Through the window Mary Ann saw her two children safe on the bus – she finished the dishes and wiped down the breakfast table.
Drying her hands she decided against phoning Michael – his measured conversation at work was never much fun. Or interesting.
With this thought the telephone rang.
“Hellow?” She used a horrible imitation of an English accent for unknown callers.
“Mrs. Smith? Great news here!”
Mary Ann was not Mrs. Smith. She thought about life as aÂ traditional yet so anonymous ‘Mrs. Smith’.
“The vacation. You’re a winner!”
Vacation images flashed in her mind. Beaches, there were always beaches, but also dimly lit Spanish bars with individual wafts of smoke entwining towards the ceiling.
“Where- Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Roy – name’s Roy. Forgot to mention it”
“Roy, Where am I going?”
“Why beautiful Denver, of course! Perfect slopes this season!”
“Well, Roy, Thanks. Thanks a lot. But I’m afraid I’m not Mrs. Smith.”
There was a pause. “Sorry ma’am, looks like someone put your number down on their card. Smells like fate to me. Of course, I just need a few details to transfer it over.”
“Thanks, Roy.” Her eyes blank – Mary Ann replaced the receiver.
She vacuumed the bedrooms first. Then back downstairs to the dining room. In the hum she heard the hint of a melody. She replaced the vacuum in the closet and walked to the piano. She played a key, and then another. Without any order, a melody started to emerge.