Swinging Twins

I only heard one side of the conversation, and the call lasted less than thirty seconds. All I heard was "What?" Then "No way!" followed by "is everyone okay?" A pause, then "WHAT! Christ. We'll be right there!"

Debbie put the phone down stared at it for a few seconds, then wailed at the top of her voice: "NOOOOOOO!"

"Honey, what's wrong?" Her face was strained and tears flowed freely." What happened?"

"Oh God, please no-no-no-no. Jesus, NOOOOOOO!"

I rolled out from under her, kneeled beside her on the bed, and said "What' happened, babe?"

"They were coming home from the party. There was a crash. Someone ran a light and T-boned them."

"And?"

She looked at me through wet eyes, and an expression that was devastated. Then the sobs racked her and she fell into my arms.

"Maureen is dead!"

* * * * *

Maureen's funeral was a tragically sad affair. Only a few dozen people stood at her gravesite in a wind that was cold and blustery despite the Indian summer of last week, Their book club friends were there as well as a few of Dave's staff members from the office, and a handful of people I didn't recognize.

* * * * *

Dave had become inconsolable. He left our company after six months and took a position with the consulting firm he'd visited in North Miami. As usual with consultants, he was a very senior person who was placed at a mid-level at his employer's clients. That meant Dave was no longer embroiled in business politics and could work at what was, for him, an easy pace.

He rented an apartment overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, lived alone, and never took leave.

Over the next few years Debbie and I visited him a few times in the summers. He kept to himself, and conversation was difficult. He would work for half a day, then come back and say "Beach time." We packed a few snacks and drinks into a cooler, took deck chairs and an umbrella, and walked across Collins avenue to Haulover nude beach. We stripped, and sat in in the shade silence as Dave looked out to the sea, remembering the idyllic week he and Maureen had spent here.

Deb and I never went back to the "Dream Catchers Dance and Social Club", or any other swingers club.

THE END

* * * * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Debbie and I would very much appreciate your rating. A positive rating, we hope! Feel free to leave comments as well.