Missiles

“Helen, give me the paper.” Stanley said from his usual chair, propping his cane against the armrest.
“Headlines say, ‘KENNEDY IS KILLED BY SNIPER AS HE RIDES IN CAR IN DALLAS. JOHNSON SWORN IN ON PLANE. ... I still can’t believe it Stanley, but it is right here in print. If a thing’s in print, it has to be the truth.” Helen thrust the paper to Stanley and hobbled over toward the fireplace. “Jacobson’s boy in Bomber Fleet is on constant alert. Myra says the planes have to stay up in air twenty-four hours a day.” She wiped a tear, straightening the photo on the mantelpiece. “If Johnny were alive....” A sob choking in her throat didn’t let her finish the end of her sentence.
“Bring that photo over here on the table where I can see better. Yeah there! Thank you Helen. Did you notice that, Old Girl? Here on the table it stands right next to the salad bowl.”
“Yes, Stanley! Johnny with his salad bowl! He’d won that at the county fair. Used it for everything, from chips to soup. Loved it so, on account of the eagle spreading its wings.”
“Near the last photo he sent us from Midway.”
“Stanley, remember before Johnny left for the Pacific, he ate my lettuce wedge salad with poppy seed dressing from that bowl. I didn’t use the bowl ever since.”
“Johnny and his salad bowl!” Stanley folded the paper and laid it on the side of the table. Then he reached for the photo gingerly. “Together at last!”
“Soon, we’ll be meeting him Stanley. We’re getting there. Can’t make it through the day without my milk of magnesia and pain killers!”
“We won’t need any pain killers or nothing the way things are going! I don’t care what they say! Bet you it was the Russians. I didn’t like it when Castro met with Kruschev. They hide the truth so we won’t be scared.
“Well, I’m scared. So is the bunch from Church. Even the Reverend says the end’s coming.”
“It sure has now. On November 22, 1963. I can’t believe they did away with our president. What a day! I’m telling you, Helen. This is the beginning of the end. The next explosion you hear will be their missiles on our heads. The corpses of men shall fall like manure upon the open field, like cut grain after the reaper, and none shall gather them.”
“They shall fall and they shall not rise again!” Helen quoted the Bible after Stanley.
“Oh, Helen! I don’t worry about us but for the young ones. What shall we do?”
“I wish we had the TV fixed. We’d see what’s happening.”
“I’m telling you, Helen. We wouldn’t see anything because they never tell us the truth. We’ll know when the missiles hit. Take my word for it.”
“What’s this smell?” Helen sniffed the air. “I am not cooking!”
“Better check it out! Remember the day when you forgot the kettle on?”
“Don’t you remind me of it!” Just as Helen headed toward the kitchen, a sudden explosion rattled the window frames. “Amen! Come Lord Jesus!” Helen scampered back to Stanley. “Stanley! We’re ambushed!”
“Calm down, Woman! You’ll get my blood pressure running. Let me go see what’s up.”
“Be careful! Stanley!”
After Stanley left, Helen knelt by the coffee table, murmuring prayers, watching Johnny’s photo, churning from side to side, and weeping.
“Sick of all these wars, cold or hot, dragging on! Getting us all jumpy!” using his cane as support, Stanley walked back in. “It was nothing. Not yet, anyway. Old Bill Abrams was burning up the leaves. The lighter fluid fell out of his hand into the pile.”
“Is he all right?”
“Just his pride’s hurt. They called us over to watch the news on the TV. Take your sweater and let’s go.”
“Give me a minute, Stanley. I have half an upside down pineapple cake. We’ll take it over.” Helen straightened up, her knees crackling.
“You Ridiculous Girl!” Stanley limped after Helen into the kitchen.

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The prompts were:

Your main characters are an elderly couple.
They have just heard that President Kennedy has been killed.
An important object is a photo of their only son,
and a secondary object is a salad bowl.
Your story is about fear.