TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "SILLY"

 

Welcome! This week our word prompt is "silly." We have another episode of "Two of Hearts." When you're done, don't forget to hop on over to read the excellent stories by other Tuesday Tales authors. Find them HERE. Thanks for stopping by. 

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Two hours later, Jen opened her eyes. If only she could wake up and have it be yesterday. She’d tell Stan not to ride. She’d hide the keys, puncture the tires, if she had to. She yawned, shifting around, stretching her legs After checking the time, she jumped up, downed the leftover coffee and dressed. She had to get to the hospital. Maybe Stan was awake? Maybe he was fine, up, talking, eating, and wondering where she was.

Hope grew in her heart. She kissed Willie goodbye and flew out the door and into the first taxi she found. When she arrived at intensive care, Stan was lying in bed with tubes going into and coming out of all sorts of places. He appeared the same as when she’d left him. The most noticeable difference was the untouched breakfast tray that sat on the moveable table. Also, his left leg and wrist were in casts. She approached the bed. It was Monday and the reality of Stan’s motorcycle accident punctured her brain for a second time.

 “Good morning, darling,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss him.

He was unresponsive. Grabbing her purse, she padded down the hall to the coffee machine. She needed another jolt of caffeine. The brew tasted bitter and stale, but it was the only stuff available. Back by his bedside, she pulled out a comb and ran it through her long hair. One glance in the mirror at home had told her she looked like hell. She added lipstick, but it didn’t help much. Jen needed to look as good as possible when Stan woke up.

Staring at her handsome husband, she longed to crawl into bed with him. Was it silly to think that if she could snuggle up under his arm, hear his deep voice, she’d know everything was going to be okay. Stan was the rock, not her. Freshly thirty, Jen had never had to cope with serious illness or death. Oh, sure, grandparents, but that’s always expected. Not a husband, not a boyfriend, not a lover – no, no, no.