waiting for the emcee to get the show back on track so we can finish talking about the dead person.

I have never--not even once--pushed anybody to speak at a funeral service. I even tried to dissuade my children when they asked to speak. Closure is one thing; I get that children need closure when a loved one dies. But unless they were mature enough to handle their grief while speaking publicly, I argued they should get their closure another way.

After all the talking is done, they serve mediocre once-hot buffet food like it's a cheap weekend cruise. Everybody stands around awkwardly, trying to say something other than "sorry for your loss" but, you know, there just isn't that much else to talk about at a memorial service. "How do you think the Dodgers are gonna do this year?" just doesn't really work for a conversation starter. As a result, I try to escape just as soon as socially acceptable, heading home so I can take off my black suit and black tie, and try to forget the departed so that I can move on with my life.

So, yeah, I hate the damn things.

*****

I came home from Carole's funeral service as quickly as I could get away, just as I did at every funeral. This one was no different from any other service, even though it was my wife's funeral. I poured myself a hefty glass of Bushmills Black Bush and savored the flavor as I thought about my next steps. Carole's twins--my two step-kids--wanted to come back to the house with me but I told them I needed some alone time. They nodded and I think they were relieved to give me some space. Even though we had known each other for more than a decade, we were never especially close. They were fully grown when Carole and I got married. I was their mom's second husband, Jacob--"just call me Jake." I lived with Carole, working as a manager at the local store of a well-known national home improvement retailer. Carole worked as a senior buyer for a national department store chain. Sarah and Sammy lived their own lives. Sarah lived about an hour away from us while Sammy lived in LA. We got together for holidays--sometimes--and that was about as much of a family as we were. I guess we had a "modern" 21st-century family dynamic. They both cried at Carole's service; there was no doubt they loved their mother and she loved them. But I was not really a part of whatever family feelings they shared with each other. I was the outsider who married their mother. That was okay with me; I didn't need, or want, to get too close to people.

Both Sarah and Sammy were in their early twenties when we got married. Now they were in that space between thirty and thirty-five when most people start to question their previous life choices, when they either accept the life they've made or else break out and go a little crazy trying to reinvent themselves.

Sarah was a stressed-out elementary school teacher. We all know how screwed-up the modern education system is; raise your kids on screens and then you get a parent/teacher conference with gosh how strange it is that they can't sit still or focus in class! I knew the system was wearing her down but she was still fighting to make a difference in the lives of her kids. I wasn't sure how long she would be able to keep fighting. Sarah was approaching thirty-five, still single. I knew she wasn't a lesbian; she had several boyfriends of varying durations but nothing ever seemed to be serious. I hoped she would get her life together soon.

Sammy was a lawyer in a big firm, but I was pretty sure he hated practicing law and yearned for something less structured that involved more creativity. I knew writing legal briefs was not exactly a fulfilling creative outlet. When he wasn't lawyering, he was involved in amateur theater productions. I knew he had a few scripts he was working on; if he couldn't be an actor then he wanted to be a playwright. That was where his true passion was. He just practiced law to put a roof over his head. Like Sarah, Sammy was single. He might be gay but he had never outed himself; neither Carole nor I ever pushed him on the subject. Right now, his life could be described as "attorney by day, dramaturge by night." Which was fine, as far as it went. Like Sarah, I hoped he would make a new life for himself, one where he could follow his passion instead of chasing a salary.

Well, they each were soon going to have a chance to follow their passions because they wouldn't need to worry about money when they received their inheritance via the family trust. In addition to making them Trustees of the Trust--which was substantial even before the equity in our house was counted--there was also a pre-nup that guaranteed the funds Carole had brought to our marriage from her divorce would go to them on her death. Their financial futures were set. There should be no need to argue about money, which was a good thing. I've seen dozens of families break-up while fighting about inheritances. Somebody dies, everybody else yells "free death money," and then greed takes over.

Love. Death. Greed. It is an endless cycle and I was glad Carole's kids were going to avoid all that nasty mess. It was all going to them. I didn't need, nor did I desire, anything more than I already had before I married Carole. I was sufficiently well-off before Carole and, now, more than decade later, I was still sufficiently well-off even without the Trust assets that we had nurtured together during our marriage. I smiled as I quickly signed the already-prepared documents that announced my resignation as Trustee while also disclaiming any rights as Beneficiary. I signed the quit-claim on the house. Everything in the Trust--every single dollar--would go to Sarah and Sammy. Fifty/fifty, an even split of double-digit millions of dollars. Wouldn't they be surprised! I wondered what they would do with their new-found wealth. I shrugged slightly: not my problem. Not anymore.

I sighed at what the bathroom mirror showed me. My hair and beard were completely gray now. At least my body was trim. I worked hard to keep it that way. Carole had always smirked at my fitness obsession. "My gray-haired gym rat," she called me. She was overweight for most of our marriage but I never cared about that. She was fun to be with; she laughed at my jokes and we laughed together at the antics of the world around us. Besides, as the cancer grew and chemo became a way of life, she lost weight quickly. By the end, we both wished she still had those extra pounds on her emaciated frame.

I was going to miss her laughter more than anything else.

Sighing again, I pulled out the special shampoo from where it had been hidden for months, underneath the bathroom sink and way in the back. Guaranteed to remove color from hair; I hoped it worked on artificial gray. I looked at the tube for a couple of minutes, just thinking about nothing. Then I shook my head because it wasn't like me to procrastinate. When something needs to be done, I do it. Now it was time for the next step in the process. I turned on the shower and got in.

I let the hot water soothe my body as I rubbed the shampoo into my hair. It smelled like overripe berries. The instructions advised multiple applications. That was fine with me. I needed the time to reflect on Carole. We were together twelve years, eleven of them as husband and wife. Twelve years of laughter and shared experiences. We didn't travel much; she was more of a home-body and I had learned over time to appreciate the joys of just hanging out, sipping wine with each other, or maybe hosting a small party where our friends gathered and drank too many strawberry margaritas until we had to take their keys and call them an Uber. Good times. There had been more than a decade of good times with her... now it was over and I needed to move on.

Nearly an hour later I emerged, my hair restored to its natural dark brown. I now looked to be in my mid-thirties instead of fifty-six, as my driver's license claimed.

Speaking of... I needed a new driver's license and a new birth certificate and a new social security number and all the myriad details that comprise an identity of a modern citizen in this great country. I frowned, thinking about all the steps I needed to go through to create a new identity for myself; what a pain in the ass! Fortunately, I knew a guy who was good at what I needed. Actually, I knew several good guys; but one in particular came to mind. He was so good I couldn't text him; he didn't have a phone. And I couldn't Uber to him, either, because Ubers needed credit cards and I was leaving all my cards behind me. I would take a taxi to a location a mile or so from his workshop, pay cash, and walk the rest of the way.

Cash is good. Untraceable. Which was why the government is so excited to see the rise of the "cashless" economy. Well, call me old-fashioned but I love cash. Legal tender for all debts public and private. I'm using cash as much as possible until they pass a law that says otherwise. I don't know what I'm going to do when that happens.

*****

When most of your funds are in numbered accounts, all you need is an internet connection to access them and transfer them into your brand-new accounts (plural) at a bank and several credit unions. That's assuming you know your account numbers, passwords, and answers to the security questions, of course. Which I did. I remembered them just as I remembered everything from my long life. The biometrics were no problem; those never changed, even when my name did.

Two weeks after leaving the home I shared with Carole, I was well on my way to becoming a new man. A rich man, if you want to categorize me without really knowing me at all. In any case, I was a new man with a new name: Daniel J. Brown, age 36. A former exec in a tech start-up who harvested at the right time and now hangs out doing whatever the fuck he wants to do. A quiet man who lives modestly without a fancy car or fancy yacht, who will be buying a modest two- or three-bedroom condo somewhere soon, but not until my new banks release their hold on the funds I transferred in from the Cayman Island account. Add anti-money laundering laws to the long list of things I don't care for in this modern age.

Two weeks to establish a new identity. Another two weeks to give that identity the financial wherewithal to act. A month... followed by several more months of house-hunting in city after city while I searched for a place that Daniel Brown could call home for the next decade or so. I knew the drill; I had done it before. But this time I was slower to settle on a decision. No place felt right; no potential home felt right. Nothing felt comfortable in the way a home should feel.

I eventually realized that I wasn't ready to settle down yet.

I decided that before I settled down in suburbia, some general fun was in order, because it had been twelve years of domesticity and Daniel (Dan to his friends) was a little itchy for some travel, for some adventures on the road. Thus, Las Vegas called to me--or, at least, to Dan Brown.

*****

I hadn't played poker in fifteen years, but my old skills came back pretty quickly. I was down maybe $15,000 after the first two nights, but by the end of the second week I was up nearly $100,000. Even though fifteen years had passed, a tell was still a tell. By the end of the second week, the regulars nodded to me as I took my seat. We took our turns fleecing the tourists, knowing not to go up against each other unless we had to. It was professional courtesy.

By the end of the third week, I was ahead nearly $200,000 and, when I sat down, a few of the regulars cashed out and stood up to find another table. The tourists stayed seated until they had nothing left to lose.

Another thing about Vegas: it's good for washing money. Dollars become chips which become dollars again. You can buy-in as many times as you need. You can cash your winnings the same day, or wait for a while. Thus, it's hard for the government to track poker winnings and losses with any degree of accuracy.

My winnings drew some attention from non-governmental sources and, as a result, when I tried to exit the casino's poker room one Thursday night on Week Four, I was blocked by a twenty-something blonde with a lithe young body and the ice blue eyes of a much older woman. Her impressive breasts bumped into me; she would have tripped but I held on to her to keep her from falling--just as she intended. Her wide smile gleamed in gratitude but I would have seen the same smile in a shark that just spotted its next meal. Her eyes stayed cold despite the warmth of her smile.

We did the "meet-cute" chit-chat and I allowed myself to be wheedled into buying her a drink at the bar. She sipped a Cosmo while I sipped a double Redbreast 12-Year. Neither one of us had champagne, which I counted as a victory against Las Vegas stereotypes and tropes. While the house band played "I Fall in Love Too Easily," Debra (if that was her real name) worked hard to hook me. She worked hard through two Cosmos. I won't lie: I was tempted. It had been more than two years since Carole and I last made love. Damn that chemo! I never cheated on my wives so I had been celibate for two years. Some would say I deserved a little action after my virtuous celibacy; they would say I had earned a twenty-something blonde with suspiciously firm breasts and long, toned legs. Maybe I did deserve Debra, at least for tonight. The way I saw things, I could treat Debra like a simple business transaction. That was obviously how Debra viewed our relationship. I didn't think she was a hooker but this was Vegas: the difference between a hooker and a gold digger was subtle and a matter of degree.

I could go along with her plans for a night or two. Spring for some drinks and some meals. Enjoy the sex while she pretended to enjoy it as well. (It might even be possible that she wouldn't fake her orgasms; I was decent in the sack.) I would buy her some jewelry for her troubles. Maybe throw a $1,000 chip or two into her handbag on the last morning. All I would have to do is to keep my winnings on deposit with the hotel so that I didn't wake up one morning broke and wondering where Debra was. Not that losing $200,000 was going to break me, but I didn't want to be that much of a chump. If we hooked-up, it would just be a business transaction; I would pay a fair price for the action, but nothing more.

I was tempted. I won't lie about that. Yet as Debra prattled on, working me, I slowly realized that I would rather let a rattlesnake into my bed. It wasn't that we had nothing in common; I don't have much in common with most people I talk to these days. No: the problem was that she didn't laugh and her predatory smile made me nervous. Carole had always laughed at my attempts at humor or, when she didn't, her reactions made me laugh. We laughed together for twelve years. I had been with Debra for nearly an hour and neither one of us had laughed even once. This wasn't fun; this was serious. She was all business; a serious professional. She was serious about hooking me and squeezing me for as much as she could get. Sex with Debra might be satisfying... but it would never be fun. Sex without fun is little better than masturbation--and masturbation is a hell of a lot cheaper.

I realized the lack of laughter between us was more than a turn-off; it was a deal-breaker.

Thinking about business transactions and Debra's lack of humor got me depressed because Debra was all beauty on the outside with nothing enticing on the inside. She was the opposite of Carole, who had not been a great looker but who was full of joy. Carole attracted me; Debra repelled me.

I vaguely realized that Debra had asked me a question while I was deciding whether to move forward with her. She was looking at me and, just for a moment, her mask slipped. I saw the true Debra (or whatever her name was) and I stood up quickly.

"Sorry to waste your time," I said. She stared at me, mouth open in shock. I took a couple $1,000 chips out of my pocket and placed them on the table. "This ought to cover the drinks and the taxi fare home."

"But--" she started to object.

"Nope," I interrupted, "this isn't going to work out--for either of us. Have a pleasant night and better luck next time." Saying that, I walked away from Debra.

And walked right into Sarah.

*****

We do-si-doed for a bit, each trying to let the other one move past. Finally, we came to a stop and started to laugh. We stood that way, laughing, for too long before I came to my senses. "Excuse me," I said politely, "I may have had too much to--"

She stopped laughing but she didn't move; she just stared at my face. Her mouth hung open before she snapped it shut. "Oh my God!" she whispered. "Jake? Is that really you?"

"Sorry," I shook my head, "my name is Dan. Dan Brown." I smiled with confidence because I had practiced this bit over the past several weeks. "Like the author but, you know, not rich or famous." I turned to try to walk around her again but she grabbed me hard.

"Jake!"

"Not Jake. Dan."

"But you look just like...."

"Uh, sorry, Sarah. I'm not the guy you're looking for. Sorry." I tugged on my arm but she held it tight. Her eyes roved over my face, looking for something she wasn't going to find.

Her eyes grew wide as a sudden thought hit her. "Wait! How do you know my name?"

I pointed with the arm not held captive at the identification tag hanging around her neck, the one that told me her name and proclaimed she was here for a National Elementary School Teachers Education Association convention. Just my luck. Sarah had never gone to a convention before; she never had the time or money. Well, now she did--thanks to me.

She touched her ID tag and blushed. I felt my arm released from her grip. "Okay. But, uh, do you have an older brother, or maybe an uncle? Because I swear you look just like a younger version of my step-father. Same height; same build. You must be related!"

I shook my head. "Sorry. No brothers or sisters. No uncles named Jake." I shrugged. "They say everybody has an exact twin. I guess you met mine."

She nodded and sighed. She was starting to believe. I sidestepped to go around her and, once again, she stopped me, this time with a hand laid gently on my upper arm instead of a death grip on my elbow.

"Can we have a drink, uh,... Dan? Even if you're not the guy I thought you were maybe we can just... chat for a few minutes?"

I turned slightly; there was Debra, still sitting at the table with a half-finished Cosmo, staring daggers at me--and at Sarah. The band segued into "You Make Me Feel So Young." They were really on a Sinatra kick tonight. I smiled slightly as I remembered seeing the Rat Pack perform at The Sands. What a night that had been!

I returned to the here and now. Sarah was still lightly holding my arm, waiting for a response.

"Not here," I finally said. "Let's go to my room."

She hesitated. Right; I understood. Going up to a hotel room with a guy she just met, no matter how much he reminded her of somebody else, was not a great idea, in Vegas or anywhere else.

"You here with any friends?" I asked.

She nodded. "A couple."

"Text them now." I showed her my shiny new driver's license. "Give them my name. Then when we get to my room, text them the room number. That way, if there's any trouble, they'll have my name and room number." I had an idea. "In fact, tell them that you'll text them in an hour. If they don't hear from you, they can call. If that doesn't work, they can call the hotel or the police." I smiled down at her. "How does that sound?"

"I think that'll work." She did as I suggested and, together, we took the elevator to my room.

*****

My room was nice. Not the nicest room in the hotel; I had no need for all that space. But it was a nice suite with good view of the Strip and a decently stocked bar. I knew Sarah liked white wine so I poured her a glass while I sipped a Jameson. Not my favorite Irish whiskey, but decent and drinkable. We sat on the sofa and looked at each other for a while.

I could see Carole in Sarah. Mostly in her cheekbones and nose. The thick black hair, large dark eyes and her height must have come from her father, the guy Carole divorced two decades ago when the twins were barely into puberty. Sarah was much slimmer than Carole was, with long, lean legs and a smaller bust.

I knew Sarah was checking me out as well. She kept shaking her head and sighing. I let her look. The guy she was looking for was twenty years older than I was, with a full beard that was shot with gray, just like the once-black hair on his head. I was clean-shaven, had brown hair, and was just a few years older than Sarah. We might look similar to each other, but we were not--could not--be the same person. It was impossible.

"It's crazy," she finally said. "You look so much like Jake! Or maybe a younger version--you know?"

I shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint you, Sarah." I sipped my Irish whiskey. "This Jake guy... was he a good guy? Did he treat you right?"

"Yeah, he was a good guy." She looked inward for a second or two. "I mean, he treated us all well but... we weren't close. Looking back, it was like he was keeping us at a distance. And then, when Mom died, he...." Her voice faded away.

"He what?"

She sighed deeply. "He disappeared. That's what. He just... left. Disappeared. Went to the funeral and then he was gone. Left everything behind."

"Wow!"

"Right! I know! The big mystery: what happened to Jake? He's been gone for six months. We were going to hire a private investigator to find him when I got back from the convention. And then I saw you tonight and then I...." She shrugged and sipped her wine. "I made a fool of myself."

"Don't worry about it. It's totally understandable."

"Thank you for saying that. Now, tell me a little about yourself, Dan-who-is-not-Jake."

"Not a lot to tell. Dan Brown, age 36. After getting my MBA, I worked in Silicon Valley for a decade, doing the tech thing. I worked at a couple of start-ups, burning through a lot of VC money, before one finally hit. We didn't go public; instead, we were acquired by another, bigger tech company. I sold my shares and now I don't have to work for a living anymore."

"So, what? You just hang out in Vegas now?"

"Well, that's where I am now. Playing a little poker. Just... hanging out. Waiting to see where I go next." I hesitated. "It was all work and not much play for more than a decade. I figure I'm entitled to blow-off a little steam."

Sarah nodded. "Any wife or kids? Or serious girlfriends?"

I chuckled. "I told you; I was busy for a long time. Busy in Silicon Valley terms means 80-hour workweeks. Too busy to find anybody serious; nobody would put up with playing second fiddle to such a demanding job. So, no. No wife. No kids. No serious girlfriends."

"What about that girl you were with downstairs in the bar?"

"Oh. You saw that."

"Yes. And when you got up to leave, I wasn't sure whether she was going to hit you or throw her drink in your face."

"Yeah, well. That was Debra. At least that's the name she gave me. She saw me win some money tonight in the poker room and decided I was the love of her life... at least until my money ran out."

"Oh."

"Yeah. It was a business transaction for her but nobody said anything overt--you know what I mean?" Seeing her nod, I continued. "I won't say I wasn't tempted, because I was. But... I realized she wasn't what I was looking for. It would have meant nothing to either of us. We would have been just, uh, using each other." I sipped the end of my whiskey. "So... I got up. I paid her for her time and walked away--or tried to. Which is where you entered the picture."

She dimpled and blushed.

"So tell me about Sarah, uh, Calverson. An elementary school teacher, obviously. But where?"

She was about to answer me when her phone buzzed. "Excuse me," she said, and began texting quickly.

She looked up a minute later. "I told them I was fine and that you were a gentleman." She smiled at me. "You are a gentleman, right?"

"I can be, yes." I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

Her smile grew. "I don't know why, but I feel safe with you. Like... nothing's gonna happen unless I want it to happen. Is that how you feel, too?"

"Yes. I feel safe with you, too."

She laughed. "You know what I meant!"

I smiled back. "I do. You don't have anything to worry about."

She nodded, still smiling. Sarah had a pretty smile. Those dimples should be licensed as deadly weapons. How had I not noticed that before?

"So, about me," she said. "Sarah Calverson. I teach third grade in a middle-class suburb of San Diego. Age 33. Never married. I had a couple of serious boyfriends--one who lived with me for almost two years in my early twenties--but nothing seemed to work out." She sighed. "I deal with kids all day long; the last thing I wanted to do was deal with another child when I came home. After living with him for more than a year I realized he didn't want a wife; not really. He wasn't... ready. He just wasn't ready for an adult commitment. You know what I mean?"

I nodded. "I think so, yes. Young men looking for Mommy to take care of them, not pulling their weight in the relationship."

"Exactly!"

I nodded and put my whiskey glass down. "Well, I wish you the best, Sarah. As you can see, I'm not the guy you thought I was. I'm just a guy who worked his ass off for a long time and now wants to enjoy life a little before I figure out Chapter Two."

She didn't take the hint. She sipped her wine. "I think I'm kind of in the same position as you are," she told me.

"How so?"

"Well, I told you my step-father, Jake, just... disappeared six months ago--leaving everything to me and my twin brother. An even split. Neither one of us ever realized how much... well. Let's just say I don't have to be a teacher unless I want to be."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you want to be a teacher?"

She held her glass to me and I filled it again. I poured myself another Jameson. After she sipped the wine, she said, "I'm not really sure. I mean... I love teaching! I really do! I love the kids and seeing them grow. So, that part is good. But...."

"But what?"

"The school district. The unions. The principal. The politics and the budgets. The lack of funding and resources. Those parts... I don't really know how to explain how they make me feel but let's just say I don't love them."

"I think I get it."

She huffed a bit. "Do you? Do you really?"

"Yeah. I think I do. You have a calling to be a teacher but it's at war with all the bullshit that comes with that calling."

She sipped her wine, thinking about what I said. Finally, she nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, if you don't mind some advice from a complete stranger, I would say you should find something that allows you to help kids without all the other bullshit." I held up my hand. "I'm not saying I know what that would be. I'm just saying... maybe look for that kind of thing... if you can find it."

She nodded, smiled brightly, and stood up. "You're a good man, Dan. You listen really well."

"For a man."

She chuckled. "Well, yeah. For a man. You make it easy to talk to you and I... I appreciate that."

I took the empty wine glass from her and set it down. "Well, then, Sarah. Enjoy the rest of your convention."

She stood up and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being a gentleman. For being a good man."

I held the door open. As she was leaving, she turned back to look at me. "Want to have dinner tomorrow night?" she asked.

I was signed-up for a poker tournament but, suddenly, poker didn't matter anymore. "Sure," I said quickly. "Meet at the same bar? What time?"

"How about six?"

"Great. What kind of food do you like?"

"I don't need another expensive steak. Pretty much anything else will work."

"See you then."

*****

I was in uncharted territory.

After Carole died, I disappeared. I changed my name. I moved away. That's what I did, what I always did, time after time. I said goodbye and I moved on. Turned the page. Started another chapter. Started another life.

That's the way it had been for more than a hundred years.

I remembered my first wife: Virginia, whom I called Ginny. Red hair and freckles, modest and demure in public but with a willingness to be wild when it was just the two of us alone at night. After she was gone, I said goodbye to our two children, Mary and Earnest (and their families), and walked away.

I remembered my second wife, Becky, a soft-spoken Southern girl who wanted to be taken care of, and who would take care of her man in return. Family was important to her. We had three children: Eric, Ginny, and Melissa. I hoped they and their families thrived after I hopped on a train and disappeared from their lives.

After Becky there was Michelle; we had no children. After Michelle was Donna; we also had no children together, though she had a handsome son, Dickie, from a previous marriage. Over the years, I learned to find professional women who didn't want kids, or who already had kids and didn't want more. Finally, there was a decade of marriage with my joyous, laughing, Carole.

Five wives in my long life. Five women I loved and who loved me back. All five now just faces that lived only in my memories. We enjoyed our lives together but, when they died, I moved on. I always moved on, taking another name and inventing another person to become. I moved on and I never, ever, looked back.

This time was different. Now I was going to have dinner with someone who knew me in a past life. Somebody who could connect the lines I had so carefully cut. What am I doing? I asked myself.

Having dinner with Sarah made no sense whatsoever. What I should do was check-out of the hotel and take a flight to Los Angeles or Denver or Chicago, and lose myself so I could start over with a clean break. What I should not do was have dinner with my ex-step-daughter. But despite all the risks, I was going to do it anyway.

What was I thinking?

Well, to be honest, I was thinking that Sarah was really cute and her smile lifted my heart. Last night, after she left my room, I slept soundly and awoken with a smile on my face. I whistled on my way to the hotel's gym and, afterwards, I whistled in the shower. I found myself looking forward to dinner with her. Risks be damned.

*****

Picking the restaurant was a challenge. I didn't want to come on too strong. There were a dozen amazing seafood restaurants on the Strip but I knew they would be too much for her. She wouldn't want to be overwhelmed. Top-end dining would overwhelm her and, at a minimum, create the wrong impression--like I was wooing her or something. For all I knew, this was simply a casual dinner between two almost-strangers who just wanted to talk and get to know each other a little bit more. I didn't want her to think that I would think she owed me sex in return for an expensive dinner. So, after some research, I picked a casual place way off the Strip, up in Summerlin. In a strip mall. But the reviews were solid. It would be a perfect place for the kind of dinner I thought Sarah wanted.

I was right.

We met in the hotel bar. The band was still playing Sinatra; this time it was "Just One of Those Things." I smiled at the music. There was a time, long ago, when I would have asked Sarah to dance. I used to do a pretty good foxtrot. But tonight she was with two other friends--women with sharp, suspicious eyes who wanted me to know they were watching out for Sarah's interests.

I was fine with their presence; I was glad Sarah had supportive friends. We sat at a table and chatted for a couple of minutes; I think I satisfied them that Sarah would be returned back to the hotel in the same condition in which she left it. They finally finished their cocktails and nodded. Receiving their permission, I escorted Sarah out of the hotel, towards our restaurant.

Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer taxis to Uber, even when I had a credit card with a healthy limit in the right name. The taxi took a little less than 30 minutes to deposit us at the strip mall. During the ride, I felt that Sarah was a little tense so I tried a few jokes. Not many landed but one--the old one about the man who shot his best friend on a hunting trip--doubled her over with laughter. Things improved after that.

The restaurant wasn't fancy but the Cajun-style seafood was good. So was the wine. We split a bottle of Sonoma Chardonnay. A little more oak that I would have preferred, but I knew Sarah wasn't a wine snob. We clinked our glasses together and the conversation flowed, at least when we weren't chewing or sipping.

I explained to Sarah that I wasn't a software coder or, really, any kind of technical expert. "I was the back-office guy," I said with a shrug. "Dealt with the VCs and tracked spending against funding. Budgets." I smiled a self-deprecating smile. "All the stuff you said you hated about the modern educational system."

"I don't hate that stuff," she corrected me. "I realize budgets are important. But when they get in the way of helping the kids--"

"Then you get frustrated."

She nodded. "Right." She took another sip of her wine and I watched as she hummed her enjoyment.

"You like?"

She nodded again and her smile grew. "Thanks for this, Dan." She looked around; she waved her arm to encompass the restaurant. "This is pretty much perfect for me. I was afraid we were going to eat in one of those fancy Strip places."

"I guessed you wouldn't want that. Glad I guessed right."

"Yeah, I'm not really into fancy, five-star dining." She shrugged. "Plus, I'm hardly dressed for one of those places."

"I think you look lovely tonight."

She blushed, dimples showing. Those dimples reminded me of Carole but I pushed that thought away quickly. Carole was gone and Sarah was here with me tonight. "Thank you, Dan," she said quietly.

"Ahh, so we're over the whole 'you are Jake, my step-father' thing, are we?"

Sarah laughed. "I hope so!" She shook her head. "You could be his younger brother but, you know, I have to accept that you're not."

"Good. It was creeping me out a bit, to be honest."

She cocked her head. "What? You thought I may have had a thing for my senior citizen step-dad?"

"I was beginning to wonder."

"Ewww." She shuddered and I laughed.

"Well, in any case, I'm glad that's behind us." I raised my glass. "Now we can focus on what's in front of us."

We clinked again. The bottle was soon emptied.

"What you do mean about 'what's in front of us'?" she asked, finishing her wine. Her sparkling eyes told me she had some ideas of her own.

"I mean, dearest Sarah, that we need to decide on whether we want a second bottle of Chardonnay."

"Is that all you meant?"

I leaned forward. "I didn't want to presume...."

"I think you should presume, Dan. I really think you should."

"Okay." I waited a beat. "A second bottle it is!" She sat back, disappointed. I waited another beat. "Back at my room!"

Her dimples and beautiful smile returned. We quickly departed the restaurant.

*****

I firmly told myself it wasn't like that. It wasn't like I was a father figure to Sarah, like she was my daughter-from-another-father. Nope. I reminded myself that she was already a fully grown woman, an adult, before I even met her mother. She wasn't a virgin when she stood by Carole at the wedding, the Maid of Honor. (I couldn't remember if she had a boyfriend at the time or not; my focus had been elsewhere.) The point was, we were never especially close. I was her mother's second husband; that was all I had ever been. Certainly, I was never any kind of father to her, nor was she any kind of daughter to me.

Tonight, we were just two adults in a Las Vegas motel room, enjoying each other's bodies.

The second bottle of wine sat unopened on the bar top, witnessing what we did with each other, what we did to each other. That chilled bottle sweated as it warmed in the air, a silent witness to a surprisingly passionate physical performance on both our parts.

Her breasts were small, with dime-sized areolae on the darker side of pink, and long, firm nipples that rose up under my tongue. I refrained from calling them "pencil erasers" because that would have been the wrong thing to say, given her profession. Still, they were long, sensitive things. The right suction plus knowing fingers down below paid off for us both as Sarah tensed then released with a gasp.

She was shaven bare; I had never before been with a woman who didn't have at least a landing strip. I was surprised for the briefest of moments before I dove in. I must say, everything was easier to see and navigate without a lot of pubic hair in the way, hair that hid all the best parts of a woman. Her second orgasm announced itself with a louder gasp as her legs locked around my head, holding me in place while her body took her places far away from the hotel bed.

She had a condom in her purse. I guessed she was pretty sure how the night was going to end. I also had a few in my nightstand, just in case. We used three.

I don't know how long it had been for Sarah but I knew it had been at least two years for me. I had some catching up to do. Making love to Sarah felt better than good; it felt amazing. I came quickly the first time, but the second time I lasted long enough to feel her come along with me. Afterwards, we looked into each other's eyes and laughed as we panted and wiped away the sweat. I wasn't sure how she felt about tonight, but I knew that making love with her was going to be a memory I cherished forever.

Later, we showered and teased each other, letting the water cleanse us while using our hands and tongues. I had to push her away before I exploded into her mouth because she was just that good. Was it experience or native talent? I didn't know, nor did I care.

After the shower we finally opened that second bottle of wine. We looked into each other's eyes as we drank. We wore towels wrapped around our waists and nothing else. She didn't say anything as we enjoyed the wine. She didn't have to because her eyes said it all. We fell back into the bed and round three was... how do I say it? It was as if there had been no round one or round two. Sarah was just as passionate as I was, only this time we tried a few different things, each trying to sense each other's boundaries. She yelled as she came, and so did I. It was glorious.

I handed her a washcloth to clean up. When she was done, she sighed and started to get dressed. "Time for the walk of shame," she told me.

"Stay with me."

She looked down at me while she pulled her black panties up. "That would be nice," she told me. "But either way, I still need to make the same walk. I'd rather do it now before the families get into the elevators for breakfast."

"I understand."

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "One more day here in Vegas. One more night. Then... home."

"I'm going to miss you, Sarah." I reached up and pulled her down to me so that our lips met one more time. We stayed that way for as long as I could hold her, before she pushed me away and got back to her feet. My arms didn't seem to have their usual strength this morning.

"I'll miss you as well."

I reached for her again but she danced away. "Okay. Then what about dinner tomorrow night? Or maybe a show?"

She smiled, showing those dimples again. "I thought you were here to play poker," she teased.

"I was. That was before I met you."

"Horndog." Her smile was light and sunshine.

"Guilty as charged."

Her smile faded. "Dan... what we had, uh tonight. This. It's just a... a Vegas thing, right? Nothing more than that."

The smart answer would be to agree with her. I was many things, but smart probably wasn't one of them--not when it came to Sarah. "If that's all you want it to be, then yes," I said. "But it doesn't have to be."

She cocked her head in puzzlement. "I'm not sure I'm following you."

I shrugged. "Not much to follow. I like you. I like you enough to want to see you again. Either tomorrow night or... later." I realized I was speaking the truth: I did want to see Sarah again. She was the most real person I had met since starting my new life.

She hummed, thinking. "I don't know about 'later' to be honest. I like you and I like our sex. But I don't really know you, do I? Not enough to commit to a relationship."

"I'm not asking for a commitment, except to another dinner. If that's too much, then let's just see a show. Either way, if you don't want to end tomorrow night like this, then that's okay, too. Just... I'd like to see you again, at least before you go back to wherever you live." I smiled. "That lack of knowledge works both ways, doesn't it? I mean, I don't even know where you live. I don't know whether you own or rent, whether you have a roommate or live alone. Do you have a pet? There's a lot I don't know about you, Sarah Calverson who teaches third grade somewhere near San Diego."

"Rent," she said.

"What?"

"I live in East County, San Diego. Just off The Eight. Where I rent a one-bedroom apartment at an exorbitant rate, but at least I can afford it. Barely. No pets. And I have to drive 45 minutes each way to the school where I teach."

"Well, now I know."

"What about you? Tell me something I don't know about you."

"I don't rent or own a place. Not yet. But I'm thinking about buying a condo. Not a fancy place, just a place to call home. I've been looking for a while, looking in several different cities, but I haven't found the right place yet. I thought I would hang out in Sin City for a while, until I got tired of living in a hotel. I thought it might help me to get, uh, motivated or whatever to find a place to settle down."

"But you don't know where."

"Exactly." I leaned my sweaty head back into the pillow. I was wiped-out. She had wiped me out. "I'm open to the possibilities that life has in store for me."

"Surely you must have some plans, some ambition. Like, a bucket list of things to do before you die?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I was all about ambition for years. I told you: 80-hour weeks were the norm. Some weeks were longer than that. I worked my ass off. Now I kind of just want to... drift. At least for a while." My eyes were growing heavy. "I know I must sound like a bum or something but, you know, I earned this. I earned it the hard way." My voice slurred and I could feel myself drifting off.

"I think I understand. Goodnight, Jake. Sleep well."

"'Night, honey," I whispered as my eyes closed.

Then she was gone. I didn't even hear the door close behind her.

*****

I woke up later than was usual for me--for obvious reasons. I enjoyed a room service breakfast then hit the gym for nearly two hours. Afterwards, I went down to the hotel and explored the convention area. There must have been five thousand elementary school teachers there, all buzzing about the latest developments in child development. I spent a couple of hours looking for Sarah, but she was hidden amongst the undulating mass of educators.

I had a light lunch well after noon at one of the hotel's restaurants. I glanced over towards the poker room, but I didn't feel much like concentrating. Playing poker is hard work, though the better players make it look fun and effortless. The truth is, you either focus hard or you lose your money. I wasn't ready to focus, nor was I ready to lose. So I kept meandering around the hotel in the vague hope that Sarah might appear.

She didn't.

Finally, I went up to my room to shower, shave, and change. I found myself back at that same bar, sipping a very expensive Redbreast 21-Year and trying to tell myself that it was better--far better--if she didn't show up. I sat there, listening to Sinatra and imagining myself dancing with Sarah, while I enjoyed another Redbreast. Then I enjoyed another one after that. I glanced at my phone; dinner time had come and gone. Sarah had gone. Poetic justice for how I had left her and Sammy--though she couldn't know that.

Tonight was a bust, but at least I had my memories from last night. Memories I would never forget. Just like the other memories I kept locked away in my head. I sighed and looked down at the bottom of the glass. Suddenly, I didn't know what to do with myself.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked from behind my back. I stood up, turned, and hugged her, not having any words at the moment.

We sat down and she waved at her girlfriends, who snickered at us, which turned into laughter as they sauntered off to find their own adventures on their last night in Vegas.

"Drink?" I asked her.

"How many have you already had?"

"Two. No, three."

She smelled what was left of the Redbreast and nodded. "Smells sweet."

"Yep. I do love me a good Irish whiskey. This is one of the best--though they charge through the roof for it here. Want one?"

"No, thank you." She pretended to frown. "What happened to that show you promised me?"

I wasn't having any of it. "What happened to that dinner you promised me?"

"I never committed to a dinner with you."

"I never committed to a show."

We both laughed. "You offered me a show," she said. "You did and you know it!"

"I did offer but you didn't accept," I replied. "Every contract needs an offer and acceptance. You never accepted; therefore, we have no contract."

"You sound like a lawyer."

"Maybe I was, once."

"Were you really?"

"I told you; I hung out with a lot of Venture Capitalists. Deal-makers and lawyers, all. I guess it kind of rubbed-off on me."

She nodded. "Is that where you learned about Irish whiskey?"

"No. I learned that on my own." I took a breath. "So, it's too late for tickets tonight. The only shows with available tickets at this hour are the ones we don't want to go to. Instead, I can offer you a drink--here or elsewhere. Maybe accompanied by some light after-dinner snacks." I shrugged. "It's all I can offer you tonight."

"What about room service?" she teased me, her eyes sparkling with mirth. I got her meaning right away.

I smiled back and waggled my eyebrows. "Madame, I can offer you the exact same room service you enjoyed last night."

Sarah's smile brightened the dim light in the bar as she nodded. "Deal," she said. "I think we have a contract."

*****

My second night with Sarah was even better than the first, if such a thing were possible.

I don't want to give you the impression we just jumped into bed and started humping away like two hormone-saturated teenagers. No; we were both mature adults. We took our time. I opened another bottle of wine; we sat in the room, talking about our day and carefully not talking about tomorrow.

Eventually, though, our conversation waned. We set our now nearly empty glasses down gently. We stood up and took a step towards each other. Our lips met. I heard Sarah quietly moan as our tongues got reacquainted with each other. I pushed her gently towards the bed. She pulled me down with her, our kiss unbroken. We kissed and kissed, letting the feelings grow until they were irresistible.

The clothes came off. We didn't tear at each other but we moved firmly. Buttons. Zippers. A belt. Shoes hit the floor with a thunk. Sarah was wearing different underthings from last night, but they were still black. I guessed she liked black. Fine with me.

As I did the night before, I lavished attention to Sarah's breasts while touching her below. My fingers dipped inside and rubbed rather than pumped, seeking her sensitive spot. When I found what I was searching for, her eyes closed and her body arched up. I played her for a few minutes before moving to find her clit--the nub easy to locate because it was standing up, begging for attention.

I moved my face lower, using my tongue where it needed to be while two fingers pushed deeply into her. A minute or two later, my fingers left and found another place to enter her body while my mouth sucked and my tongue quickly flicked. That did it.

Sarah would have bucked me off the bed if I didn't hold on tightly. She yelled and doused my face with her musky juices. I didn't stop what I was doing until she weakly pushed me away, fully and completely spent.

I kissed back up her body. I reached over for a condom but she whispered "no" and rolled me onto my back. She bent around and took me into her mouth. She demonstrated the same amazing skills she had shown last night, but this time I didn't pull out. I let her complete the act. The room faded away as my orgasm hit me. When it came back, she was lying next to me, smiling triumphantly. Sarah knew just how good she was at fellatio.

I shook my head, still panting--though she was the one who did all the work. Our eyes met, followed by our lips and tongues.

Eventually, I got up and refilled the wine glasses. We sat in the bed, naked, supported by the headboard, and sipped pinot grigio. When the glasses were empty, I got up and used the bathroom. When I came back to bed, she did the same.

"Stay the night?" I asked softly.

She smiled back. "I don't think we're done yet."

*****

We had room service the next morning. Afterwards, I finally asked her what had been on my mind yesterday and last night.

"I want to see you again, Sarah," I said.

"I know. I want to see you, too, Dan. But--" she shrugged "--how would that even work?"

"I'm not sure. I just know I want to see you again."

She hummed, thinking. Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay," she said. "Here's the deal."

"I'm all ears."

"I'm going to give you my phone number."

"Yes. And?"

"And that's all. The rest is up to you."

I cocked my head in puzzlement. "I don't get it," I said.

"The school year ends the first week in June. Almost exactly three months from now. If you want to see me, come find me then."

"With just your phone number? Somewhere in 'East County'. How is that going to work?"

"I don't know much about you, Dan. But I do know this: with my name and phone number, you will find me. If you really want to."

"The first week in June."

"Well, give me a few days to relax from the school year. Say, June 15th or whatever date the second Saturday is in June. Come find me then. Ask me out. If you ask me in person, I'll say 'yes'."

"Unless you've already said 'yes' to somebody else."

She chuckled. "Not likely."

I smiled. "Okay. It's a deal."

She looked into my eyes, searching. She looked a long time. Finally, she nodded. "Deal," she said.

*****

Saturday, June 14th. I arrived at Sarah's apartment complex in my new (used) BMW. I was a car salesman, once. I know most of the tricks of the trade. Most people think that paying cash will get them a good deal, but they don't realize that the dealership makes money on the financing, either through a sourcing fee from the lender or else from a hidden markup on the financing interest rate they offer you. I let the dealer source my loan, then asked for a discount to the sales price based on about half of what I guessed they were making in profit on the financing. They were happy to oblige. And I was happy to pay off that loan sixty days later. It was a win-win... and it got me a new (used) BMW at a very reasonable price.

I'm here, I texted. Then I went up the stairs to find apartment number 219. Sarah's one-bedroom apartment. No pets. No children. Just Sarah.

She smiled before our lips met. "Where are you taking me?" she asked. She was already dressed for dinner. She looked good.

"Well, it's kind of a steak place--" I held up my hand "--but they have a mushroom risotto and a stuffed chicken entrée on the menu. They also have jazz and a place to dance if you want to."

She cocked her head, considering. "I'm not against a steak, if it's reasonably priced." She looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes, teasing. "But what if I can't dance? All that music... wasted on me."

"Oh, we'll dance," I replied. "If nothing else, we'll hold each other and sway to the music."

"Fair."

"Great. It's in La Mesa; not too far from here. I've made reservations for 7:00 PM."

"You were that sure of yourself?"

"Well, you said that if I showed up, you'd say 'yes' to going out with me."

"But did I agree to a dinner? I don't think so." Her eyes glinted mischievously again; her dimples signaled a hidden smile. "What about a show at the Indian casino? I might have meant that. You know you promised me a show in Vegas. You never delivered."

"Sarah," I growled.

"Yes?" Now her eyes were wide and radiated innocence. Sarah's eyes were very expressive, as I was learning once again.

I kept up my faux growl. "You do understand that I don't care where we go. Dinner. Dancing. A show at the casino. A walk on the beach. I do... not... care. Just so long as it's with you."

She looked away, shaking her head. "Such a flatterer you are. I bet you think you're gonna get lucky tonight."

"I'm already lucky... because I'm with you."

She rolled her eyes. "Now you're definitely gonna get lucky tonight."

I smiled but wisely kept my mouth shut. No need to ruin the mood.

*****

Sarah didn't know any of the dances. No foxtrot, no swing. No waltz or rhumba. It was fine. We held each other close and swayed, just like most of the couples. We swayed for a long time, just relaxing into each other. It was better than fine: it was marvelous.

When we got back to her apartment several hours later, she held up a hand against my chest, keeping me from entering.

"Dan?"

"Yes?"

"Tonight was wonderful. I don't want it to end."

"Neither do I."

"But tell me... what were you going to do if I just kissed you chastely and then sent you on your way? Where would you go? Where would you sleep tonight?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

I shrugged. "I have a phone. I would find a nearby hotel or motel, whichever had vacancy and decent reviews."

She nodded. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I would have called you and told you I had a wonderful time. I would have asked you out again."

Her hand fell away. "I think we can skip all that. Come on in."

I did.

*****

I spent the summer in San Diego, enjoying it with Sarah. I had visited Balboa Park and the San Diego Zoo several times over the years, but seeing the park with Sarah made it feel new again. We walked a lot, holding hands; we visited a couple of the museums. That's not all we did that summer. We also walked on the beaches and got sunburned. We went out to dinners in North Park and the Gaslamp District. We watched Netflix. We just enjoyed being with each other.

On the next morning after our "first" date, I took my suitcase into Sarah's apartment. After I unpacked my few things, there was no more talk about hotels. We didn't talk much about the future, but the present kept us very much occupied. I found a local gym; Sarah joined me there two or three times a week. She also did yoga in her apartment. We jogged a few miles twice a week. I cooked most meals and she cleaned up afterwards. I did the shopping and the laundry. She cleaned most of the apartment but I cleaned the bathroom. We developed a routine and grew closer. It was nearly perfect.

As the start of the school year approached, I think we both realized our cozy routine couldn't last forever.

*****

The start of the end was meeting Sammy for dinner in Laguna Beach--basically

the halfway point between San Diego and LA. I always liked Laguna Beach; it was once an artist's colony and the vibe still lingered in the air. Lots of little shops and galleries, along with restaurants that catered to all the tourists that crowded the little city in the summer. We met Sammy at a top-end Mexican restaurant that specialized in seafood. It sat high on a cliff and had beautiful views of the Pacific Ocean.

"Wow!" he said when seeing me for the first time. "You were right, Sarah! He looks just like Jake." He peered at me suspiciously. "Are you sure--?"

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Here we go again." I stuck out my hand. "Hello. My name is Dan. Dan Brown. I used to work for a tech company in NorCal, in Silicon Valley. I cashed out when the company was acquired." Sammy shook my hand automatically, still peering at my face.

I glanced at Sarah. She got the hint.

"C'mon, Sammy," she urged. "I know Dan looks just like Jake--only thirty years younger--but we just have to accept--"

"But...."

"I met your sister at a convention in Las Vegas." I smiled. "We hit it off."

"But...."

"Sammy!" Sarah's tone warned him.

I continued. "Sarah tells me you're an attorney at a firm in LA. What's that like?"

"It sucks," he said, still looking at me suspiciously.

"Sorry to hear that. I bet it's a lot of hard work."

He nodded. "It is. A lot of hard work. All boring and pointless. Motions and replies. Briefs and more briefs. Then--eventually--the partner goes to court and we all wait for the judge to make a ruling. After that, somebody appeals. And the cycle repeats." He shook his head, frowning. "It's endless. And pointless. There's no justice to be had for anybody in civil litigation."

I nodded. "That seems to be a rather cynical point of view for an attorney to have, if you'll forgive me saying so."

Sammy shrugged. "Ask any attorney who works civil litigation. I bet you'll get the same answer from nine out of ten."

We were seated and ordered far-too-expensive margaritas. They were good, though. Sammy continued to surreptitiously stare at me as we sipped and ordered food. He continued to glance at me throughout the meal.

Finally, I had enough of his looks. "Look, Sam," I said, deliberately getting his name wrong, "if you want to see my driver's license or social security card, I'll get them for you. If you want to see my birth certificate, that'll take me some time, but you can check that out, as well." I shook my head in exasperation. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm not your former step-father, Jake?"

"But you look just like--"

"Yes. Yes; yes. Yes. I am aware--more than aware--that I'm an exact twin for Jake, though decades younger." I reached over to Sarah, who was next to me in the booth. "Your sister and I went through this already. We're over it. And I hope you can get over it as well." I huffed. "To be honest, it's a pain to keep being compared to a guy I never even met."

Sammy finally nodded. "I can see how it would be." He took a breath. "It's just...." His voice faded away.

"Counselor," I said in a calmer tone, "I understand you are trained to be stubborn in the courtroom. But we're not in a courtroom right now; we are in a nice restaurant with beautiful views of the ocean. You are sitting at a table with your sister and her boyfriend and--to be blunt--you are ruining my appetite for this wonderful branzino." I smiled as warmly as I could. "Besides... even if we were in a courtroom, the evidence isn't going your way, is it?"

"No. I guess not," he finally said. He sighed and turned his attention back to his food.

I caught Sarah's eyes and we smiled at each other, each relieved that the confrontation seemed to be over, though for vastly different reasons.

*****

Back home the next day--or should I say back at Sarah's apartment?--I poured us a Burgundy Premier Cru and sat down on the sofa. We clinked glasses and she smiled as the taste hit her tongue. I gave her a few seconds to enjoy the wine before I brought up a topic that had been on my mind for a while.

"Remember Vegas?" I asked softly.

"How could I ever forget? Meeting you... being with you... making love with you... changed my life."

"Same here. But I was thinking about our conversation. The one where you said you weren't sure whether you wanted to continue teaching. Do you remember that?"

She nodded, taking another sip.

"So, did you ever find an answer to your question?"

"You mean about finding something else do with kids that doesn't involve the bureaucracy of San Diego Unified?"

I nodded, waiting.

She took a deep breath before shaking her head.

"So, you're going back to school then, in a couple of weeks?"

"Prep starts August 5th. The kids return August 10th."

"That doesn't really answer my question, Sarah."

"I guess it doesn't, no." She closed her eyes. "I'm just... so confused."

"Confused about what?"

"About what I want to do with myself. About what I want to do with... you. About us. Where is this going? Are you gonna keep living here? What are you gonna do when I'm at school? Is this official, or just a casual thing, like, like, a continuation of what we had in Vegas? Do you care for me, like... really care for me? Or are we just fucking each other?"

"That's a lot. No wonder you're confused about things."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Mind if I tell you what's on my mind? How I feel about... things? About us?"

"I would very much appreciate some insight into your thoughts and feelings, yes." She took another sip of the wine, waiting for what I had to say.

"First things first: I not only care for you, I love you, Sarah. I love spending time with you. I love talking with you. I love jogging with you. I know it's only been a couple of months but I'm sure how I feel. I love you."

"Oh, Dan." She started to cry.

"Second thing, I can keep living here or move out. Whatever makes you more comfortable. If you want me to move out while we keep seeing each other, I can find a condo. You know I've been looking for somewhere to settle down, right? I'll probably buy closer to the beach--maybe Ocean Beach because, you know, Pacific Beach is just too wild. Maybe Coronado Island. Or Point Loma. Somewhere around there." I got up for a tissue box and handed it to her. "But what I want--what I really want--is for us to buy a place together. Two bedrooms, maybe three. Space for us both. But we'd sleep together in the master. That's what I really want."

"What about children, Dan? I want children sometime. Do you?"

"Well, I won't say it's the highest priority in my life, because I don't want to lie to you. But if you want children, then so do I. We'll raise them together."

"You mean that?"

"I do. I'm not afraid of commitment."

"Daniel Brown... are you asking me to marry you?"

I took a deep breath before nodding. "Yes. Married or not married. Living in one place or two. Any way you'll take me... just so long as we're together and exclusive."

"For as long as we both shall live?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Dan." The tears were coming harder now.

"Does that help clear things up?"

She nodded, still crying silently.

"So, what about teaching?"

"This will be my last year," she said firmly. "It's not right to quit right now, just before the school year starts. But I'll let the principal know this is my last year."

"Sounds good. What about afterwards?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. But I'll think of something." She looked at me, wiping her eyes. "We'll think of something. I know we will."

"So, is that a yes, then?"

"'Yes' to what?"

"I believe there was a marriage proposal somewhere in the recent past."

"Oh." She took a deep breath. "No."

"No? No to marriage?"

"No to a marriage based on a lie. Yes to a marriage based on the truth."

"I don't know--"

"Bullshit. Tell me how you became Dan. Tell me how you just... left. Tell me, Jake. Tell me the truth or there is no future here. I won't marry you if you're lying to me about who you really are."

"Oh." I looked at her. "So, you know?"

She nodded.

"For how long?"

"Since Vegas."

Wow. "Okay. So, uh, you knew. And still slept with me anyway?"

She nodded. "To be clear, I don't see you as Jake anymore. But I know who you are. What I want to know is why. And how."

"How did you--?"

"How did I see through your bullshit? Well, besides the whole doppelganger thing, there was the daily gym routine. And the obsession with wine and Irish whiskey." She smiled slightly. "I remember Mom telling me about your addiction to the gym. 'He needs his workout more than he needs his coffee,' she'd say."

"Some habits are too hard to break."

She nodded again. "I guess." She smiled slightly, showing those cute little dimples. "I have a storage unit in Carlsbad filled with your old wine collection, and a case or two of your whiskey. I thought I would take you there in a week or so... see how you reacted. Confront you. But this way was better."

"Yeah, I guess." A thought hit me. "I hope it's a refrigerated unit. Otherwise, a couple thousand dollars' worth of wine is now just vinegar."

Sarah smiled, but it was a lopsided smile. "Don't worry, Dan. Or Jake. Or whoever you are. I took care of your booze. But that's not what's important now." She set her wineglass down and looked me right in the eyes. She wasn't crying anymore; she was composed... and firm. "So, tell me the truth and marry me. Or tell me another lie and lose me forever. Your choice, Dan-who-was-Jake and my mother's second husband."

I had never told another soul about my life... but this was Sarah and I didn't want to lose her. I was honest when I told her I loved her and wanted to spend the rest of her life being with her. Tell me the truth or lose me forever. I knew what I wanted to do. It didn't make opening up to someone for the first time any easier. How do I even start? I asked myself.

I got up and poured another glass of Burgundy to help lubricate my throat, which had suddenly gotten dry. I didn't offer Sarah a refill; that's how much in my head I was at the time.

I took a deep gulp, letting the wine tingle in my mouth for a long time. Slate and saline, with a robust finish. Then I began.

"I don't die," I said. "I just don't. I don't know why. I have been this age--physiologically at least--for a very, very long time. I can't explain it. I just try to live my life as best I can. Sometimes--well, most times--I find someone to share my life with for a while. A decade or two. Or three or four. But eventually... they move on. Then so do I."

Sarah wanted to ask something but I held up my hand. This was hard enough as it was; interruptions weren't going to make it any easier. She got up to fill her glass and sat back down, keeping her eyes affixed to mine as I continued to speak.

"Your mom was a wonderful person, Sarah. She was full of joy and laughter. I find that very attractive; I always have. Back in the old days, women were supposed to be quiet and let the men talk; but when we were alone, not in public anymore, they would open up and we just... created joy. Nowadays, it's more acceptable for a woman to be more forthright." I smiled. "Like you. Teasing me in public! I love that about you.

"So, when she died, when Carole died at too young of an age, taken by that damn cancer, I knew it was time for me to move on. She had passed, so it was time for me to pass out of everybody's lives and start over. So, that's what I did. New identity; new backstory. Move away and start over. That's the way it's always been. For a very long time."

Sarah sipped her wine as she kept looking at me. She was thinking about what I'd said. Finally, she asked, "How old are you, anyway?"

"Does it really matter? What is age, anyway, when I don't age?"

"When you put it that way, I guess it's not all that important. Will you tell me your real name?"

"Micah. Micah Johnston. I was born a long time ago in Wheeling, Virginia."

She cocked her head, puzzled. "I thought Wheeling was in West Virginia?"

"It is now. Not when I was born. When I was born, there was no West Virginia, only Virginia."

"Wow."

"Yes, wow."

"And you have no idea how--"

"Correct. I have no idea how or why. I don't know anything. Just... I know I don't age anymore. Maybe one day I will grow old, but I haven't aged for a very long time."

"Micah. Mike. Can I call you Mike?"

"I wish you wouldn't. My name is Dan. It helps, uh, everything, to focus on the now and not on the what-was. If I don't focus on the now, then I can get overwhelmed with memories."

"Like memories of my mom."

"Yes. Like memories of Carole. Or of my previous wives... my previous lives."

"How many?"

"How many wives?"

She nodded.

"Five. Five wives; five children. Three step-children."

"And you walked away from them all."

I shook my head. "Not the way you're thinking--no. I left when my wives died, but I waited until the children were grown if I needed to. Mostly, I didn't have to. By the time my wife died, our children were grown, with families of their own. I said goodbye and moved on. I never looked back."

"But you didn't say goodbye to Sammy or me."

"No, I didn't. But you were step-children, not children of blood. You were grown up, deep into your lives. We weren't very close to each other. Plus, you didn't need me to say goodbye after you just said goodbye to your mother."

"So, that's why you were so distant. Sammy and I used to wonder about that. Whether you just didn't like us or--"

"I liked you fine. I just knew that one day, I'd be moving on. That damn cancer took her away earlier than I was expecting, earlier than either of us expected. But it happened... so... it was time."

"And your hair?"

"Just coloring. Gray isn't the most common hair coloring but, you know, some actresses and models use it for commercials. Their skin looks like the skin of a twenty-year-old because it is the skin of a twenty-year-old. They just color their hair gray to make them seem like they're in their forties or fifties."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I told you the truth; I told you everything. Did I gain a fiancée or lose a girlfriend?"

She hesitated. "I need some time to think about what you told me."

I nodded. "I get that. It's a lot to process." I gestured at the apartment. "Should I book a hotel room until you're ready to make a decision?"

Sarah quirked a smile, showing me those dimples I had come to love. "Until I decide whether to move in with my step-father and have his children, or not?"

"No. That's not the decision." My voice was firm. "The man you knew as Jake is dead, Sarah. He's dead and he's never coming back. This man--" I pointed at my chest "--me, Daniel Joseph Brown, is the man in front of you. Nobody else. Never think that I'm anybody else other than Dan. Love me or send me away; it's Dan you're deciding about. Not anybody else. Okay?"

"Okay... Dan."

"Good. Give me a few minutes to pack my things. You can text or call when you've made your decision."

"And you'll wait for me to decide?"

"I will, Sarah. But not forever. Take what time you need but don't take forever."

"Got it."

*****

In the end, it took her two long days to come to a decision. She called me back to her apartment and pulled me in for a passionate kiss.

"I guess I have a thing for older men," she whispered naughtily as we undressed each other. "Who knew?"

"I'm not complaining."

Before we got too physical, she stopped me. "Over the past two days I came to a realization. I mean, I don't want to inflate your ego too much, but I think you're pretty much exactly what I've been looking for more than a decade," she said. "Since my first serious boyfriend."

"How do you mean?"

"I told you. I've been with too many guys who didn't carry their weight. They wanted me to take care of them: do the shopping, do the cooking, do the dishes afterwards. Plus clean the place and do the laundry." She shook her head. "But that's not you, is it?"

"Nope. I learned to take care of myself a long time ago. When I'm with someone, I share the load. I don't know any other way to do it--nor would I want to."

"That's good," she said. "I love the way you are. I love you."

"I love you, too, Sarah."

After that, there wasn't too much to say. Sarah used her mouth on me, taking me deep into her throat until I poured myself into her.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked. "You're too young to be that good at giving head."

She chuckled. "I don't know. Maybe it's just a talent I was born with?"

"I guess. I'm certainly not complaining." I kissed her. "You're amazing."

Then I returned the favor, bringing her to two orgasms with my fingers, mouth, and tongue. We lay on the bed, holding each other, gently kissing from time to time.

"Are you going to marry me?" she asked. "Really?"

"Are you going to keep giving me head like that?"

She nodded.

"Then yes, Sarah Calverson, I will marry you and take care of you for the rest of our lives."

"And you'll go down on me and make me scream?"

"I promise."

"Then yes, Daniel Brown, I will marry you and take care of you for the rest of my life."

We kissed until I was ready again. I reached for a condom.

"No," she said, pulling my arm back. "I don't think we'll be needing those for a long time, if ever."

"Like I said, I'm certainly not complaining."

I entered Sarah, unprotected, for the first time. She felt warm and tight and oh-so-wet.

She felt like home.

*******