The Lost Hour

         At the first buzz of the notification, she all but snatched the device from the countertop to walk briskly to the patio for some form of privacy.

         Deep breaths, Charlotte, came the inner pep talk as she punched in the required numbers. Deep breaths. You’re just spooking yourself after all-

         “Ah, Charlotte. That was quick.”

         “Doctor Krasinski,” she replied with what she hoped was a cheerful tone. A quick peek into the kitchen saw her mother shuffling around in her housecoat getting things ready for breakfast. Charlotte spun away and clutched the phone tighter against her ear. “How…how are you? I mean I got your notification and-”

         “Of course, of course,” was the amiable response from a man she had known since she was in diapers. “The test results are out, and as I reassured you when we last met, everything looks good. The possibility of getting that disease is in the low percentage-”

         “How low a percentage?” Charlotte interrupted curtly.

         “Goodness, we are looking at less than a five percent probability, Charlotte. Your mother was quite active in her youth, and last I saw, she was still able to rattle off trivial information just like that. You should give her more credit, you know.”

         “I realize that, but-”

         “Yes, I know you’re still traumatized from what happened to your father, but believe me, my dear, just keep doing what you’re doing and there should be no problems at all. She can live a long and happy life as long as you’re there to keep her mind active and body engaged, eh?”

         “Ri-right.” She took a deep breath and turned back to the kitchen. Mom was now chopping up some vegetables for an omelette.

         “Charlotte? You still there?”

         “Than-thank you, Doctor,” she finally replied with a weary smile. “It’s just…I’ve been planning this vacation for a while and we both need to get away from everything…to take a breather-”

         “Perfectly understandable, my dear. You two have fun, and keep me posted once you return, eh? The Maldives is a lovely place, and I’m sure Agatha will love it.”

         She hung up and closed her eyes; allowing the cold London sun to bathe upon her heated flesh. She knew she was being too overly cautious; after all, lying to her mother about the cognitive tests she had taken about a month ago, as well as subjecting her to a lumbar puncture procedure to have her spinal fluid tested, would all be considered an overkill.

         Still, as she eventually made her way to the kitchen and took in the petite figure of a woman who had once loomed over her as a child; a woman she had considered a force of nature with her vivaciousness and zest for adventure, now reduced to finding comfort in cooking, knitting, and puttering around in the garden…it was almost an anomaly.

         “There you are, darling,” Agatha greeted with a warm smile as she took in her doppelganger, if she was about twenty years younger. Her only daughter had inherited her fiery auburn hair and sharp features though remnants of her father could be found in her grey eyes and tendency to be too cautious. “Who were you speaking to?”

         “Doctor Krasinski,” Charlotte replied as she made a show of appreciating the delicious smell wafting from the frying pan. “Remember those tests you took last month?”

         “Ah, the one you said was required by the NHS for all of us over the age of seventy, correct? I hope I passed it. They were quite silly questions; almost too easy.”

         “With flying colours, Mom,” Charlotte agreed with a kiss on her mother’s rosy cheek. “We have nothing to worry about. We’re all set for The Maldives!”

         “Oh, my! The Maldives,” Agatha enthused with a clap of her hands; her lovely aquamarine eyes glowing with delight. “I’ve always wanted to go there. I just hope your father won’t start complaining again. You know how he hates to travel.”

         Charlotte, who had begun getting out their plates for the meal, froze in her tracks; her eyes widening as she turned to face her mother. Agatha was humming beneath her breath and flipping the omelette. There was nothing in her expression to give away her mistake.

         It’s…you are just hearing things, Charlotte thought frantically. It was a slip of the tongue. That’s all. Daddy just passed away about a year ago, so it’s not uncommon for her to forget.

         “Everything all right, dear?” Agatha asked with a wave of the spatula. “Come now. Let’s eat quickly before it gets cold.”

         “Of-of course, Mom.”

         It’s nothing at all.

__


         Except it wasn’t.

         The ‘mistake’ happened again. This time at the airport.

         “I promise you, my husband will be here soon,” Agatha was trying to convince the customs officer. “He probably just took another flight. I say we wait in the lounge over there for him-”

         “Mom,” Charlotte pleaded desperately; a hard lump forming in her throat at the expression of innocence in her confused mother’s features. “Please…Daddy…Daddy’s not coming. Let’s just go and enjoy ourselves, okay?”

         “Without him? He’ll be so disappointed, sweetheart.” Her features fell, and she clutched her purse against her chest. “But it’s okay, you just go ahead without me. I’ll be fine waiting for him here, and if he doesn’t show up in an hour, I’ll just take the bus home-”

         Charlotte was powerless to control her sob; until the tears broke free while her mother tut-tutted and began to wipe her cheeks with a handkerchief.

         “Crying over something so silly,” Agatha chided lovingly. “Let’s sit here, and we’ll wait for your father. He’ll definitely be here soon. You know how he is.”

         Charlotte allowed her head to be cradled against the familiar warmth, for soon, she knew there would eventually come a time when she would no longer be recognized.

         I’m so, so, so sorry, Mom, I really did hope and pray for a different outcome, but sadly it wasn’t supposed to end that way.




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Word Count: 998
Prompt: Write your story or poem using the title "The Lost Hour" - and END your entry with this line, bolded: It wasn't supposed to end that way.
Written For: "The Writer's Cramp"