Hands

Perfect nails and slender fingers lay pale on the crisp sheet. Still unmoving.

Maureen stroked the waxy skin and a tear trickled down her cheek. She dashed it away with her forefinger and prayed fervently. How easy it was to take things for granted – until they were snatched away.

The clock ticked remorselessly, one hour, two, three but still her careworn red hand caressed the bloodless white one. Nurses came and went, passed her cups of hot tea and biscuits but she kept her eyes fixed on the fragile limbs.

Suddenly the fingers twitched.

Maureen studied the heart monitor – how was she doing?

She stroked the white palm and the fingers closed around her thumb and squeezed.

“It’s all right darling,” Maureen soothed as tears rolled down her cheeks.

She slept fitfully but when she awoke the hand was no longer holding hers.

Anxiously she looked at the tiny figure on the bed.

“What happened,” the sleepy girl asked.

“You’ve been in a car accident. You’ve slept for days but you are going to be fine.”