With my cell phone at the repair shop, I realized laying my hands on an “old-fashioned” flashlight was going to be a challenge. Especially since I had only ten minutes before I needed to rush out the door to be on time for my Spanish tutoring session at the local library. But the truth was I needed to find a flashlight so I could dig through the dark recesses of my closet and locate my favorite navy blue high heels. After taking one-on-one Spanish sessions twice a week for the past six months, I realized my middle-aged tutor, Miguel, had awakened a part of me that I thought was long dead. Now I needed to see if I could motivate him to look at me a bit differently than a frumpy widow who didn’t even bother to put on lipstick before class. Hence the need for the flashlight. Those navy blue shoes were strappy and sexy, which gave me a nice extra boost of confidence. But, the flashlight was not in the kitchen drawer where it was supposed to be, on the shelf in the garage, or under the bathroom sink where my late husband Charlie sometimes put it. I tried one last spot: the shelf next to the freezer in the laundry room and, lo and behold, it was there!  

I have no one to blame but myself for the lost flashlight since I distinctly remember putting it there after spelunking for veal cutlets for the family on Charlie’s last birthday three years before. I didn’t find them, but uncovered a nice leg of lamb which I made instead. Aw, how happy Charlie was to have such a feast to celebrate what we all knew would be his last birthday. “You really put on the dog, Maureen,” he’d said, giving me a hug and quick kiss. “Could there be a luckier man alive?” That was three weeks before his death, which was merciful given his stage-four cancer diagnosis. I, for one, was relieved not to watch him waste to a shadow of his former self. Still, it came as a complete surprise when he fell asleep in his chair and never woke up. Ironically, it wasn’t cancer that killed him but rather a heart defect that had gone undetected for years. Who would have thought?

I headed to my bedroom with the flashlight. Maybe if I hurried, I could find those adorable high heels and get to the library just a couple of minutes late. Miguel was in his early fifties, which was younger than I was, but not that much younger. I also made a mental note to take my library card since a John Grisham mystery was listed on the library website as a “new arrival,” and it would be the perfect way to spend the upcoming weekend.

However, once I entered my closet and clicked on my flashlight, I knew immediately there would be no trip to the library today. No Miguel. No cute blue high heels showing off my still rather slim and attractive feet. No, today instead I would be emptying the entire closet of its wet and soggy contents and calling a plumber to fix the pipe that had clearly been dripping for quite some time from the bathroom directly above. “Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered. “What a complete pain.”

I had made my way through half the closet and was soaking wet from tossing piece after piece of saturated clothing into trash bags when the doorbell rang. “Hallelujah, it’s the plumber!” I grabbed a towel to dry off as best as I could before heading to the front door, which I opened with gleeful expectation. “Ralph!” You’re not gonna believe what a mess I’ve got –” That’s when I realized that I was not looking at Ralph, my longtime plumber, but rather at Miguel, who bore a worried expression on his handsome face.

“I apologize for intruding, Maureen, but since you’ve never missed a session and your cell phone was going straight to message, I took the liberty of finding your address on your sign-up sheet and driving over to make sure you were okay.”

“I– I’m dealing with a major plumbing issue,” I stammered, then escorted him directly to the closet and pointed inside.

“Oh dear,” Miguel sighed. “Please allow me to help.”

Just then, the doorbell rang again and I hurried off to answer it. This time it really was the plumber, who headed upstairs to find the water cut-off for the bathroom.

I returned to check on Miguel, who was standing in the doorway of the closet with a half-full trash bag in one hand and my navy blue high heels in the other. “Happy news,” he said. “These charming shoes were safely tucked up on a shelf and didn’t get wet.”

“Wonderful,” I said, then smiled. “It was so kind of you to come over and check on me. Thank you! May I offer you a glass of wine?”