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I followed them trying not to get too close and spook them. They drove for about fifteen minutes stopping at a bar we had never been to. I watched them walk into the bar, arm in arm. How could this be happening? How could Sam do this to me? How could Jessica do this to me? I started sobbing on the way home, but the closer I got to home the madder I got. I was determined to take control of this dilemma.Sam got home about 10:30; as he walked in he gave me a peck on the cheek, said he was tired, and headed off to take a shower and get some sleep since he had to work tomorrow. After I heard the water running, I went upstairs into the bathroom and asked him how his evening was. What a liar, he said that he and his coworkers had some burgers, some beers and played some pool. I asked him where they went, and he said it was the Salty Dog. That at least was not a lie. He was not in much of a talkative mood, finished his shower and went to bed. He fell asleep right away.I went back downstairs. The kitchen glistened in the moonlight, the tiles cool against my tired feet.With a face like thunder, I heard his key in the lock and sighed deeply. He likes me to be the trophy wife, dinner on the table when he walks in with a big smile on my face. He likes to think I worship him. Naked, my wet hair clung to my breast as I turned to greet him with the wicked smile he loves so much. 'You need to get rained on more often if this is what I come home to!' he grinned, his natural charm radiating from his sparkly eyes as he drank in the view. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, feeling him smile as I gently broke away... 'What do you want to eat, I missed my train and had to walk hence why I got so wet...' Before I could explain why I was slacking at being a dutiful wife, his lips were firmly planted on mine and he lifted me onto the kitchen table. His arms outstretched like a cage around me as his tongue filled my mouth, firm and seductive. Kissing wildly, I pulled.
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He may not have been sick a day in his life but he certainly was now. Two days ago, he had been holding his first and only great-grandson, barely a week old, feeling a health and energy that belied his years. Then suddenly he handed the boy back to his mother, and just as suddenly pitched forward out of his chair and onto the floor. That was his last memory before waking up yesterday, here in the ICU. When he asked what was wrong with him, the answer was a vague, ‘We’re still running tests.’ He nodded. ‘Which means you don’t have the foggiest idea,’ he thought but didn’t say. He knew what was wrong, even if the doctors didn’t: his time was simply up, both as a man and as a Keeper. They could run their tests if they liked, perhaps they could even identify what, exactly, had happened, but the answer was academic. What it came down to was that his time was up. It was okay, though – he had lived a good life with few regrets, been married to a beautiful, sweet woman for more than fifty.

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