Lynn started having severe headaches a year and a half after marrying Phil who considered himself a libertarian pledged to be a pain in the ass to every person he met.
One summer they were on vacation at the Grand Canyon riding donkeys down a trail along the canyon wall around 200 feet above the Rio Grande.
The trail widened just as Phil called the guy in front of him a fucking jack ass.
Lynn pulled up next to Phil.
‘’The nerve of him,’’ she thought to herself. ‘’I’ve about had it with this asshole.’’ Without realizing, the word ‘asshole’ had escaped from Lynn’s lips.
Phil’s head spun sideways to look at Lynn, a look of astonishment on his face just as Lynn, with a vice like grip, dug her fingernails into the skin around the top of Phil’s shoulder.
The last thing Phil saw before a tumbling blend of spectacular Grand Canyon colors enhanced by an immense orange setting sun was, Lynn’s smiling face mouthing the words, ‘’Good by asshole.’’
When they returned topside the entire group reaffirmed Lynn’s version of the story. Phil had leaned over too far while yelling, “Fuck off!’’ to the group leader and had fallen over the edge of the gorge.
That night Lynn drove eastward toward Las Vegas.
Phil’s body was never found.