American Goddess

On the sofa in the living room of 2034 Stonybrook, Megan opened her eyes to see the face of her husband. As she watched, joy spread across his features like sunrise.

“Hello, handsome,” she said, smiling sleepily. A pleasant languor permeated her. She stretched.

“Hello beautiful,” he said, his grin so wide, it hurt.

She glanced at her covering.

“I’m wrapped in an American flag,” she said.

He nodded. “That’s because you’re an American goddess,” he replied.

She stretched again, then freed her arms from the fabric. She put them around her husband’s neck, crossing her wrists in back and bringing him down for a kiss. She reveled in the kiss for a moment, then pulled away and eyed him critically.

“Your nose is all better,” she said, wonderingly.

“Mama Rosie healed it for me,” he said, turning to look at the large African woman standing behind him with Trish and Wilkins.

Megan sat up, modestly adjusting Old Glory.