"Do you ever look, George?" I asked quietly, although I knew she didn't. "Do you ever look at what happens to us? To you and me?"
"No, that would be cheating." There was an impishly gamine turn to her smile. That was George's philosophy. You took what life gave you and you loved it or you learned from it. Small things could be gotten around—could be changed, but never the big ones. As she said, that would be cheating, and George wasn't a cheater.
I leaned toward her and kissed her softly. It was a suspended moment. It was the only moment. Then I pulled back and touched her face as gently as she had touched mine. "I think you should look."
And I closed the door between us.
About the Author
Rob Thurman lives in Indiana, land of rolling hills and cows. Lots and lots of cows. Visit the author on the Web at www.robthurman.net.