Welcome! Once again, I'm sharing a scene from my work-in-progress, which I hope to have finished this weekend! Jess, a widowed mom, is struggling to make ends meet. Here, she finally finds a chance to rest—at least she thinks so!
She grabbed a glass of water and went to her favorite recliner. Leaning back, she put her feet up, and closed her eyes. Ahh. All her thoughts blended into a pastel haze. Her hubby was back, taking care of her, massaging her feet, telling her not to worry. And then he dropped a rock. A rock? A whole bag of rocks, and they bounced across her floor. He kept picking them up and dropping them. Why did he keep doing that? Rory was there now. He was talking to someone. Someone with a deep voice. And then he yelled.
She tried to open her eyes, but her lids wouldn't move.
"Mom, there's a guy here."
"Mom!" Rory sounded worried now. She felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking it.
"Mister, I don't know what's wrong with her. I gotta call 911."
"Has she been sick? Is she on medication?" Who did that deep voice belong to?
"No, I don't think so. I don't know. She was okay when she took me to school this morning. She was mad because I forgot my books and stuff again. Mom, wake up! I promise I'll do my homework. Right now. Wake up!" His voice sounded frantic now.
She tried to answer, she really did, but all that came out was a groan.
A large, warm hand felt her forehead, and then her cheek. It was a rough hand, the thick callouses scratching her skin, but curiously it felt comforting, reassuring.
"She's not feverish. That's a good sign."
She finally pried one eye open. "Hmmm?" She still couldn't form any words.
"She's waking up! Mom, what happened?"
Two faces came into view. One a familiar dear face. Her son. Her baby boy. He looked worried. The other face was vaguely familiar. Rough and rugged. But equally concerned.
She took a deep breath. "Who rr you?"
"She said something! What did she say?"
"She wanted to know who I am. I think.”
"There’s a glass of water on the end table. Here, mom."
The rugged one took the water from Rory. "Wait just a minute." He brought the glass to his nose, sniffed it, and tasted it. Then he held it to her face.
"I'm not drinking that." Finally, her tongue started to work.
"You drank out of my glass."
"I had to make sure it was water, and not - something that would put you back to sleep."
Rory's face looked less worried now. More stern. "Mom, have you been drinking?"
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