“Sounds very Eastern-mystic-transcendental-bullshit, Shane. ‘Jeez. ‘Fate is.’ Next you’ll be telling me to chant a mantra and contemplate my navel.”
“Stuffed with twins, as you are,” Laura said, “you can’t even see your navel.”
“Oh, yes, I can—with just the right arrangement of mirrors.”
Laura laughed. “I love you, Thelma.”
“I love you, Sis.”
They rocked and rocked.
Down on the shore, the tide was coming in.