His job was to get her there at the start, get her home at the end, and keep her safe in the middle. And drive the boat. And anything else she wanted....Libby always double-checked his prep, even after all these years. Always paid to be ready for Libby, that left more time to tease her a bit. What a great lady Libby was, he was still amazed how happy she was to be seen being friendly with a rough and blunt labourer like him. She was bright too, the brightest person he ever knew. But he could. Is this all a cruel dream? Is all this happening in my head alone? Am I going crazy? Have I already gone crazy? Was my dear wife sexually abused by a black man or was it merely my imagination gone wild? And did she enjoy it? Or is that imagined as well? Is it some cruel hoax being played on me? Or am I the one doing the playing?Ken shook his head and tried to make some sense of all that had happened. The more he thought, the more inconsistencies seemed to arise. The more threads seemed to come. More

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