TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "HEAT" - TWO OR HEARTS CONTINUES

  

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 After the phone call from the police last night informing her that Stan had been in an accident, she’d been running on adrenaline, with barely a moment to take in what had happened. She had spent the night in the hospital, curled up in a chair by Stan’s bed. He had been unconscious, but she held his hand, prayed and hoped for good news.

   “I’m sorry Mrs. Hogan. I can’t tell you anything. Until he wakes up we won’t have any idea of the extent of the brain damage.”

   “But he was wearing a helmet.”

   The doctor shook his head. “If he hadn’t, the accident would have killed him. Still, that doesn’t completely prevent injury. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news. We have to wait and see.”

Jen had consoled herself with the fact that Stan was still alive and there was hope. There would always be hope, as long as he was breathing. 

   
   She had fallen asleep for an hour or two, then rushed home at seven to walk Willie. There hadn’t been time to stop and take a breath –and let things sink in –until now.   Leaning against the shower wall for support, the heat loosened her emotions. Jen slid down and sobbed. Huge groans escaped from her, shaking her, making her tremble. Stan was her life. He had to get better.

   After a few minutes, she took two deep breaths, pushed to her feet and turned off the water. She reached for a towel, gripping the towel rack to steady herself. She retrieved the fluffy white terry robe from the hook on the back of the door, and wrapped herself in its clean softness.

   Padding to the kitchen, she poured a cup of coffee. Her stomach protested, but food didn’t appeal to her. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten. Picking up the cover of a pan on the stove, she spied the remnants of the special meal she had been making for Stan when the call came.

   “Just one spin,” he had said.

   “I’m making a new dish. This is a New York Times recipe.                You’re not gonna want to miss it.”

   “I never want to miss your cooking, baby. You know that. But the ‘cycle. Hell, it’s calling to me.”

    “The rain stopped, but it’s still wet outside.”

   “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

  “You’d better be,” she said, shaking a fist in his face in mock anger.

   
   He’d pulled her into his embrace and kissed her with passion.

   “One spin?”

   “Just one?”

   "West Side Highway to the Bridge and back. That’s all. Honest,” he said, releasing her and showing her his palms. 

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