SARAH TAYLOR'S APARTMENT
Sarah
pushes the front door open
with her shoulder and negotiates her way through the doorway. Once she
is inside, she drops both bags in her arms to the floor, closes and locks
the door, and heads for the kitchen.
Setting her purse and today's stack
of mail on the counter, she goes to the refrigerator. The energetic sizzle
of the bottle of mineral water opening calms her somehow, and she lets
the first sip wash through her body and cleanse her of some of the stress
she's collected today.
She cannot wait to get out of these
clothes and into some sweats, to put both of tonight's meetings with potential
new clients away for the weekend. But, per tradition, she must sort her
way through the pile of mail first.
The first two envelopes are junk
-- she can tell from the exteriors -- and she sets them aside to wait in
a sort of purgatory before they are sent to the trash. The third is a bill,
which she opens and skims quickly. She makes another mental deduction from
her checking account and then places the bill back on the counter, too.
She flips through the next few envelopes.
There are a few more pieces of junk mail, another bill, and ... something
that catches her interest immediately.
The envelope is a subtle off-white,
a color that unmistakably suggests class. Its texture echoes the sentiment.
Her name, generated by a computer, sits on the front of the envelope. And
the return address is printed in a bold green.
What in the world? she wonders
as she pries the envelope open quickly. In a matter of seconds the letter,
printed on matching paper, is out and unfolded, resting in her hands as
she reads it quickly.
She draws careful breaths, one after
another, slowly, trying to pace her escalating heartbeat. Her eyes dart
up to the address, making sure this really was intended for her. And there
it is: Mrs. Sarah Taylor.
Her fingers trace the printed words
of the letter, returning to some over and over. She stands there for a
long time -- how long, she has no idea -- just reading and thinking and
reading some more.
"No," she says weakly. "No ... This
can't be."
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