Page 73… in a fiction series
Miranda brushed herself off and headed straight for the kitchen. There was a recipe box in the pantry under the stairs. She took it from the shelf, looked inside, and held it close to her chest. She breathed a sigh of relief, poured a tall glass of iced tea, and carried the box to the dining room.
Without waisting a minute, she emptied the box and spread the contents around on the table, a puzzle waiting to be solved. Some of the pieces were special and brought back nice memories, while others she couldn’t remember at all. She sifted through the cards and saw there was hope. Where Miranda’s lawn and landscape nightmare ended, a new world of possibilities began.
Of course, there were no recipes in the box– this adventure was not about cooking. Miranda picked up a card, turned it over, and read it out loud.
Maple Point Amusement Park
She picked up another.
She recalled that he was very handsome and spoke with an accent. She slid that card to the right, away from the others.
The next one…
Sheets Memorials and Monuments
Family owned since 1968
He handed her his card at Jack’s Steakhouse in Charlevoix. Even though Miranda didn’t actually remember him, she recalled that he lived in one of the most impressive cottages on the lake. He was single, successful, and rumoured to be alot of fun. She placed the card next to Captain Frayne.
There must have been 50 business cards in front of her, all from men she’d met along the way, some on jobs with Tiller, others in bars at night. They’d say things like, “Call me sometime when you’re in town,” or ”Maybe we can do lunch.” She was enjoying a walk down memory lane.
At last, the pieces were starting to fall into place! She would arrange the cards in priority order, choose the top 30, then go on a date with each one– 30 dates in 30 days. This would provide a nice variety of men for her to meet, and when all the dates were finished, she would pick the best one to be her husband. Everything was going to be alright.
Miranda heard the rumble of a motorcycle. This always meant something good was about to happen. She was still seated at the table when Drew let himself in. He had a bag of Chinese carry out and a coconut cream pie. He leaned over, kissed her neck, and went into the kitchen for some plates. Miranda got goosebumps and shivered. Was it the General Tsao’s Chicken? Or the way his skin smelled after a long ride down Lakeshore Drive? She wondered…
By this time the cards were arranged into two neat piles– those that made the cut, and those that did not. There were still a few loose ends, but she was happy with her work so far. And she was starving, happy to take a break for some dinner.
“So what are you workin’ on over here, Kitten? Looks like a big project.”
More goosebumps. She melted like butter when he called her that. Why did carry out with Drew taste better than any dinner at a five star restaurant? For all the years she spent married and trying so hard to be perfect, Miranda wondered why it was so easy to be with him.
“I’m guessing by the big ball of twine in the front yard that things didn’t go so well earlier?” He wrapped his arms around her then stopped. She had regained her focus. Miranda held up one finger, indicating that she needed just a moment. “Do you recognize the name, D.W. Manos? I don’t recall ever meeting him.”
Drew picked up the card, looked at both sides, but there was only a name, a P.O. box, a Miama address. ”Miranda, what is all this stuff? What’s going on here?”
“You can pitch all of these if you want,” she said, handing him some cards that didn’t make the cut.
Drew really liked Miranda, more than he let on. He wasn’t sure what she was planning, but something seemed very wrong. Drew took her hands from the table, squeezed them tight in his own. “Why don’t you take a break from your project. Let’s have some dinner and you can tell me all about it.”
To be Continued…
*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.