Under the Elms

January 18th, 2008, 11 p.m.

Sofia locked the deadbolt on the door of her small but charm-filled home, leaning back against it. Her head was pounding, and she couldn’t tell if it was a tension headache or a migraine. Tea should help.

Leaving her shoes by the door, she padded to the kitchen in stocking clad feet. She turned on the flame under the kettle by the light she left on over the kitchen sink from dusk to dawn each night. Retrieving chamomile tea from the pantry cupboard, she got her favorite Disney mug from the clean dishwasher and left it on the counter.

Heading for her bedroom, she stripped down to her expensive underwear, one of her few extravagances, and zipped up the red floor length plush bathrobe that blocked the chill night air. Putting her feet into warm slippers, she returned to the kitchen just as the water was beginning to boil. Mug of steeping tea in hand, she didn’t notice the rhythm of her slippers on the worn hardwood in her distracted state. Usually she was deciding which song she was currently teaching fit the impromptu rhythm pattern best.

She turned on the gas fireplace, took a sip of tea, and followed her gut instincts, something she usually tried to ignore when work was involved. Her dedication to her job typically overrode sudden whims. Walking to the antique desk, she opened her laptop, toggled it awake, and opened the browser. Going to the school district website, she input an absence request, reasoning that a sub on a Friday wouldn’t kill anyone. She hadn’t taken a personal day in years.

Texting her principal that she was taking a personal day and an emergency sub plan was on her desk, she took the first relaxed breath she’d had in hours. The reply dinged almost immediately. She didn’t realize she was smiling as she read, ‘Thank God you’re a human after all. See you Monday.’

Returning to the bedroom, she pulled the step stool out from under clothes hanging in the closet and reached for the highest shelf. The tall black oval hatbox was a little dusty, but that was easily remedied. Dusting it with a tissue, she carried it back into the living room, sitting down on the cushy pile carpet by the fireplace. Taking a deep breath in preparation, she gently removed the lid.

Who knew a fragrance could last that long? The scent that had caused such consternation earlier in the evening wafted back to her. Sorting through the letters, florist cards, Polaroids, cassettes and cds, she found the item she had been looking for. The one that had deeply influenced the trajectory of her heart.

Seeing it again reminded her of how foolish she’d been. Letting memories swirl around her, she took a sip of tea and rested her head on the seat cushion of the cream colored sofa she was leaning against.

The ringing of her cellphone startled her awake.  Who died? The screen said Unknown Number, which didn’t fit any relatives but did clue her in to the possible identity of her caller.

‘Hello?’ she said sleepily.

‘What are you doing?’ came the response.

‘Sleeping,’ she replied, annoyed because she knew he could hear the sleep in her voice. ‘How did you get this number?’

‘I have my sources,’ came the reply. ‘Sleeping is the wrong answer. You need to come have breakfast with me.’

‘Prince, I don’t do breakfast at 3:30 a.m. anymore. Especially on a school night.’ He doesn’t need to know I'm taking the day off.

‘Take the day off, spend it with me,’ came the cocky, self-assured answer. She considered folding the phone closed, ending the call, but she didn’t. He would just call back, if memory served. ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘you aren’t in bed, you wouldn’t have left the fireplace on if you were.’