If Tomorrow Never Comes 1

The 750 Project; after ==== there are 750 words, the minimum allowed for a story, and the maximum for this challenge.

Please read my profile for my stance on comments. Feel free to email suggestions or to start a conversation. Private messages work too

Kent Evan Blazy; Troyal Garth Brooks: "So tell that someone that you love, just what you're thinking of, if tomorrow never comes."

====

Lisa, my wife of eighteen years, works as an office manager for a software company. As my work schedule is so erratic, we've transitioned to having sex in the morning.

Three or four times a week, I get to caress her well-proportioned body. No, she doesn't have oversized knockers, but then again her nipples are fun to roll around on my tongue.

Her tongue likes to roll around on my cock. Some mornings, probably due to the nature of the female cycle, she finishes me with her mouth. Some days, I'll return the favor. We don't experiment much, which is fine by me.

Over the last year Lisa has become more aggressive in the bedroom. She's also become more combative about little things. Maybe it's because of the pressures of her promotion.

There were just too many signals indicating an affair, so I hired a private investigator. It only took a week for the results.

We talk every day around 10 Am. Today was no different, time wise anyway. She picked up before it went to messages.

"Hey hunk, how's your day going?"

"Good enough I guess, yours?"

"Not bad. Remember Jessica has a soccer game tonight."

"Got it on my calendar. I've been thinking, and well, you know we've never talked about what kind of funeral each of us wants."

There was a slight pause before "Funeral? Tim, are you hiding something from me? Did the doctor give you some bad news?"

"No, no, no, sorry. Nothing's wrong with me. But it occurred to me that I don't know if you want to be cremated, or buried. If you choose to be cremated, what should I do with the ashes? If you want to be buried, then where? You probably don't know those answers about me either, do you?"

"Tim, this is morbid. Do we have to talk about it now?"

"Is there really a better time? I'll probably outlive you, so what to do with my carcass isn't worth talking about. Let's focus on you."

"We're the same age Tim. Women live longer. What makes you think you'll outlive me?"

"Well your grandparents are both dead, but mine are still alive. Besides, you do know why most husbands die before their wives, don't you?"

"No, why?"

"Because they want to."

Chuckling "Oh you have it so bad, you poor thing."

"So, humor me. Cremated or burial?"

"Fine, burial."

"Okay, where?"

"Somewhere near our house. We've lived here almost twenty years."

"Makes sense. Marker or bigger headstone?"

"Headstone. Make it say 'Here lies the better half'"

"Hey, you know your general manager Bob, well I heard that his wife Sandy has terminal cancer. How old do you think they are?"

There was another pregnant pause "Mid-sixties I'd guess. Where'd you hear about her cancer?"

"From Sandy herself. Did you know that she's an avid firearms hobbyist? You should see her pistol collection. She showed me one that hardly fit in her purse. She says it can blow a hole the size of a tennis ball through a door. She says that locks disintegrate before your eyes. Think about it. If it can do that do a door, what chance would a person have?"

Lisa sounded anxious "When did you see her?"

"Earlier this morning. I had something to share with her. She asked if I wouldn't mind stalling you."

"What? You're not making any sense. Stall me?"

"Yes, when I showed Sandy the private investigator's report, about your long running affair with Bob, she decided that Bob would pre-decease her. Oh, and you too. Since she only has a few months to live, she figures she'll die before going to trial. Anyways, she was headed to your office and wanted me to hold you up, if at all possible, while she took care of Bob."

"Oh gawd! Tim, how could you?"

"I'll answer that after you answer my question. Why? Never mind, doesn't matter. You'd best be looking for cover."

"Please Tim. Make her stop. I'm sorry."

"SANDY STOP! STOP! Do you think she heard me?"

Lisa was trying to talk through her crying, but I really wasn't listening anymore.

"That's about it Lisa. I'm going to hang up now as the sound of gunshots might bother me. I think I'll enjoy having you cremated and dumping your ashes in the portable toilet."

"OH GAWD!"

Of course, things never work out quite like you might think. It really got interesting and, what's that? Seven fifty already? Alright, I'll stop.