Full Moon Over Tulsa

She explained we couldn't have children. We were almost assured a child of ours would have albinism. Both of our parents had to have carried the genes involved, or she wouldn't have had it. Since she had it, she could only pass it on to her offspring, and since I had a fifty percent chance of being a carrier, that meant there was only a twenty-five percent chance our children wouldn't have it.

We had our children, one from an anonymous sperm donor with Ophelia's egg, and one from a not-so-anonymous egg donor and my sperm. I've always been amazed at what Maggie has been willing to do, anything and everything, for our pleasure. I can only describe her reaction as enthusiastic when we asked her. She did seem to be a little disappointed when we explained that her eggs would be extracted then fertilized instead of how she envisioned it happening with the good, old-fashioned method of procreation.

Of course, the fertilized egg would be implanted in Ophelia, which seemed to be another source of disappointment to poor Maggie.

Then, just like Daniel and Kim, who had become our best friends and confidants, our birth control failed, and we had our baby.

I don't believe anyone knows for sure what color our two oldest girls' hair is anymore, but as grown women, it's usually on the blond side. Our youngest though never was one to dye hers, and it's almost white, but when the light hits it just right, it's a very light strawberry blond.

A few years after Olivia, our youngest, was born, Ophelia was diagnosed with the first cancer that couldn't be handled with relatively minor surgery. She had let her hair grow out since her mistake of getting it cut short, but she lost it from the chemo.

She couldn't handle the treatment well, so she took a leave of absence from being President of the company. She was too weak to do much more than lie in bed.

She apologized profusely. She missed more than anything else our intimacy. I missed it too. If we had slowed down any over the fifteen years together at that time, I couldn't tell. She was ravenous, and I always struggled to keep up with her.

Ophelia insisted, no matter how much I objected, that Maggie take up her slack, and like the first time she commanded it, she didn't want to hear about it.

She wanted to be there, to experience it vicariously.

I'm still not convinced the two didn't collude against me. That's how we got our son. Maggie's baby, my baby, made the old-fashioned penis-in-vagina method, was Maggie's pride and joy, her son for her Mister and Missus.

Chemo and radiation was hard on my Ophelia, each time she needed it. This time was already shaping up to be the same. Our kids were obviously worried, and had spent the day trying to act like they weren't.

The grandkids, the ones old enough to have a clue something was up, seemed subdued, and had even asked Ophelia if she was fine.

My biggest regret, even more than the cancer, was that my Ophelia would never be able to see her grandchildren's faces clearly enough to tell how much they love her.

Her vision had failed quickly, almost twenty years ago. Though she could see shapes and shadows, she had been legally blind since before any of them were born.

"A dollar for your thoughts, And," Ophelia giggled beside me.

"My memories are worth millions of times more than that, love of my life," I told her softly.

"It's snowing, Ophelia."

"Perfect," she murmured. "A full moon and snow on Christmas Eve."

**