He no longer breathed. She removed the covers that kept her image of him imaginary. Peeling the layers back gave her a brief twinge of excitement. Thi... was not a work act, a 'clean him up' act. This was something else. Something exciting – something naughty.She moved closer to him and felt herself tremble. A slight scuffling could be heard as her shoes found a resting place beneath the bed. Her hands began to unbutton his cotton top. The top button first, of course. The one nearest his pale. Carnations were Kaye's favorites.I looked down at Kaye's simple marker, with her name, date and a simplemotto: "Our Beloved." We never knew our dad as he died when we werekids. Mom's favorite line, when she wanted to tell us somethingimportant, or was feeling mellow, was to begin whatever she was sayingwith "my beloved." It was a special thing for us, and I'm glad Cassiedecided to use it."Hi, sis," I said to Kaye, wherever she was. "I'm sorry it took so longto visit. That little whammy you left. More

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