TUESDAY TALES - MARK

 

Howdy doodles and welcome!

 

The authors are writing stories to the word prompt "mark" this week. I have more of "Two of Hearts" this week. To read the other stories, click HERE. 

 

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She filled her plate a second time. “So how are things with Clare?”

“Not so good. She hasn’t answered when I’ve called. We’re scheduled to talk tonight at eleven. I’m sure there are good reasons. I don’t exactly know when her classes are. But I don’t like it. I can’t sleep if I don’t know that she’s safe, wherever she is.”

“I get that.”

“How’s Stan doing?”

“Moving into a private room tomorrow. They don’t know how long he’ll have to be there. Depends on his recovery. But I’m guessing maybe four days, then home.”

“How will you handle him here?”

“Good question.”

“Have you hired help?”

“I contacted a service. I hate having a stranger living in our house. But I won’t be able to handle Stan alone. He’ll be in a wheel chair because he broke the leg and wrist on the same side. So, he can’t handle a crutch. Not yet, anyway.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I’ll have to move out of the guest room.”

 “You’re sleeping in the guest room?” His eyebrows shot up.

She took a drink of wine and blinked rapidly. “I can’t stand sleeping in our bed without Stan.”

It was his turn to comfort. Terry reached across the table and squeezed her shoulder.

“I understand. I hate sleeping without Clare.”

“Oh, of course. Then you get it.”

“I do.”

Terry finished the huge plate of food, then added a little more. “How’s your writing coming?”

“My writing?”

“Yeah.” He cut a meatball with his fork.

“I’m not writing.”

“Why not?”

“All day at the hospital. Making plans for bringing Stan home. Dealing with that fucking brat, Marcy.”

“But you’re home at night, right?”

“I get home around six, usually.”

“And what do you do with the evening?”

“I collapse.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Anger filled her. “What do you mean that’s no excuse?”

“You have plenty of time to write. You’re being a baby.”

She stiffened. “I need Stan.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t know…”

“You’re a grown woman. You can write or not write. It’s your choice. And all the excuses in the world aren’t going to change that.”

“You’re pretty high and mighty. What do you do with your empty evenings?”

“Ah, good one. Change the subject.” He smiled and looked at his plate, then up at her.

“I thought that was pretty clever.”

“You’re not going to weasel out of this so easily, Jen. If you want to write –and you say you do—then write, God damn it!”

Indignation warred with hurt feelings. Jen had no come back, no reply. She sipped her drink, staring at him with angry eyes.

“Why do you have to be so damn right?” She hated when she got petulant but couldn’t stop.

Terry burst out laughing. “Glad you admit it.”

That's all. Thanks for stopping by.