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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