I decided to chance the flight. What could go wrong?
She idled the duration away in blissful naivete. Having marked the date on her calendar and made the requisite phone calls, she now had nothing to do but look forward to seeing her seminary friends, who had been nudging her about this for over a year, or, in productive moods, to fret pleasantly about the weight of self-imposed responsibility.
October faded into November faded into December, into January. Now there was a bite in the air, occasional snowfall. Then a glorious storm dropped luxuriously into her lap one Monday, the perfect day for lounging around.
Thursday, January fourth, the eve of the flight. She sits at the kitchen island, absorbed in a magazine, mindlessly consuming her lunch. It is macaroni, which she had cooked and stored several days before, and as she turns a page, she is enjoying a comfortable sense of being well-prepared, in that moment, for any eventuality.
Enter the lady of her boardinghouse. She looks to be in a schmoozy mood. “Did you hear about the snow tonight?” she wants to know.
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