Epilogue
"Chris! Stop!" Di was laughing, running down the beach with Chris in hot pursuit. He finally caught the redheaded lightning beam, tackled her down onto the sand, and Harold watched as they kissed, the tide crashing over their bodies.
The robust agent was in his Adirondack chair, sipping an iced tea, flipping through a Newsweek magazine, and watching his lovebirds play on the bright summer day. "I need to get these pasty legs some sun!" He'd said to Chris and Di, riding in the backseat of Chris's convertible. Di, swinging her legs out the side of the car and sipping a Slurpee, just laughed and threw her arms around Chris, so happy to be reunited.
And there they were, playing like children on the beach. The radio was on, blasting No Doubt, and Harold was completely content just listening to Chris and Di's banter. She was tossing clumps of sand at him as he sloppily constructed a sand castle.
"That's a pathetic sand castle."
"Oh, is it?" He challenged. "Let's see you make a better one, Lady Di!"
"I can!" Immediately she began to construct her own castle, adding seashells for embellishment. "There," Di proclaimed. "Isn't mine prettier? It's because I watch Martha Stewart."
"I give up. Yours is prettier."
"I know." She kissed him playfully and pushed him back on the sand. "Close your eyes, Harold!" Di yelled to her dozing agent, giggling madly.
When Harold awoke from his nap, Di and Chris were still their energetic selves, now splashing in the water. The song on the radio changed, and instantly, Di's melodic voice floated down the beach. Both Chris and Di continued their playing while Harold listened, almost transfixed by the song.
"Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note," Di was singing along with Chris's piano playing. "Though by tomorrow you're gone. The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on."
Each of their words lingered in the air, chilling Harold. A lot had transpired in those months, and a lot of it he wasn't proud of.
His lovebirds were still frolicking, kissing and splashing and throwing sand, completely unaware that their song was playing. Harold's kind blue eyes softened at the sight of his chickpea reunited with her long-lost lover, and he let himself get lost in his reverie again.
"Still, I'll always keep the memory of the way you hold your knife…"
"The way we danced till three."
"The way you've changed my life…"
In unison, the lovers ended their song. "They can't take that away from me."
The music faded.
"In memoriam of the late Di Casablanca and Chris Foster," said the DJ. Both Di and Chris looked Harold's way before they too faded.
~The End
"Chris! Stop!" Di was laughing, running down the beach with Chris in hot pursuit. He finally caught the redheaded lightning beam, tackled her down onto the sand, and Harold watched as they kissed, the tide crashing over their bodies.
The robust agent was in his Adirondack chair, sipping an iced tea, flipping through a Newsweek magazine, and watching his lovebirds play on the bright summer day. "I need to get these pasty legs some sun!" He'd said to Chris and Di, riding in the backseat of Chris's convertible. Di, swinging her legs out the side of the car and sipping a Slurpee, just laughed and threw her arms around Chris, so happy to be reunited.
And there they were, playing like children on the beach. The radio was on, blasting No Doubt, and Harold was completely content just listening to Chris and Di's banter. She was tossing clumps of sand at him as he sloppily constructed a sand castle.
"That's a pathetic sand castle."
"Oh, is it?" He challenged. "Let's see you make a better one, Lady Di!"
"I can!" Immediately she began to construct her own castle, adding seashells for embellishment. "There," Di proclaimed. "Isn't mine prettier? It's because I watch Martha Stewart."
"I give up. Yours is prettier."
"I know." She kissed him playfully and pushed him back on the sand. "Close your eyes, Harold!" Di yelled to her dozing agent, giggling madly.
When Harold awoke from his nap, Di and Chris were still their energetic selves, now splashing in the water. The song on the radio changed, and instantly, Di's melodic voice floated down the beach. Both Chris and Di continued their playing while Harold listened, almost transfixed by the song.
"Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note," Di was singing along with Chris's piano playing. "Though by tomorrow you're gone. The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on."
Each of their words lingered in the air, chilling Harold. A lot had transpired in those months, and a lot of it he wasn't proud of.
His lovebirds were still frolicking, kissing and splashing and throwing sand, completely unaware that their song was playing. Harold's kind blue eyes softened at the sight of his chickpea reunited with her long-lost lover, and he let himself get lost in his reverie again.
"Still, I'll always keep the memory of the way you hold your knife…"
"The way we danced till three."
"The way you've changed my life…"
In unison, the lovers ended their song. "They can't take that away from me."
The music faded.
"In memoriam of the late Di Casablanca and Chris Foster," said the DJ. Both Di and Chris looked Harold's way before they too faded.
~The End