This story came from the prompt: a flashlight, a pair of blue shoes, and a library card. I posted a first draft of this a few days ago but have since edited it, cutting 120 words. I think it’s a tighter and cleaner version now. I will read this to my writing group and get more suggestions. A work in progress.

With my cell phone at the repair shop, I knew my search for an actual flashlight was going to be a challenge. Especially since I had only ten minutes before I needed to rush out the door for my Spanish tutoring session at the local library. I was on a mission to dig through the dark recesses of my dimly lit closet and locate my favorite pair of strappy blue heels. After taking one-on-one Spanish sessions twice weekly for the past eight months, my tutor Miguel was reawakening a part of me that had been long dead. Now I needed to see if I could motivate him to see me a bit differently from the frumpy widow who didn’t even bother to put on lipstick before class. 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 that unexpected location since I remember putting it there after spelunking for veal cutlets for Charlie’s birthday dinner four years before. I didn’t find the cutlets, but uncovered a nice leg of lamb which I roasted instead. Aw, how happy Charlie was to have such a festive celebration. “You’re such an amazing cook, Maureen,” he said, giving me a hug and quick kiss. “Could there be a luckier man alive?” That was three weeks before his death, which came as a complete surprise. He fell asleep in his chair, which was his habit after dinner, but this time he didn’t wake up. The autopsy revealed an undetected heart defect. For a long time, I felt as if I’d died too, but over the past year, I have been slowly returning to life.

I headed to my bedroom with my flashlight in hand. 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 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 away on a shelf and didn’t get wet.”

Oh, how wonderful,” I said, taking them from him. “And thank you so much for coming over to check on me. That was so thoughtful.”

“Not at all. I was truly concerned.”

My face grew warm, aware that I hadn’t had an attractive man in my bedroom in several years. “Hmmm,” I said, “could I offer you a cup of coffee for your trouble?”

“No trouble, but that would be lovely.”

As we walked through the house to the kitchen, I realized I was still holding my navy blue heels. I chuckled as I slipped them into the hall closet. I didn’t want them too far away. Their magic appeared to be working.