Sweet Lorraine - micro fiction by Russell Cavanagh
Mrs. Davis laid the table for lunch. It was nearly one p.m. Her husband would be home at any moment, back from fighting on the front line.
"Sweet Lorraine," Captain Davis sang as he dropped his bag to the floor. The warmth of his embrace, the passion of his hot breath brushing her lips, the bouquet of beautiful flowers he'd brought for her - all swept aside any possible doubt that this man loved his wife.
"Oh Eddie, my Eddie," she said, "come, sit at the table. I've made your favourite. There's wine too." Mrs. Davis took her husband's tunic and hung it carefully over the back of a dining chair.
As always, it was to be a lunchtime of shared memories, of dreaming about a return to some semblance of normality. How they both wanted to start a family, once the war ended.
"Oh Eddie, I pray it won't be long before you're home for good. Then we can be together, and I can be your loving wife, keeping a good home as you take care of me and the children we will have."
"That's all I wish for too, my sweet Lorraine," said Eddie, donning his tunic once again and preparing to return to the battle being fought nearly two thousand miles away. "See you tomorrow," he said, kissing her one last time at the doorstep.
Clearing the lunch table, Lorraine scraped Eddie's untouched food into the kitchen bin before downing his still full glass of wine.
Copyright © Russell Cavanagh