Sixteen

A craft upon uncertain seas,

And far away from home.

While voices fade from distant shore,

A bliss calls from the foam.

As the chill of Michigan's November settled in around Andrea, she was glad she would be spending the frigid heart of the coming winter in Florida with Torry. But that would still be weeks away, and Andrea was having a bad day.

Kneeling on the kitchen floor, she stared at a puddle under the sink. Andrea buried her head in her hands; it was the last straw. The repairman she had waited for all morning to fix the washing machine had just left, and now, another plumbing problem. Andrea crouched down on the cold tile and inspected the dank cavern crowded with cleaning products; but she couldn't see a drip from any of the pipes. She mopped up the mess, placed a bowl where the puddle had been, then closed the cabinet door. She could only worry about one thing at a time.

Andrea walked in the utility room and began the dreary task of sorting the mountain of dirty clothes that had accumulated all week. The way her day was going, laundry was all the challenge she could handle. Andrea had tried to paint that morning while she waited for the repairman, but was too distracted. The tardy plumber was not her biggest concern; she couldn't get Albuquerque off her mind.

Torry had come the evening before. Their hours together were blissful; and Andrea had sensed in the warmth, a growing attachment between them. She wouldn't have been surprised if Torry had said he loved her; she had waited so long to hear those words. What Torry did say, however, came as a complete surprise.