Monday, January 29, 2018

TUESDAY TALES - Word prompt "hideous" - "Two of Hearts" continues...


Welcome! This week the word prompt is one of my favorite words, "hideous." I'm continuing with "Two of Hearts". Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales. Thank you for stopping by. 


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Time to steel herself for another visit with Carl, the attorney, who was going to dump a hideous load of responsibility on her shoulders. She’d have to grin and take it. Stan needed her, and she’d not let him down. Jen’s shoulders tensed as she rode up in the elevator.
   “Jen, Jen, Jen. Jennifer. How are you?” He took her hand in both of his.
   “Fine. And you?”
   “I’m doing great. How’s Stan coming along?”
  “Improving each day.” It wasn’t a total lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. She eased her hand from his.
   “Come. Let’s talk,” he said, putting his hand on her lower back to steer her. She twisted away. He’d never done that before. And surely wouldn’t have if Stan had been there. Men she didn’t know touching her creeped her out. But not Terry. Why?
   He picked up a form from his desk, then joined her on the sofa. Uneasiness crept up her spine. Why was he sitting so close?
   “You need to sign these, hon. Stan could stroke out at any minute. And you need to be in charge.”
   “Stroke out?”
    Carl nodded. “Brain injuries. Who knows, right?”
   She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
   “I don’t mean to scare you, sugar, but we need to face the facts. There’s no time to waste. Just sign here,” he said, pulling a pen out of his breast pocket.
She read the form, then, leaning over the coffee table, signed, then handed the papers back.
“Stan’s investments need to be tended to,” he said.
“What do you mean tended to?”
“Do you know how much money Stan has?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Not actual numbers. I know it’s a lot.”
“Honey, he’s got ten million dollars. It’s invested in pretty safe stuff. But you need to learn about that. How to handle it. I’d be glad to teach you.”
She stared at him as he leaned toward her, placing his hand on her knee.
“Sugar, I’m sure there are other things Stan can’t handle right now. I can take care of those, too.” He leered at her, his hand moving up her thigh.
“You disgusting pig!” She shoved his hand away and pushed his chest. He fell back against the couch. “Get away from me!”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I mean, I’m Stan’s best friend. Who else would you turn to in your hour of need?”
“No friend of Stan’s would come on to me. If he knew what you did, what you want to do, he’d kill you.”
“Now, sugar…”
“Don’t call me that. You’re fired! Fired!” She yelled at him, then pushed to her feet and raised her hand as if to slap him. When he cringed, she dashed out of the room. Before she got to the door, she ran back, grabbed the power-of-attorney papers, and fled. 
   As she strode down the street home, one thought pushed out her outrage...What the Hell am I going to do now? 


Monday, January 22, 2018

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "GREASY" - "TWO OF HEARTS" CONTINUES...


Howdy! Welcome. The word prompt today is "greasy." I am continuing with "Two of Hearts." Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and read the rest of the stories. Thank you for stopping by. 

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The buzzer sounded. It was the man from the service with the wheel chair. She let him in. He introduced himself as Pedro and shook hands with Jen and Stan. He got Stan into the chair. While the men fooled around, adjusting the device, Jen prepared a platter of corned beef sandwiches and potato salad.
She set the table and the three of them sat down to eat.
“Pedro, I’ll show you where the guest room is. It has its own bathroom. 
 “Thank you, Missus.”
“Please call me ‘Jen’.”
He nodded.
Jen produced a pitcher of iced tea and glasses. The three ate in silence. Tension tightened her stomach, leaving her room for only half a sandwich. The food didn’t rest easy.
“Dessert?” Stan asked.
“Brownies.”
“Made ‘em yesterday?”
She nodded. He smiled for the first time. She exhaled. Maybe she could reach him through food.
“I can’t be eating like this all the time. Didn’t you hear the doctor? Low cholesterol, low salt diet. Are you trying to kill me?” His voice rose as he spoke.
Jen’s control broke. She pushed away from the table and disappeared in the study. Sinking down on the loveseat, she woke up Willie, who liked to snooze in the sunlight. She blinked back tears and petted the pup. When she’d regained her composure, she brought the dog out, harnessed him and, with a curt farewell, took him out for a walk.
She headed to Central Park. Willie trotted along, happy to have an extra walk. She plopped down on a bench. Her stomach churned. Maybe the corned beef had been too greasy? Nausea washed over her. She ran behind a bush and vomited. Willie stood at the edge of the lawn, barking.
Jen headed for the restroom, where she washed out her mouth. Resting her forehead on the cool porcelain of the sink, she took deep, even breaths. Willie panted in the background. A feminine voice broke the silence.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
“Yeah,” Jen breathed. 
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Willie barked once. Jen pushed to standing. She bent over and splashed more water on her face. There were no paper towels. The stranger offered her a tissue.
“Thank you,” Jen said, taking it.
She guided Willie to a bench and collapsed onto it. 
A text came. She shut her eyes and prayed that it wasn’t Stan, asking her where she was. Daring to open one eye, she plucked her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Terry.

Did you write today?

She burst out laughing. She texted back. 

No. I survived today.

Terry texted back.

                                    Lol. The day’s not over. Go. Write.

She smiled. Returning to the house, Jen grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and greeted Pedro. Stan was taking a nap. Jen headed for the study, turned on her laptop, opened the can, and closed the door. Digging through a file, she pulled out a paper-clipped document. After consulting her outline, she opened a new Word document, and typed across the top.

Tickets to Oblivion


Jen hit her classical playlist on her phone and let the words flow. 


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Monday, January 15, 2018

TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT - ANOTHER INSTALLMENT OF "TWO OF HEARTS."

  



I know I said last week was the last one of "Two of Hearts", but people have been objecting. So I'm continuing with this story this week, and maybe a couple more weeks. Only 300 words allowed this week. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales. Thanks for stopping by. 

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Jen choked down toast with peanut butter, changed into something pretty and headed for the hospital. There was no more avoiding it. Stan was coming home today. 
   On the subway she checked her email. There was a confirmation that the home care guy would meet her at home. She needed to text when the service that was bringing Stan home was on the road. She replied, closed her phone and leaned against the center pole on the train.
   Steeling herself for unexpected turns, Jen went up in the elevator in the hospital and strode down the hall to Stan’s room.  
   “It’s about time. Where the hell have you been? On a hot date?”       Stan barked as she came through the door. 
   His words slapped her across the face. She stopped abruptly, her head actually snapped back. She stared at him. “What?”
   “Where have you been,” he said more slowly, but with as much anger.
   “It’s not even nine, Stan. The nurse said not to bother to get here too early as the service wouldn’t be here ‘til ten.”
   “Where’s my newspaper?”
   Jen pulled it from under her arm and handed it to her husband. He made a big deal out of leafing through to a particular page. He struggled, trying to fold the paper. Jen took it, but he snatched it back.
   “I’m not a fucking invalid! I can do it,” he shouted.
   She moved back. Her eyes watered. She blinked back the tears. The nurse put her hand on Jen’s arm.
   “It’s okay. Let him do it. He needs to do as many things for himself as he can.”
   Jen nodded, but her pulse didn’t settle down. She took the flowers out of the vase and rolled them in a discarded section of the paper.


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Monday, January 8, 2018

TUESDAY TALES - PROMPT "TWIG" - "TWO OF HEARTS" continues...


Welcome! There is another installment of "Two of Hearts" this week. This will be the last one for this story. The story needs to remain a surprise and I don't want to give too much away. 
Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales. Thank you for coming. 

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“Baby, baby, baby. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. You have friends. You have support. The lawyer, the accountant, me. Honestly. Anything I can help you with. If you need me to walk Willie or help with taxes. I’m a finance guy, a numbers man. You have my number. Call or text me. Anytime. day or night.”
She stopped sobbing. Sniffling, she leaned back and made eye contact.
Stunned by his own words, Terry simply stared. He’d never called anyone but Clare “baby” before. His words shocked him.
“Do you mean that?”
He nodded, speech was out of the question.
She darted forward and kissed him, gently. Then stepped back. The look on her face told him what he suspected, that her action had surprised her, too. 
Her lips were soft and warm, even if only for a nano-second. He’d craved a kiss from Clare, and, though it wasn’t his wife, it lit his fire. Terry moved a foot away. Every warning bell in his head sounded.
“We should be careful,” he ventured, when he could string words together.
She nodded. “Oh, yes. Yes. Careful. You’re right. So right.” She licked her lips. Wrong! His gaze locked on her mouth, watching her. She bent down to pet the dogs, and took the twig Willie was chewing out of his mouth.  
“I’ve got to go,” he said. Time to leave while he still could.
She straightened and made eye contact. “But you meant what you said? About helping me?”
“Every word.”
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He gave a nod, glanced at Queenie and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Queenie. Say goodnight to Willie. Time to go home.”
They walked the few steps to her house, with at least a foot’s breathing room between them. Terry nodded. “Goodnight.”
“’Night,” she replied, tripping up the steps.
Terry headed home. His body temperature returned to normal. What was I thinking? What did I say? What did she do? This is a bad idea.
As much as he argued with himself on the way to his apartment, he knew it was no use. He couldn’t desert Jen. She needed someone –she needed him. And he’d be there for her. After all, Clare had made it clear that she didn’t need him, and he was a man who needed to be needed.  

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Monday, January 1, 2018

TUESDAY TALES - More of "Two of Hearts."


Welcome! The word prompt is "blue" this week. We're back with "Two of Hearts" again. Click HERE to return to Tuesday Tales and read the wonderful stories there. Thanks for stopping by. 


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“Stan’s coming home tomorrow.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“It is, for him. But I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Taking care of him. I’ve never cared for an invalid before. Stan’s always been the strong one. The one in command. Now I’ll be running things. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re intelligent, Jen. You’ll figure it out.”
“Stan’s angry. He’s furious to have his mobility taken away. And mentally? He’s not the same.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“He said it might clear up on his own. Stan’s brain needs time to heal. He might go back to who and what he was. But he might not.”
“Fifty fifty?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He’s so smart. I’ll never be able to handle everything like he does. Like he did. I just can’t do it.”
“Of course, you can! You’ll learn.”
“And the finances? And we haven’t filed our taxes. Stan does that. I don’t know a thing about it.”
“Hey, I’ll help you. Do you have a accountant?”
She nodded, fishing in her purse for something.
“I’m sure he can help you.”
“Our lawyer heard about the accident and called. Said something about me stopping by the office and filling out a power-of-attorney?”
“That’ll put you in charge. Just until Stan can take the reins again.”
“I don’t want to be in charge. Handle our finances, investments? I don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t sign on for this.”
“For better or worse.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Come on, Jen. You’re smart, you run Stan’s schedule, manage the house and are a gourmet cook. You write. You can do it. What’s really bugging you?”
She stepped closer. Her blonde hair resembled corn silk, shimmering in the light of a street lamp. He slid his palm over the back of her head and down to her neck, then removed his hand. Her blue eyes, filled with fear, watered. She resembled a gentle doe, caught in the headlights. Terry gathered her in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Come on, fess up. Truth.”
She cried softly, gasping for breath to speak. “I’m losing him. What we had, it’s slipping away. I’ve been so happy. Stan is so, so wonderful. He loves me so much. And now he’s angry and hostile, and crippled. The man I love is fading away, slowly, disappearing.”
The sniffles became sobs. Terry tightened his grip, bending his head to rest against hers. She’d articulated exactly what he had been feeling about Clare and his own marriage. Her words struck his heart like arrows, daggers right to his core. Tears slid down the bridge of his nose wetting her hair.
They stood hanging on to each other, quietly. The only motion was his hand moving up and down her back.
“It’ll be okay. He’ll be back. A man that strong, that forceful. Hell, he’ll come back.”
   But he didn’t believe his own words. How the hell did he know? And what if Stan didn’t “come back?” What then? Jen would be trapped as his caretaker forever. 
   His heart squeezed. Such a beautiful young woman to be relegated to pushing an old guy in a wheelchair for twenty years. The image made him sweat. Or was it the warmth created by Jen’s body, melted against his chest?



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