Prologue to Alzheimer Novel

In the spirit of blogging 500 words a week, here are the first 257 & last 220 words in the prologue to the novel I am finishing soon.  Plus the most pivotal 23 words out of the center of that 1099 word chapter. Oh, and I thought you’d like to have the time setting and chapter title, too.  More to come.

Friday, October 8, 2010  4:45 p.m.
On Top of Their Little World
                       
Jack Harper and Libby Sawyer were on top of their world, their little two person planet. Annie was still out with Brenda. Jack had taken off early from work, a rarity in his pharmacist life. He’d found Libby in the bathtub wearing nothing but the pink glow of her post-migraine aura. Next thing they knew, they’d found themselves in a spontaneous warm-touching-wild, rock-me, fuck-me romp in Annie’s room. This was way back naughty, doing the Big Bad in Granny Annie’s four poster bed.
Jack’s sister Brenda would be bringing Granny home any minute, so they rushed to put themselves back together, giggling like fools, full of themselves and each other. Libby felt like she was back in her thirties, those years when she’d finally been at home in her own hungry body. Back then, she’d lusted for Jack like fat people after pizza. Her need had been physiological, like hunger, thirst, breathing.
Jack, stuck in his pharmacist’s viewpoint, re-considered his advice about ED drugs. He counsels his customers to discuss their medications with their partners, but not mentioning it to Libby this afternoon had helped her mood. Maybe he should change his spiel for the limp libido gang. He put the question aside.Today was the worst workday in all hisyears at Marshall’s Pharmacy. He was done until next week.
In the living room, Jack put on some music. ….  Libby headed for the kitchen to start supper – homemade frozen lasagna, pre-mixed salad, garlic bread. Annie will be starving by the time Brenda brings her home.
Yesterday, over dinner, they’d bickered about how to celebrate their fifth anniversary…..The marriage felt like dirty dishes, a chore not worth celebrating.
… Jack saw trees in Lincoln Park rustling in the wind. If the threatened rain hasn’t yet begun, he might sneak in a run before dinner, before Annie gets home. In October, as far north as Seattle, running after dinner means running in the dark.
Libby began clearing the kitchen table. She gathered up paperwork litter, including Jack’s anniversary card, his note about dinner, invoices from the decorator. Under everything, she found the itinerary for Brenda’s Hawaii trip.
At the front door, Jack reached for the key on the foyer windowsill. No key. He swung the unlocked door open, and the ease of the past half hour poured out of the house.
“Jack!” Libby ran in from the kitchen, waving a piece of paper. “Brenda’s flight to Honolulu takes off at five o’clock. Annie can’t be with her!” She dialed Brenda’s cell number, getting no answer. Turned off for take-off, no doubt.
“The door’s not locked,” he said. Other than Jack checking the weather, no one but Annie ever goes out that door, and they do everything they can to prevent that. At four fifty-three p.m., their brief moments of euphoria turned to stark mutual terror. Ann Harper, Jack’s ninety year old granny, was out there, with Alzheimer’s Disease as her only companion, in the suddenly vast city of Seattle.

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