“Tomorrow’s my biopsy,” the wife needlessly reminded
her husband. She whispered in the crowded restaurant. “If it’s
cancer and I die I’m sure you’ll remarry.”
“Of course,” teased the husband, his eyes twinkling with silent
laughter.
“Immediately. The day after.” He smirked, and
their eyes met. “In fact,” Ken said, “I’m
starting to take applications now.”
They ate. “Too late.
I already contracted with my successor,” said
Janet.
“Successor?”
“Your future wife. She’s already lined up.”
Ken’s smirk faded. “I don’t get to choose?” His
eyes darted around the room, as if searching for the next wife. “What
if I don’t like her?”
“That’s for you two to work out after I’m gone.” Now
Janet smiled.
© Susan Starbird 2009
