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He cried out a warning. SAM: No! Kristin, no! It was happening again. Panic gripped his throat. SAM A strangled sound : Nooooooooo!!!!! The image was gone. The ache had settled smugly back onto its throne. Sam got up, shuffled past piles of jeans and T-shirts to the bathroom.

SAM: Uggggg. I gotta tell ya, Kristin, my mouth feels like a small animal crawled into it overnight and died. SAM: Arrghh, good going, Sam. Forgot to prime the coffee maker again… What time is it? Then he bent over to slip on and tie up his running shoes, picked up his keys. SAM: Get it in gear, Long. He saw his sister bending over next to her royal-blue Infiniti. Her hands held the backs of her ankles as she stretched her leg muscles. Next to her, 8-month-old Kyle slumbered sweetly inside his three-wheeled stroller.

It cost more than several cars Sam had bought in his 32 years. SAM Walking up, yawing, stretching : Yo, sis. Full of beans as usual, I see. Kyle babbles happily to see his uncle. Yoooo, Mr. Kyle, howyadoin? You ready for your crazy mama to bump you all up and down Forbidden Drive? Sam stretches. To the cafe and back? Me, I got an appointment at 10, then a client thing at lunch.

Suzanne leaned forward as she ran, shoes slapping the cinders of Forbidden Drive. She had a gene for happiness her little brother lacked. For him, happiness had arrived unbidden, and just once. Then it had vanished, 15 months ago. I know, Suze, I know. SAM: Yeah, as a matter of fact. Couple nights ago, Tuesday, guess it was, Tyrone asked me to sit in.

His quintet played a benefit at the Ben Franklin House. His drummer was … indisposed. Kyle snoozed sweetly in his stroller as they ran side by side in companionable silence. Back at Valley Green, Suzanne paused in her cool down stretches to give Sam a sidelong glance. SAM: Suze, whatever it is you have in mind … no. You are nothing if not predictable, my beloved sister. Come … Sam, you should come. SAM: I would rather, and I mean this quite sincerely and with all love in my heart, poke hot needles in my eyes.

SAM: No. SAM evenly : Fifteen months. I had no idea. But it hurts me to see you like this. I worry about you. SAM: So, who is she this time, Suze? SAM: Please. The friend from the Cricket Club. Or the darling daughter of the AAUW president who is just dying to meet your gloomy little widower of a brother. My talented, handsome, and somewhere deep down, still really sweet brother. Anyway … Claire Mitchell. She works for Community Legal Services. She helps the poor, Sam. Her virtue is up even to your standards. And …. She wants to meet you. SAM: Sure, she does.

I suppose Neil promised to take a case pro bono if she came to brunch and was kind to the emotional cripple? She pulled her boy up Woman want nsa Beemer clutched him close. I am your big sister. Well, Marc, too. And sighed. Then, shifting Kyle to his left shoulder, he saluted with his right hand. And do not, on pain of death, wear jeans with holes in them. SAM: Yep. Tell me about it. SAM: Really, Sean? By now, you know the drill. Hey, when I get to interpret dreams, it makes me feel like Sigmund Freud. Not much mystery to it. Well, OK.

Here goes … Pretty much Woman want nsa Beemer same, this time, although it seems like the weather was different, the time of year. Lots of clouds. A chill in the air, maybe.

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Kristin had black leggings, not shorts. She has … had such a stride, that girl. My throat is going through all the motions, the struggle to yell, but no sound is coming out. And I just gotta trudge through it somehow. You do that. Day after day. SAM: Yeah, I do. So when do I get my medal, Sean? Whenever your heart decides to accept what your brain knows.

Anything I can do to help stock up your Christmas survival kit? SAM: Yeah, snap your fingers and make it Jan. That might do the trick. As Sam walked through the carnage, he riffed through his mail. Well, they should get some of it; remember that one, Long. An actual Christmas card. Who would do such a thing?

Even in the era of e-cards, she still had mailed Hallmarks to a list hundreds of names long. SAM: The eighth parking lot full of perfectly nice, already cut Christmas trees. Why not just buy one? Then afterward, we can check out that inn we just passed for a nice, warm lunch. Then you cut it down … yourself. Where the heck is Skippack anyway? You sure you know your way to this place? I like to rely on serendipity. They had stopped by that inn Woman want nsa Beemer the way; had a lingering dinner. Then they decorated the tree until well past midnight back at Green Street, Kristin taking care to position her cherished heirloom ornaments just right.

Last year, Christmas had arrived soon after the river swallowed his happiness.

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He gobbled up all your social media patter. Buzzwords R Us. Eh, whatever works. SAM: Sooo, boss, wonder if I could claim a reward for being such a good boy. MARC: What …? Oh, you want to go to run home and bang the drums for an hour. MARC: Go, go. Go annoy the neighbors with those tribal rhythms. NARRATOR: Sam had been playing drums since he was 7, one of those kids who drove everyone crazy by tapping fingers, pencil, keys against any available surface.

Now, just playing covers bored him. He had no regular gig but had a network of contacts, from jazz to zydeco, who called to ask him to sit in when their regular guy went AWOL. Drummers being drummers, that happened.

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