A spill

Natasha and Louis struggled up the steep hills of the Marin Headlands. It was a glorious late Saturday morning in Northern California's September -- best they could remember since getting married after finishing Berkeley a dozen years ago. The hills above the craggy mountains that hugged the Golden Gate Bridge simply crawled with San Franciscans, Sausalitans, Mariners, Sonomans, and tourists who always stood out like Norwegians at a bar mitzvah. Natasha and Louis wound their way up the hill like the other cyclists, Natasha in her navy blue spandex, sports bra, her long straight blonde hair in a single ponytail behind her -- all the more for the sun to bronze her smooth, tanned skin -- and Louis, in matching navy blue spandex that concealed a little-on-the-large-side bulge, shirtless with silky sweat dripping down the dark, hairy sinews of his gym-sculpted torso. He loved the view of Natasha's hips in front of him. She loved the ripples of his pulsing triceps.

Nearing the top, each thought about what they'd be doing in the late afternoon after tying the bikes to the BMW 3's caboose and driving the open-topped cabrio back to their Noe Valley bungalow. They'd shed their sweaty clothes in a straight line from the front door to the bed, rumple the linen sheets and toss the pillows onto the floor, open the windows and let the linen drapes blow in the wind, and use up their supply of ropes, condoms, and lube. Their weekly Saturday 4 p.m. ritual hadn't lost its thrill even after twelve years of marriage. Why hadn't they yet had kids? Her eyes on the convex shape of Louis's crotch, Natasha joked, they didn't want anything to interfere with fucking.

Just as they reached the peak, an old VW Bus blundered from the other side, a little too close to Natasha. She jumped out of her skin, turned right into a mound, took a spill, and landed on the rocks in a jumble of crashing limbs. The VW driver swerved away from Natasha and blundered over the edge of the cliff. Louis cried out at the sight of Natasha tumbling onto the rocks but froze in sheer terror as he heard an explosion from the bottom of the ravine. He rushed to Natasha and she whimpered, "I'm okay." Louis smelled burning metal, oil, and flesh coming up the hill below them.

He realized there probably wouldn't be any fucking this afternoon. He held out hope anyway.