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sweet John had often chided her on showing too much favoritism on one boy over the other. She knew that she did, but it did not concern her. She felt that it must be naturally ordained for her to feel a special simpatico for Jason. She supposed that it was a matter of loving both grandsons, just liking one more than the other.
    So, the acknowledgment of her own death was an unremarkable sublimation. Her life was rich and full. She was more than ready to die and, while she was not an overly religious person, she had an almost devout belief that John awaited her beyond that dark curtain of death.
    Suddenly, a pain deep in her gut brought her upright on the chaise lounge. Myrena's beautiful, weathered face contorted and her thin arms wrapped her narrow waist. She reached for the metal box next to the stone table and pushed a button. She could hear the staccato buzz through the cream colored box.
    Soon, a voice boomed, “Yes, Mrs. Wimsley. Do you need me?” It was Wardley, her chief attendant in the large house above her.
    “Yes, Wardley.” She hesitated as another burning spasm ripped through her lower back. “Please bring my medication, and I will need your assistance in my return to the house.”
    “Yes, madam, right away.” There was a real familial concern in Wardley's voice.
    Wardley Rosskamp was part of the Wimsley family for seventeen years. His loyalty never wavered and his service to the family was rendered with genuine care and respect. There was self-pride in every duty he performed.
    His ruddy cherubic face now grew taut in a knowing grimace, and his ample paunch seemed to shudder with his inner tremors of concern.
    With a sense of dread and urgency Wardley went to his longtime friend and employer. There was a heaviness in his heart and a vague mist upon his soul.

Chapter Five
    Jason debated within himself on which restaurant to take Jenny. The El Chorro won out. The food there was excellent and it was quaint and romantic.
    He fussed more than usual over his dressing preparations. When he finally narrowed his choices down to suit and sports coat, he chose the navy blue blazer. His selection of shirt was a pale blue silk to be worn open collar. Highly creased Tan slacks competed the ensemble.
    He seldom shaved twice in one day but he made an exception. He even smiled at himself in the mirror at his over caution not to nick and the special care he took with his hair. He was amused with his school boy nervousness and the near exquisite sense of anticipation as the time drew close to date time. He felt silly, yet, he was not displeased with his inner stirrings. It was so long, if ever, that he experienced these feelings.
    While it was true he had only seen the lady once, it was a rather extraordinary 'once.' He saw her still body clad only in running shorts and top. The rain was showering down, his lips quivering on her own. Maybe his inner stirrings would be altered when he saw her all dressed up. Maybe he would be disappointed. Perhaps the shock of the lightning event, its severity, caused him to overreact to their meeting. Sharing a near death experience with someone could perhaps produce a false set of feelings. Maybe she was not as attractive as he thought. Maybe neither of them would find the initial feelings worthy of further nurturing.
    Still, he could not stop the tingles within him. Besides, there was more than her looks involved in his preoccupation with their singular meeting. There was something special about her, an aura, some essence, that captured his attention. There was something in the eyes, a magical kind of quick awareness when they first looked at each other. Was it kismet? He was back to fate and serendipity. Some strange and indefinable elixir had gotten into his system to jumble his thoughts to such an extent.
    What if she did not like what she saw? All dressed up, maybe he was no real bargain. After all, she only saw him in his damp running togs, his hair plastered to his forehead,