by Jean Blasiar
“I didn’t think it would end this way.” She was close to ninety, still with beautiful features such as snow white hair framing her lovely face, deep blue eyes.
“I know,” he admitted. “But I thought of something.” He was late eighties, but mentally alert, still handsome, bald as a billiard ball which the barber in the facility shaved for him every other week. She called him Daddy after Daddy Warbucks. He called her his Princess. “I heard about this woman who lived on a cruise ship,” he was saying, “going from one ship to the other, following the sun.” He picked up her hand off her lap. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Princess. You’re always cold.”
“It’s a lovely dream, Daddy.”
“Not a dream. We can do it. We each have some savings, social security.”
“It’s lovely to talk about and dream about,” she said, patting his hand with her other free hand. Lovely.”
“We’ll do it. We’ll tell ‘em we’re married.”
She laughed softly. “You scoundrel!”
“I’d marry you tomorrow, Princess. Right now if you’d say ‘yes’, but…”
“I know, dear. It’s complicated, wills and trusts and heirs and children—grandchildren, great grandchildren. My word. We couldn’t do it to them, daddy. Our savings would go to the lawyers sorting it all out.”
“We don’t need to be married to travel together. Who’s going to stop us?”
“You want me to go through the list again? Children and grandchildren…”
Another soft, giddy laugh. She loved it when he schemed. “Daddy.”
“Shuffleboard, Princess. A pool on the top deck. Suntanned bodies. Bathing beauties.”
“Oh, go on with you.”
“All we can eat or drink. Ice cream any time, day or night. Cigars in a smoking lounge.
“What? I should worry about cancer?” His turn to laugh.
“Tell me more,” Princess said, picturing their lovely cruise through time.
“A martini bar. Glenn Miller’s ‘It Had To Be You’. All the men on the floor jealous of me.”
“I have the prettiest girl on the ship in my arms and we’re dancing till the sun comes up.”
He looks down at his Princess in the wheelchair. “You’re glowing, Princess,” he says.
“Yes,” she admits. “I’m glowing.”
“What shall I tell the D.J. to play next?”
She smiles, kisses his hand. “’At Last’,” she says.
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Jean Blasiar is a published author with 12 books for middle grades, playwright (one of her plays was optioned by 20th Century Fox for a pilot), and theatrical producer. Please visit her website, www.jeanblasiar.com, for a complete listing of her books, plays and productions.