Yesterday morning I was sitting out on my front stoop, as one does when one has locked oneself out of one’s house, when a gold car pulled up and stopped at the bottom of the lane.
The driver rolled her window down. I was expecting a plea for directions. I got nothing of the sort.
“Are you the lady I sat next to on the plane home from China that time?”
Inquiring minds wanted to know.
Hmm. Maybe? That was three years ago, so… could have been me? Sure. I guess that was me.
Apparently we shared a flight from Winnipeg in 2009 while I was on my way home form China. We chatted about our mutual knowledge of this corner of Newfoundland. Of course, this was long before I took up permanent residence in this particular town, long before Travis bought this particular house…
Turns out, this particular house used to belong to her Aunt May. Of course.
Would she like to come inside and see all the changes we’ve made?
No, she would not. Turns out she just came from tending her parents’ grave, and poor Aunt May’s plot is nothing but a pile of gravel, and she’s too upset too come inside Aunt May’s house now, and isn’t it a sin Aunt May’s kid hasn’t done anything with the grave? No flowers, not even a head stone? After all Aunt May did for him? But next time she’s out, she’ll drop by again. Yes she will.
Good thing, because I was locked out yesterday and wouldn’t have been able to show her around anyway.