A 55 year old’s world collapses when her husband is killed in a hit and run accident. In desperation, she takes an experimental pill to spin her back and hold her at 24 forever, without losing any of her memories. What an amazing invention. It seems too good to be true. There has to be something wrong with it. Maybe there is.
Forever Young: Blessing or Curse was born through my wishful thinking. Now that I’m growing older, like many in the Baby Boomer generation, I wonder what it would be like to be young again, yet keep all my memories.
The heroine in this book gets that opportunity. She spins back to an earlier age. That’s when her life spins out of control.
A limp object lay sprawled in the parking lot where Dorrie was to meet her husband. It looked like, no it couldn’t be…
Pulse pounding, she hit the brakes and flung open the door. A few steps, and she stood staring in disbelief at her husband’s still form. That red streak didn’t belong in Larry’s salt and pepper hair, nor should it mar his olive skinned cheeks, and trickle onto his white cotton shirt.
She groped in her purse for the smartphone. Fingers shaking, she dialed 911. “There’s been an accident at the Life is for Living Institute. I need an ambulance. Hurry, please.”
A helpless feeling engulfed her. If only she knew first aid, but in all her fifty-five years, she’d never bothered to learn. She had to do something, but what? Bending down, knees scraping the asphalt, she touched her husband’s hand. “Larry, it’s all right. I’m here.” She wanted to be brave for him, but couldn’t keep her voice from quavering.
He whispered something she couldn’t catch, something about his iPhone.
“I found it on the nightstand, Larry. It’s right here in my purse.”
“Dorrie, I want you to keep it. Something’s…on it,” he gasped.
She bent closer. “I know honey, all those songs and photos. They mean a lot to me, too. Don’t worry, when we get home tonight, we’ll share them together.”
“No, more…Life is for Living isn’t…Forever Young isn’t…”
He struggled to speak, but his voice faded in and out. He probably shouldn’t talk. Where was that ambulance? Her husband needed help.
Larry flashed a weak smile and looked straight into her eyes. “Love ya,” he whispered.
Stifling a sob, she completed the ritual. “Love ya, back.” In their thirty years of marriage, how often had they said those words to each other?
His lips stilled. His hand slackened. His brown eyes stared unseeingly, as his face froze into a smile.
This can’t be happening. Larry, you can’t leave me. It’s too soon.
Blood rushed to her head. Roaring filled her ears. Larry couldn’t be gone. She’d prove it. Dorrie bent to kiss his lips. They felt warm and soft. He must be alive. Soon the ambulance would come, the paramedics would fix him, and he’d be all right.
She glanced again at Larry’s still form. The truth hit, sucking her breath away. She didn’t need a medical examiner to tell her what she could see with her own eyes. Larry had left and would never return. Her stomach convulsed, her chest heaved with sobs.
It shouldn’t end like this, not in the middle of a parking lot. Larry deserved better. So did she.
Morgan Mandel worked for almost 39 years as an administrative assistant at a Chicago Loop law firm until the economy took away her day job. Her writing office was the Metra commuter train, but now she writes at home.
She is a past president of the Chicago-North Chapter of Romance Writers of America, served as Library Liaison for Midwest Mystery Writers of America, belongs to EPIC, and Sisters in Crime.