Driftwood

What do you suppose is underneath?

They kicked along the beach, sand flying before their feet, Richard and Randi, mirror images, male and female, dark hair rustling in the salt breeze, gull screeches in their ears, nostrils brimming with the dark scent of marine life, shadows swimming through their almost-old brains.

“Dad always liked you more than me.” Richard kicked extra hard. A galaxy of sand grains spun before them.

Randi smiled a honey-sweet smile. “I’m the girl.”

“And I’m the disappointment.”

“The thief,” she agreed. “The embezzler.”

Richard’s mouth knotted up. He tugged at the hem of his pale blue t-shirt and hiked up his white Bermudas. “I beat the rap, didn’t I?”

Randi matched in her short white skirt and pale blue tank top. They hadn’t consciously coordinated. No need. They possessed a natural harmony. Her laugh echoed the playful rush of waves. “Your lawyer double-talked the jury into a stupor.”

“And so doing drained my life’s savings.”

“Money, money, money. You’re here now with me.” She leaned her head momentarily on his shoulder.

He kissed her hair. “Yet even you won’t believe me.”