Free Free Fall by Kyle Mills

relationship. They'd slept together, of course, but had always been careful to not let it evolve into lovemaking. By silent agreement, they'd limited it to being just another fun activity they could do together.
    There had been no shortage of women since they'd parted--a fortunate trick of genetics had made Tristan's face and body conform to what the media currently considered ideal for a male. So now he sat around smoky bars with women who made plans. Lots of them. Children, mortgages, a membership to the country club. Perhaps, if they were particularly adventurous, they would consider a fully guided trip to London. No set date, mind you. Someday when the economy was better.
    Tristan took another long pull from his beer and focused on Darby again.
    The sun had finally disappeared over the mountains and she was more or less just a gray outline turning slowly beneath the dully-shimmering flow of water. She spoke four languages fluently, had been everywhere, had done everything. She was at the top of a sport that tolerated no weakness, fear, or lapses of concentration in its participants. In short, the most amazing woman he had ever known.
    And he'd let her go. In the end, there'd been no choice. Despite the Zen way she liked to picture herself, Darby Moore was the most focused and driven person he had ever known. If it had come down to a choice between him and the rock, he'd have lost.
    But it was unfair to blame it all on her. He would have never been satisfied living a life where tomato soup consisted of free hot water from 7-Eleven mixed with ketchup packets purloined from Mcdonalds. And when he tried to picture her at a law firm cocktail party, all he could see was her filling her pockets with peeled shrimp and cold cuts. But now things looked like they might be changing, that he might have finally tripped over a little bit of luck. If it held, maybe things could work out for them after all.
    The flames sputtered, then sunk into the red embers in front of him.
    He winced and cursed himself for stacking the wood so far from the chair and cooler that he had hoped to not move from until it was time to climb into the van and pass out. He struggled to his feet and selected from the small pile a few pieces of wood that didn't need to be broken. The hiss of the fire as he tossed the half-green branches onto the coals was loud enough to cover the sound of Darby's approach. He was a little startled when two brown arms wrapped around him from behind and he felt the initial cold of mountain water soaking his back, followed closely by the warmth of her naked body.
    "Missed you, Twist."
    He smiled at the sound of his old nickname. He hadn't heard it in years.
    "That's because you just spent six months living in a grass hut with a bunch of headhunters."
    "Oh, come on," she said, rubbing his shoulder with her chin.
    "You were the best climbing partner I ever had."
    "You're just saying that because you want to get lucky."
    She was silent for a moment.
    "Maybe. But you weren't a bad climbing partner."
    Warrie Johnstone looked down at her daughter and smiled.
    Emory had one tiny hand around a vertical slat in the deck's fence and the other held a small cup that a few moments ago had been full of orange juice. She looked like a little prisoner.
    Carrie squinted against the glare of the sun and followed her daughter's gaze to the meadow below them or, more precisely, to the black and brown horses contrasted against the fading green of the grass.
    "Pretty, isn't it, honey?"
    Emory nodded, but maintained her unbroken concentration.
    Carrie walked up next to her daughter and leaned against the rail, running her fingers through the little girl's curly brown hair. Except for the small log-and-cedar home behind them, the modern world didn't seem to exist there. It was as if it had been swallowed up by an endless expanse of trees, rolling hills, and flat meadows. It really was beautiful.
    She turned when she heard footsteps behind her. Tom Sherman