Christy opened the cabinet, took out a can of vegetable soup and heated it, crumbled in some crackers and poured the last of the milk into a glass. She carried it out to the living room and switched on the TV. She ate her dinner while she watching a repeat of The Waltons. Long before Jim Bob said ‘goodnight’ to Mary Ellen, Christy was sound asleep.

Christina Morgan walked barefoot through mountainous drifts of snow. The snow was warm against her bare feet much like the sands along the river banks at sundown.

Christy felt a great urgency inside, as though she must hurry toward some unknown destination. The place looked familiar to her, she knew she had been down this same path many times, and yet with each turn she became more and more disoriented. Only the path was lit. On either side of her was an empty darkness. A voice kept urging her to hurry, hurry, and yet her feet moved slower, bogged down by the heavy snow.

On and on, she labored following the turns and twists in the path. Suddenly from out of the darkness loomed the figure of a man. Christy could not see his face for it was still in the shadows. His arms were like bands of steel around her as he lifted her from the burdensome snow. She peered upward, trying in vain to see his face when suddenly he started to speak. At that same moment thousands of crickets began to chirp and Christy couldn’t make out his words.

The noise from the crickets was almost unbearable. She covered her ears to shut out the sounds, but they only intensified and the figure began to fade away before her eyes.

Christy clawed her way up from the darkness, back to reality and the relentless ringing of the telephone.

Half annoyed from the dream and still disoriented, Christy snatched the phone and held it to her ear.

“Yes!” she snapped into the blameless ear on the other end.

For a moment, there was only silence then a deep male voice asked, “Is this the Morgan Residence?”

“Yes.” Christy’s voice was somewhat more civil. “This is Christina Morgan speaking. How may I help you?”

The voice on the other end was warm and friendly and somehow vaguely familiar to Christy. “This is David," the voice answered. “David Anderson? The Guy with the crumpled bumper? Remember me?”

“Ohmigosh! Mr. Anderson. Of course. How are you?”

“I’m fine, and you can call me David. Can I call you Christina?”

“Christy,” said Christy. “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“Okay, Christy, the reason I’m calling is, well, I was kind of concerned about you and I wanted to be sure that you are okay. Actually, now that I have you on the phone, I feel kind of silly. Is Mr. Morgan at home…or is there a Mr. Morgan?”

“I’m fine, David and no, there hasn’t been a Mr. Morgan in quite some time now.” Christy admitted. Talking to him was making her a little shaky inside, and she couldn’t understand why that should be. Normally she was in control. Rarely did she need to search for words when meeting new people.

“Oh. You must have gotten the estimate for the damage on your truck.” she said. Of course he did, Stupid, she thought. Why else would he be calling?

“No, but I have an appointment to take it into Sparky’s Paint & Body Shop tomorrow. I’ll let you know then.” David cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t want you to be worried about the truck. It shouldn’t cost a lot to fix it back. Sparky’s a good guy and his prices are reasonable.”

Christy sighed. Even reasonable was probably more than she could afford. “Thanks for calling, David. I appreciate your kindness, especially since the accident was my fault.”

There was a short pause on the other end, then David was speaking again. “I’ll let you go for now, I’m sure you must be busy. We’ll talk again soon. In the meantime, take care. Goodnight, Christy.”

“Goodnight, David.” Christy’s hand shook as she replaced the phone on its base.

Christy reached for a cigarette and found the pack empty. She got up from the sofa and walked to the window overlooking the street. Twilight hovered over the rooftops. This was the time of day that Christy hated most. To her, the few moments between daylight and night were the loneliest time in the world. It seemed a time of loss, a time for saying goodbye to something or someone dear, an ending to something. She watched as the street lights winked on one by one, causing shadows to dance about on the sidewalks. Christy had never liked endings, even happy ones. She walked over and switched off the TV, then looked out toward the darkened windows of the apartment next door. She smiled to herself. She was glad that Barbie had Charlie. They made the perfect couple, and it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if they were married soon. She carried her dirty dishes to the kitchen, dumped them in the sink, then headed toward the bathroom, all without turning on a light. After all her years of living in this old house, her steps were automatic.

Christy soaked in the huge claw foot tub until the water grew cold. She stepped out, wrapped a towel around her middle and padded barefoot to her room.

Except for the pictures on the walls, the room was much the same as it was back when Christy was in high school. The life sized picture of Rod Stewart which used to hang above her bed had long been replaced by a lithograph of a pale blue vase of pink roses on a creme background. She had managed to find a comforter with the same design in the middle. The windows were dressed in light creme lace draperies and the carpet was a soft mauve which brought out the tiny pink rosebuds in the wall paper. The bed was a huge old relic with posts that reached almost to the ceiling. The bed had belonged to Christy’s Grandmother. Now Christy smiled when she looked at the bed, remembering how she and her mother had redone the room almost fifteen years ago. The only thing they couldn’t agree on was the bed; they had spent days arguing about it. Christy’s mother had wanted to buy a white wicker bed, but Christy wouldn’t hear of it. She loved this old bed and she was determined to keep it. Her mother had gotten so angry that she threatened to not redo the room at all. She told Christy that she could just keep the ugly pink wall paper with the little yellow panda bears, along with the ugly old bed. But later, she had given in and allowed Christy to keep the bed and after the room was finished, she had to agree that it really didn’t look that bad. Christy had taken the bed apart last year and sanded out the scratches and refinished the dark cherry wood and now it gleamed like a Jewel in the light from the bedside lamp.

If only refinishing the whole house was that easy, Christy thought. She lay in bed and looked up at the cracks in the plaster. Gosh, the house needed repairs in the worst way, and now she had a truck to repair as well.

Thoughts of the truck brought to mind the man to whom it belonged. David. That had a nice sound to it. She spoke the name aloud. “David.” Oh, well, she thought. He’s probably just another family man with two cars, a wife, a dog, and two children. When he had asked about her husband, why hadn’t she asked about Mrs. Anderson. She closed her eyes and his face floated in front of her. She wondered how it would feel to be kissed by this man, and held close in his powerful arms. Suddenly she sprang to a sitting position in the middle of the huge bed. This was the first time in over two years that she had thought about a man in this way.

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