Anna woke with the dawn.

She felt the bed dip, and she groaned, then tunneled into the warmth on the right side of the mattress as was her custom. Two weeks without that warmth, without that buzz, was far, far too long.

Sleep returned until the alarm blared at seven and the scent of bacon floated from her bedside. She flopped over, the sheets twisted about her frame, and silenced it before E.J. could be disturbed.

But who was she kidding? E.J. still slept with one eye open.

"Hmmm… hey."

"Hey," Anna whispered.

"…time is it?"

"Seven."

"Hmmm… wanna… breakfast?"

"No, you sleep."

"But I wanna—"

"Still jetlagged, remember?"

"Ummmhmmmm."

"Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when I get back."

Anna rolled back over and sat up, feet dangling inches from the floor. She lifted her arms above her and yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with fisted hands.

She was about to stand but found herself bound, E.J.'s arms wrapped securely around her waist from behind.

"I've got to go, sweetheart."

"Five more minutes," E.J. protested.

"You won't even know I'm gone."

"I'll know. I always know."

"Hey—"

"Anna—"

Good morning kiss. Sloppy. Half-conscious. Smelly breath.

Perfect nonetheless.

"I'm going to get ready. You sleep, and I'll see you in a few hours."

"…love you."

"Yeah, you do," Anna answered.

Up and out of the bedroom, she spent the next twenty minutes listening to a local PBS broadcast, sipping coffee on the screened-in porch. Well, balcony-turned-porch. The early hour combined with the whirring ceiling fan alleviated what she knew was a terribly swampy morning. A bullhorn sounded from a transport barge, low and quaking over the churning river waters. Anna smiled, and plunked her head back against the linked chains of the porch swing, utterly content.

The Chicago heist had gone off swimmingly.

E.J. was back.

She was finishing classes today.

The kids were singing at the game.

They were going on vacation in two days time.

It was just so… nice.

She finished her coffee and rinsed her mug in the sink, sneaking one final glance at the darkened bedroom before she headed out. Anna wanted to go to her, to deliver one last embrace, one more reassuring, affectionate peck on the cheek. But she stopped herself.

These recurring absences had her heart growing fonder and fonder, and sappier for the distance. Surely she'd be fed up with E.J.'s late nights; OCD organization of the house; her confounding glasses, both sexy and nerdy beyond all reason, perched primly on the tip of her nose while she flicked screens across her tablet. She'd bristle at E.J.'s incessant clean-streak (for when her minimalism and Anna's pack-rat tendencies met in the one household, there'd been heated sparks… actual sparks). Anna would tire of E.J.'s worry, of her misguided feelings of inadequacy. She'd staunch E.J.'s persistence, late nights with paperwork behind the desk or early mornings with Anna on their mattress, again and again, working until she achieved the desired result.

Well, maybe not on their mattress.

But the point still stood.

Instead of encroaching upon her lover's slumber, Anna found herself propped against the doorjamb, just watching the woman sleep.

Serene.

Unburdened.

Content.

Yes, Anna deduced. They were both very, very much content.

She pulled the Porsche from the garage on Riverside and headed east, away from the river. She bypassed the Orpheum and the FedEx Forum, downtown Beale Street and the Mississippi River fading into her rearview like a shadow at twilight. A few turns and an exit onto Poplar, and she was heading into Midtown. Into class. And, even though she was leaving E.J., she was happy to go to her job. It felt right, doing something for herself. Right or… regular?

Something she never thought she'd have.

Satisfaction.

Her life, normal for her, irregular for others, and all of the happiness and upsets that went along with it.

Content.

"So how was class?" E.J. asked.

Anna had returned exhausted, but hadn't the mind to tidy herself up after the ordeal. The students had been relentless on this, their final session. She'd barely escaped with her life let alone her sanity. Instead of cleaning herself directly, she decided to add a little more grime to her body since her shirt was already stained with paints. She sat in her patch of soil where budding green tomatoes hung from a chicken wire trellis; baby summer squashes burst from running vines; plump okra pods awaited harvest; sunflowers, ten-foot tall and imposing, curled over themselves to watch the line of moonvine plants growing below them.

All in all, a quite impressive rooftop garden, for a mansion on the Memphis riverside.

All hand-grown and toiled for, by Anna, up to her elbows in potting soil and mulch, dirt smeared over one freckly, blotched cheek.

"Class went as well as expected," Anna sighed, shoving her spade into the dry earth. With the sun as direct as it was, and the rain as fickle as any season before, Anna knew she'd have to put out the sprinkler system before their vacation departure. Anna could set an irrigation timer so Olaf would remember to water everything, even if she and E.J. were an ocean away.

Handy, having a digitally sentient butler of sorts.

"How do you mean?" E.J. asked, propping herself on the swing Anna had inhabited that very morning. She held a poorly fashioned ceramic mug in an ungloved palm and took generous sips. Mint tea, Anna imagined. E.J. swayed lazily, now that it was afternoon, now that she'd gotten some uninterrupted zzz's.

Perhaps E.J. had worked off some of that jetlag.

"Oh, the usual. Had to finish up with Michel Cheveruel's debated influence on Seurat, with the dyed tapestry hues and his understanding of the color wheel… as a chemist, you know. That deviated into a side lecture on retinal persistence, which, with all of the sketching students, was just so boring for them. Honestly, if they want to graduate from pencil lines to Neoimpressionism, they've got to try harder. I can't do anything for them unless they put forth a conscious effort," Anna finished, burying the spade in the earth with frustrated force.

"So… fingerpaints for the three-year-olds, water colors for the first graders?" E.J. supplied knowingly.

"They were so cute in their plastic aprons!" Anna cooed, tucking her trowel into her bucket of gardening tools. She wiped a gloved hand over her sweaty brow, then picked up the kit and headed toward E.J. Stepping inside the screened balcony porch, she stomped her boots on the mat and dusted her gloved hands.

"You had better sweep that up before we leave tomorrow," E.J. said, casting a baleful glance at the dirt underfoot.

"Yes, mom," Anna answered, though the joke landed flat when she scanned the river view. The silence stretched, and Anna felt E.J.'s impending question settle upon her as heavily as the humidity.

"Anna…"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think they would be… that they would understand… there's just so much that's happened—"

"We'll never know, E.J.," Anna answered, uneager to contemplate 'what-ifs'. "Not really. We can't... shouldn't worry ourselves over something uncontrollable."

"I suppose you're right."

"You don't have to sound so happy about it," Anna tried again for levity, quirking a corner lip skyward.

E.J. didn't let the somber mood linger, and Anna was thankful for it.

"You're all set for this afternoon?"

"Yep. I'm not the one that has to do anything, though."

E.J. tutted her displeasure. "So you're sequestering yourself to the box, then?"

"Oh, I was gonna go with the kids and sit in the outfield. Let you have the box. It'll be quieter for the interview—"

"Meanwhile, I'm left to deal with the blithering monkeys at The Commercial Appeal. I've never been interviewed before, Anna. I don't know… I mean, I know we've practiced, but what if they ask about something we haven't covered?"

"They won't, it's just a business profile for the company. The one they run every Sunday. You're ready, you can do it. It's not a front-page story anymore, you know that, right?" Anna asked, sliding into place at the end of the swing. She lifted E.J.'s bare feet into her overall-clad lap, and patted them with a reassuring, albeit, sweaty palm. "The paper will have no reason to go digging too deeply into your personal life. There's always the devious 'no comment'. They'll hate you and respect you for it."

E.J. chewed her lip, fascinated with her mug of tea.

"What if they ask about you?" she inquired.

"Huh?"

"Well, you're with me all the time—"

"Family friend."

"And around the orphanages, usually—"

"Business partner."

"And not that we'd make the society pages, but you never know. Millionaires turn up in there all the time, and we're frequently out and about, socializing—"

"Best gal pal?"

"But… you're more to me than that."

"I know," Anna stated. "I do… I just… If asked about me, say 'no comment', for now. We'll be more… careful, in public, at least while we're at home. But if we're in a club in Reykjavik, I'm gonna play grab-ass and probably make out with you while we're dancing."

"I don't dance."

"You do with me," Anna challenged.

"Regardless, are you saying we should… consider disclosing? Our relationship—"

"Which—?"

"Our sibling relationship," E.J. amended. "The company is growing. Kai's said we've had a lot more offers for press, but I've turned some of them down because they're interested in me. And in us, by extension. We want to help, but we can't get too big, can't set off any red flags. That tax audit last year caught us completely off-guard."

"I know, I was there. You didn't leave the computer for four days, readjusting—"

"Altering. Call a spade a spade."

"Fine, altering the IRS reports."

"And then there was the fact that I was at the exhibition last night."

"This is the first time we've robbed an event that you attended," Anna said. "It's not like we make a habit of it. There's no trail for authorities to follow if it's an isolated incident."

"Still."

E.J. took Anna's dirtied hand in her own and braided their fingers together. The swaying swing creaked softly, shaking E.J. from her thoughts: "We don't want to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"But no attention will look equally suspicious," Anna countered. "Especially with an international non-profit like ours. We'll just have to be vigilant, watch what they print. Maybe even hack their systems, change their stories before they go to press."

E.J. raised the mug to her lips and took another sip.

"This is all hypothetical, though," she said. "I don't want you worrying too much about it."

"I'll always worry if you're worried," Anna answered, brushing her finger over E.J.'s knuckle. "I care, you know."

"I know. I do, too. And that's why I brought it up in the first place," E.J. said. "I don't want to have to—ugh, it's just so stupid."

"What? What's wrong?"

"I don't want to have to curtail my behavior for the sake of the press. Not that that will happen, this is just a single story, in one metro paper. You know me and my mind, I'm always—"

"Fourteen steps ahead, I know," Anna finished. "What set this off?"

"Forbes did a profile of the fifty top women in American business. CEOs, managers, people whose net worth eclipsed their circumstances. I just… in five years time, I don't want reporters knocking on our doors and shouting personal questions."

"Well, that's quite a ways away, isn't it? Five years time?"

"We need to be prepared, Anna."

"We also need to be a little more humble, E.J.," Anna said. "Not that I don't think you're brilliant, and perfectly capable of becoming a high-profile philanthropist, but you're hardly Bill Gates. Let's do the one interview for the local paper, and worry about our story when Anderson Cooper gives you a call."

"Fine then. But when I can't hold your hand and kiss you because we've preemptively let slip our sororal relation, I don't expect to hear any complaining from you."

"You wanna kiss me where everybody can see?" Anna asked, scooching closer to E.J. on the swing.

"Not with you filthy as a garden rabbit. Besides, we both need to get ready for the game this afternoon. I'm meeting the features reporter at the gate, and you've got to be there to help Beverley wrangle the kids. I can only imagine the ensuing ruckus as soon as they set eyes on Rockey the Redbird."

"Ha! Forget them, I'm getting my picture with him first."

"Anna—"

"Yes, yes, I mean for the children," Anna corrected. She waited for E.J. to finish her tea, and then:

"It seems only reasonable we should conserve time by showering together."

"Anna!"

"You have an objection? Need I remind you, you haven't seen me in two whole weeks?"

"… fair point. Do I get to—"

"—take the overalls off of me?" Anna finished with a salacious wiggle of her eyebrows.

E.J.'s eyes gleamed, her secret smirk reserved for Anna alone surfacing from behind a ceramic mug, the letters E and J crudely formed from the hands of a six-year-old orphan in one of Anna's crafts classes. It was E.J.'s favorite mug. And she was smiling Anna's favorite smile, right over the lip of the cup. Anna was working on stealing that smile and keeping it in her pocket; that way, when E.J. was off saving the world, she could pull it out and hold it in her hands, taking comfort in its fervent warmth.

Anna had yet to succeed in holding any smile captive. So she relished every grin E.J. bestowed upon her, despite how difficult they were to filch.

"You betcha," Anna answered.

"Race you to the bathroom?"

"You're on, sister."

Water streams pelted her back while E.J. wiped smeared dirt from her face with a washcloth.

"You know, in Central America, they don't have gas water heaters," Anna said.

"Have you been watching Jeopardy again?" E.J. asked, sliding to her knees. Suds trickled off of her alabaster shoulders and onto the patterned squares of tile underfoot.

Slippery warmth and soapy streaks ran down Anna's naked abdomen, dribbling bubbles curling over her hips and floating down her parted legs.

"No, I'm just saying, they don't have external tanks in a lot of the countries down there. The heater is electric, and it's normally inside of the shower head."

"That seems… dangerous."

"Half the time there's exposed wires and electrical tape. They call them suicide showers."

"What's your point?"

"I don't live in Latin America, but I take a lot of suicide showers," Anna said with a wink.

"Careful with that cheek, or you'll be showering and sleeping alone."

Anna ran her hands over E.J's. saturated hair. "Two weeks, remember? Please?" she pouted.

"Fine," E.J. said, curling her fingers over the backs of Anna's thighs. "But I'm starting to wonder about your thing with showerheads."

Anna couldn't form a clever retort until several minutes later.

Post-orgasmic cleanliness was, in Anna's opinion, the best type of sanitation.

They departed within the hour from their home and met Beverley, Kai, Lawrence, Cynthia, and a gaggle of children near The Majestic and walked north to Union Avenue. After multiple shouted edicts of "Find your buddy!" and "Headcount time!", the crew from the Arendelle Children's School of Art and Technology bottlenecked around the turnstiles of AutoZone Park. Rockey was indeed present, in all of his crimson mascot glory, and a group photo was summarily posed for and snapped, to be displayed reverently on the refrigerator in the kids' home. E.J. had spotted the features writer and ushered him aside under the pavilion, leaving Anna and the school staff to herd thirty and some odd kids onto the left field green.

"Okay everybody, want to do a warm-up?" Anna asked, and then began: "High on a hill, was a lonely goatherd—"

The heavy groans and slaps of children plugging their ears stopped Anna's song, and sent the children scattering amongst the various activities set up on the left field boardwalk.

"Miss Anna?"

"Yes, Damien?"

"I'm nervous."

"Oh, don't be. Blake and Chelsea are going to be with you the whole time!"

"But what if I mess up?"

"You won't mess up."

"But it's that part… 'through the pair of desks flight'—"

"Perilous fight."

"Per-i-lous."

"It means… dangerous. Kinda scary. Like, taking a big risk, you know?" Anna said. "Like singing in front of all these people? That's perilous, in a way. But you know, that song's about really brave people who fought for something they believed in. And you want to know a secret?" Anna whispered, and crouched down close to the little boy's ear. "I believe in you."

Damien cracked a hundred-watt grin, then shuffled off with a lady from the Chamber of Commerce and the manager of the stadium. Anna waved to the dark-skinned eight-year-old, holding two thumbs-up as he and his schoolmates crunched across the outfield warning track.

Anna tried to look up at the boxes above the third base line, but her position in left field afforded an inadequate angle for sneaking a peek at E.J.'s progress. She could talk E.J. up, school her in human interaction as best she could, but the elder sister all too frequently came off a little reserved, a little cool to people other than Anna.

In truth, Anna didn't really care. She was constantly struck by gratitude, by how grateful she felt for having the chance to know the woman so intimately when no one else did. A masterpiece all for herself. Considering she'd returned the majority of her stolen art collection to their respective owners and proprietors, Anna sought the picturesque beauty of art in kinetic life, not painted stills. E.J.'s movements about the house were observed, catalogued, and then replayed during her absences. Anna's possessiveness felt justified, and she was unapologetic.

They neither allowed the other to become their time's monopoly, but when they were together, they were very much together. No calls from work. No impromptu jobs. Just the two of them, talking, eating, binge-watching Netflix, tanning beachside, hiking up the face of a volcano, staring at artwork in museums for hours on end (if E.J. was feeling particularly obliging).

Anna was really looking forward to this vacation.

It took her several minutes to unfurl the blanket she'd brought in her bag. Some of the older children roped her into throwing the baseball against the radar gun, the measly 40 mph a source of supreme amusement for Henry, one of the kids on the cusp of teenagerhood. He'd likely be a troublemaker. Anna saw far too many common characteristics between him and a younger version of herself. Good thing he was enrolled in E.J.'s after-school digital programming track. Leave him with a control board and a soldering gun and maybe he'll escape a life of delinquency.

There really were no assurances.

Blake, Damien, and Chelsea trotted out in front of home plate, the microphone set about a foot from the trio of eight-year-olds. After a quick introduction, they started in on the national anthem. And it wasn't tears stinging for Anna, but the afternoon sun prickling insistently at her eyelids. She smiled a watery smile and sat down upon the blanket with a frozen lemonade in hand, entertaining the odd child as they approached her throughout the first two innings.

E.J. joined her at the top of the third, sitting with decorous grace beside her on the blanket. She tucked her pale legs underneath the hem of her sundress and sighed heavily.

"So, how'd it go?"

"Well, I think," E.J. answered.

"What do you mean 'you think'?"

"I might have swore when Oklahoma got that double play."

"Might have?" Anna asked.

"As in, 'definitely did'. But he was on his way out of the box, I don't know if he heard me."

"Perhaps he'll print something along the lines of, 'beautiful, benevolent blonde boss of non-profit is also bad-mouthing baseball babe.'"

"You would love that, wouldn't you?"

"I would. But I've got something you're going to love!"

"What the—"

"Ta-da!" Anna said, mashing the blue topper onto E.J.'s head.

It was the Connecticut Tigers baseball cap Anna had purchased for her years ago. On their… their first date.

"Anna, where did you find this?"

"In your apartment."

"My apartment?"

"The one in Manhattan…?"

"I never went back—"

"I know. But I did. I… didn't want to leave it there. It… meant a lot to me. I came across it last week, dug it out of the closet."

A bat cracked and the crowd cheered, but E.J. fixed steadfast attention on the ball cap in her hands.

"It means a lot to me, too," E.J. said, gliding her fingers over the flat bill. She plunked it down atop her head and tugged it into place. "How do I look?"

"You don't have to wear it if you don't—"

"It means even more to me that you went back for it," E.J. said. "I suppose I should have made the connection, what with the paintings hanging— God, what the hell does he call a strike zone, the perimeter of an index card?"

"E.J., what—"

"It's like the ump's never seen a curve ball before," E.J. huffed dispiritedly. She crossed her arms over her chest and set her face to what Anna deemed, 'adorably pouty'.

"I've created a monster," Anna said.

"Who would've known baseball statistics could be such a thrilling exercise! It's more complex than card-counting—"

"Yeah, and now we're never allowed back in the casino buffet at Tunica—"

"—and allows for workplace camaraderie. I've decided to institute Fantasy Football challenges at the home office and L.A. division this year."

"What if they don't watch football?" Anna questioned.

"It builds morale!" E.J. protested.

"You just want to be commissioner."

"… I don't see your point."

"You rarely do, even when I use my index finger."

"You're incorrigible."

"You're perfect," Anna said, and rested her head on E.J.'s shoulder.

"Hardly."

"For me. Perfect for me."

After some shouting on Anna's part, and another frozen lemonade to combat the summer heat, E.J. yawned into her hand sometime around the top of the sixth.

"You're tired?" Anna asked.

"No, just… still adjusting."

"You want to ditch this shindig for something swankier?"

E.J. turned her attention from the baseball diamond. "What did you have in mind?"

"You know that NOLA restaurant you like so much? The one with the dark chocolate beignets and Catfish Orleans?"

"Tiana's place!"

"Yep."

"Of course, she's opening her expansion tonight on Beale—Anna you didn't! The grand opening has been full for weeks!"

"Really? They must have a problem with their electronic reservations list."

"Anna—"

"It's just a restaurant list, hardly financial accounts or criminal profiles."

"You'll be hacking the CIA in no time," E.J. said, rising from the blanket.

Anna grinned, a little proud, a little embarrassed. They packed their blanket and game-day bag up, storing it in their private box on the way out of the park. They would be back before the end of the season to remove it from the locker, so the pair scampered five blocks back to their house to change.

The sun was setting low over the river when they were led to a table overlooking the western side of Tiana's jazzy new restaurant, platters of southern favorites arranged buffet-style on the open air deck of the building. Anna could hear the dinner-time rumblings below on Beale Street, a steel guitar twanging into tune and the sizzle of barbque ribs slathered with honeyed sauces on a slow-roasting grill. Lilacs and burnt oranges and ferocious pinks streaked and blotted the southern sky, an atmospheric Jackson Pollock on display.

Anna sipped a Yuengling and E.J. took a Sprite. They were on vacation, after all.

E.J. told stories of Ghana, cultural differences, abandonment statistics, educational stigmas.

Anna contributed with interested and attentive inquiries, providing a 'bigger picture' aspect when E.J. threatened to consume herself in the details.

But then beignets arrived and there was no more talk of work: the sun had set fully and large bulbs on string lights brightened the outdoor deck. The jazz band in the corner struck up a tune, and the girls held hands and chucked powdered sugar at each other's faces as the day died peacefully. The daylight seemed amenable to ending, just so the unique pair relishing a summer day could revel in their fortune as a new night commenced.

Anna felt the pinch of wanting, of lack, of the inability to sweep E.J. into her arms and slow-dance while the obo droned and the drum rat-a-tat-tatted. Because with a paper story coming out and E.J. overly cautious… they still had their issues. Problems they could likely circumvent, like most of their past problems, with time, communication, maybe an argument or two, and then a resolution.

Anna stared at her plate of powdered sugar, snowy-sweet confections piled inches high on her plate. She wondered if this feeling she possessed was something 'adults' felt. For she certainly didn't feel grown-up, didn't feel… complacent?

There was contentment, happiness, satisfaction— and then there was stagnation. She was not pond algae, but sediment, chipped and worn from rock and whisked downstream on an adventure, still flowing. She had yet to reach the Gulf, and intended to enjoy her journey as she traveled. She hadn't started off with a companion, but somewhere, somehow, the tides had shifted and the river god or fate or whoever had seen fit to pair her with a chipped, fragmented bit of dirt from the selfsame rock she was cut from. And their differences weren't so alienating that they couldn't appreciate the other for their talents (as they would have never made it this far downstream without the other). No, it was an acknowledgement of divergences and commonalities that could not be denied, lest they disagree and end up wandering down separate tributaries. Anna was worn and rough, but she knew, because of the girl beside her, that the roughest bit of rock worked with and sanded over time could turn into the clearest, purest gem stone.

Just time.

Give it time.

They walked home that evening, and Anna read off the itinerary for Iceland that E.J. had typed up. E.J. wanted to start packing, but Anna insisted they hold off, especially since E.J. had yet to unpack from her trip to Ghana and looked patently exhausted. All this flying certainly took its toll on the older girl, which was why Anna had wanted to take her out to an easy dinner, and had gone through the trouble of finding her old hat. Just little things, inconsequential when compared with a stolen tiara. But she tried, daily, to be worthy of her sister. Even if it was just in practical offerings of affection, she tried.

They had been separated for far too long for her not to put forth an effort.

At half past ten, Anna stood, popped her back, and saluted her departure.

"Turning in, captain."

"I'll come, too."

"So early for you?" Anna asked.

"Still catching up. It won't help when we get on another new sleep schedule in a few days."

"We'll be there long enough for you to catch up," Anna said, pulling on the overlarge t-shirt from the MoMA that she used as pajamas.

"I hope so." E.J. disappeared into the en suite, Anna following, and the two brushed their teeth at the dual vanities.

Anna fell into bed with an audible 'ooooff!'

"What was that?" E.J. asked.

"Nothing. I think my shoulders got sunburned at the game."

"Did you use your sunscreen? There was some in the bag."

"I forgot."

"Well, you're not the only one in pain. I didn't have time to stretch before crawling in those vents the other night, or when I went through the laser grid."

"We're just gonna fall apart at the seams, aren't we?"

"The pair of us, unraveling together… do you want me to get the aloe?"

"Nah. Imma big girl, and it'll peel eventually."

"More freckles," E.J. smiled. "Oh, I forgot your present!"

"Freckles reminded you of my present? You didn't get me African skin care lotion, did you?"

"No, silly. It's a book on West African arts and crafts. Pottery, masks, stuff like that. They have these white dots that made me think of—"

"It sounds great, E.J. Thank you."

"Do you want me to go get it?"

"Nah, I'm tired. Besides, I'll need something to read on the flight."

"'mkay."

"'mkay."

The night progressed in this fashion, murmured observances traded over the landscape of sheets and pillows. The river was dark and murky now, dangerous and swift and ink-black in the heated night outside their windows. It contrasted greatly with the river view of the two Dutch masterpieces hung above Anna and E.J.'s backboard, a permanent golden sun bathing buildings in dawn and twilight from opposite angles. The Golden Bend. The only paintings Anna hadn't returned, because they weren't just hers. They were theirs. And on those canvases, there was just enough light to appreciate the details. Just enough dark to keep the mystery alive.

Anna wouldn't have it any other way.

THE END

(for real this time)

Hoped you liked the sort-of 'where are they now' aspect of the epilogue. Would love a review if you care to provide one. Thanks again for making Stolen Ice such a fun project.