Take a walk on the wild side, his father’d said, well, his father wasn’t standing on the edge of a bridge hundreds of feet above a raging river with nothing to save him but a glorified rubber band, no sir, Skip was. His father may have had bullet proof skin but Skip most certainly did not. And Skip certainly couldn’t survive a fall from that height. And what if the band broke? What if the tie slipped loose? What if he had a massive heart attack halfway down from the sheer terror of free fall? Why did he ever think he could go through with such a foolish endeavor? Skip wasn’t his father, yet again.

Myla stood next to the river, still exhilarated from her own jump. Peering up at the bridge above her, she saw Skip still clinging to the railing. She blew him a kiss. Skip caught the kiss with one hand, his white fingers still clutching the chilled railing. She was waiting for him at the bottom, and filled with a sudden desire to be next to her he let go of the railing and leaned forward with open arms.