The line of traffic waiting for the ferry was long. Glenn squirmed in his seat and leaned out the window, trying to see if anything was moving ahead. The sky was blue and the air was fresh, but all he could smell was exhaust fumes.
He looked across the seat at his wife, Marjorie, asleep with her head thrown back against the headrest. She was still the prettiest girl he knew, even after 60 years of marriage. She sensed his watchful gaze and smiled that smile. The one he had fallen for.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll make it….one last time.”
This week’s story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wysoff-Fields. Read more stories about the photo prompt here: