Karen lifted the shade and looked outside. Even without binoculars, the big field and the house across the way were plainly visible. She searched for signs of life in the drive, but there were none. No surprise, she thought as she let the shade slip from her fingers. That old house may always look abandoned. She crawled off the bed carefully and sat on the edge pulling on a pair of jeans and an old flannel shirt. The heavy material of the shirt was soft and supple from years of washings; it was comfortable and perfect for the chilly days of late fall. Karen tied her hair up quickly to keep it out of the way for the day. All of a sudden the alarm blared on the dresser beside her and she sprang to hit the off button. Looking down she pulled a piece of paper from the edge of a pocket on her jeans. A concert ticket. It was barely discernable having somehow survived multiple washings. Carefully Karen placed the battered ticket on her dresser. It would be a souvenir in her old age. It didn‟t matter that she couldn‟t make out the words. She knew what they said, that was enough. Karen listened carefully to the sounds from beyond the door. Bobby maybe, but not likely. Certainly not Annette. "Oh shit!" Her horrified voice reverberated against the walls as she remembered the shipment of hay she had ordered. That was the sound. The truck must be in the driveway. The men were probably unloading at that very moment. Old man Stubbins would be really angry that the loft wasn‟t open and there was no one up there to hoist the bales. In the past it had been a dreaded job. After Wayne had died, she had cursed each delivery day for many days after for her sore muscles. Not this time though.