Connections

My friend Ken inspired me to write a short story by way of asking friends on Facebook to suggest the characters. They were asked to give the character’s name, one detail about his or her appearance, one detail about his or her profession or hobby, and one character trait. Of the 5 characters I received, I chose these three.

Mergatroid

Invisible on Wednesdays

Baggage handler

Pathological liar

Submitted by Kate Carney

Hathaway

Wears glasses

Knitter

Speaks mostly in a whisper

Submitted by Linda Carney

Cory

She races motorcycles

She has waist length hair

She is optimistic

Submitted by Bobbette DeLalio

So without further ado, my story.

Connections by Val Carney

“MERGATROID! Now where is that damn cat? I swear, he is NEVER where he is supposed to be!”

Twenty-three year-old Cory was bustling around her San Francisco apartment overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, frantically packing for yet another adventure. This time she was off to sunny Costa Rica. Her small backpack was open on the floor conspicuously missing one large black cat. Cory craned her neck out of her 3rd floor window and hollered his name again. “MERGATROID!” Outside the window she could hear the familiar low grumble and screech of brakes of the garbage truck! “Oh of course”, the realization easing her concern. “It’s Wednesday, trash day. Duh! He always disappears on trash day. No doubt he will come back stuffed to the gills and still demand dinner. Damn cat thinks he’s a dog!”, she mused to no one but herself. Cory shook her head in mild disbelief. She couldn’t fathom how one animal could eat so much and then still ask for more.

“He is such a little liar, always telling me he’s hungry”, she thought. “No, make that a pathological liar with all the stories you constantly tell me, you silly old cat!” she mused out loud at the open window. “Well I suppose he comes by it honestly; I am kind of a story teller myself” she said to herself figuring he wasn’t around to hear it.

Any time Cory pulled her suitcase from the closet, Mergatroid never failed to crawl in and make himself at home. Cory wondered if it meant that he wanted to come along on her adventures or if he, like most cats, just liked to crawl into things. Perhaps, she thought, he does it as a form of protest that I am leaving him again, like a sit-in. She smiled at herself and said it out loud, “A sit-in! Ha!” She was always so tickled at her own silly and witty sense of humor. She made it a point to ask him his rationale behind the suitcase sitting. It appeared however that it would have to wait as the cat was nowhere to be found. Mergatroid normally liked to scratch at the heavy duty fabric and bite and tug on the handle to the point that she affectionately nicknamed him “The Baggage Handler”. She thought it fitting for the cat of a world traveler. Had she gotten him as a kitten she would have named him Eddie Bauer or Osprey or REI or something like that after the bags he was always climbing in. This cat however, was a hand-me-down after her father developed dementia and lost the ability to take care of himself, let alone a cat. She liked his name enough not to change it thinking it sounded like a cross between a video game robot-villain and a snooty Englishman. She remembered her father would frequently say “heavens to Mergatroid!” but she had no idea what the phrase meant and she never thought to ask him. Even though the cat had only lived with her for 3 years, she found that she missed his loud protest meows. As someone who lives alone, she found it was the only form of unconditional love that she received now that her father was in a nursing home and due to his memory loss, she never visited him. Looking at the damage her bag had sustained in just 3 short years, she said, “Surely that silly cat knows I’m leaving.” She was suddenly feeling lonely.

Cory shook off the feeling and busied herself rifling through her extensive underwear and sock collection looking for the best ones she had. She owned everything she would need for a year-long excursion but only ever took along the bare minimum especially for only 2 short weeks. She figured for two weeks in the jungle and tromping around the cities she’d need 2 pairs each of socks and panties, one to wear while the other was being washed, a task she performed nightly. “Let’s see, what else?” She mentally scanned over her carefully selected items and counted them all out on her fingers. “One tank top, one t-shirt, two pairs of zip-off pants, one bra, one skimpy bikini, baseball hat, light rain jacket, sunglasses, passport, money belt, tiny travel towel, journal and pen, hiking shoes, silk sleep sack, hammock, water bottle with built-in filter, menstrual cup, and condoms. Oh, and of course my iPhone. Yup, that should do it!” What she wasn’t going to be wearing fit neatly into a small rucksack. Cory liked to travel light but also she made sure she was prepared with all the essentials for those just in case moments. It made for a much more carefree experience…no checked baggage, just a small carry-on for the plane. “Oh! I almost forgot!” Cory ran to grab her travel toiletry kit from the bathroom that included a small folding toothbrush, a travel size toothpaste, dried soap leaves, and extra-large hair ties for her waist-long dreadlocks. Cory chose to leave the sunscreen behind figuring that her smooth, chocolate brown skin didn’t need it. Her mother’s shrill voice floated into her ear from some faraway memory and barked at her to bring the sunscreen anyway, that Costa Rica is sunny and brown skin burns too. She nodded and acknowledged her mother’s wisdom with a “yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all about it!” and chose to disregard the advice. She zipped up her bag which must have been the final call that Mergatroid needed because just then a tap came on the window and there he was. Cory opened the window just wide enough for him to squeeze in. The cat jumped down onto the suitcase with a thud and pawed at the nylon material thus beginning his ritual. “Why do you do that, anyway?” Cory asked him knowing full well she would never get a proper answer.

Mergatroid stared at her in response before running off to his empty food bowl where he sat expectantly.

“Well, I guess only you know the answer to that one,” Cory said as he continued to sit beside his food bowl and whine and cry as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Cory smiled and told him, “Stop making up stories! I know you have eaten your weight and then some, how can you possibly eat any more?” And with that Cory opened the airtight container and gave him a generous portion of kibble anyway. “That’s all you’re getting! Don’t ask me for anymore! I’m leaving soon and Jamie will be here a couple of days to feed you again,” Cory informed him.

A loud protesting “harrumph” emitted from deep within Mergatroid’s gut but she went about her business and pretended not to hear him.

Two hours later Cory stood in front of an electronic check-in machine at the airport all decked out in her trendy name-brand outdoor clothing. A loud crash echoed throughout the terminal which caused her to crane her neck toward the long Checked Baggage line beside her. There stood an unusually tall, middle aged man wearing small Harry Potter-like glasses and an embarrassed and apprehensive look on his face. He bent down to pick up the overloaded suitcase that had just unexpectedly tipped over. The man chewed his nails on one hand and tightly gripped his rolling suitcase with the other to the point his knuckles turned white. There was something about him, something about his vulnerability and awkwardness and nervousness that made Cory continue to deliberately turn her head to watch him. She wanted to help him, run over to him and save the day and put his mind at ease, but how she would do that, she had no idea. Cory loved to help others. Her father taught her early in her life that she could bring joy to both herself and others if she was both helpful and giving. As an adult she often spent time putting change into expired parking meters or stuffing ten dollar bills into credit card slots at gas pumps for the following person to find. She would frequently and anonymously pay the restaurant bill for neighboring restaurant tables and take people’s shopping carts back to the corral for them. Sometimes she would simply open a door for someone and then imagine the ripple effect that such a small gesture might create. With this particular stranger though, she felt oddly connected to him even standing some 40 feet away. Cory noted that his blue suitcase looked brand new and she watched him fumble for his wallet and nearly drop it when he got to the front desk. “I wonder where he’s going,” she thought. “Looks like maybe he’s afraid to fly”.

Cory shrugged and snapped herself back to her own reality and finally grabbed her newly printed boarding passes from the bottom of the machine. She checked over the details:

Name: Corydalis Love Smith               Flight: 1118

Departure: SFO                                   Time: 9:50am                         

Gate: 50                                              Seat: 4A

Arrival: DFW                                       Time: 7:45am

                                                 

Name: Corydalis Love Smith               Flight: 4925

Departure: DFW                                  Time: 10:30am

Gate: A17                                            Seat: 6C

Arrival: SJO                                          Time: 11:15pm

“Oh good, the window seat.” She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder and practically bounced into the security check. She knew the drill. Shoes off, belt off, hat off, ID out. She filled the shallow, gray bin with her belongings and pushed them through the scanner. With a wide smile, Cory greeted the security officer who had looked over her ID. He smiled back in recognition.

“Off again? Where to this time?” he said.

“Costa Rica. The travel bug is rearing its ugly head again! I can’t sit still or I start thinking about my dad too much,” said Cory

“Wish I could do that. Gotta work though, you know,” lamented the officer.

“Well, my dad would want me to go and since he left me all the money he ever earned as a doctor, I figure I may as well enjoy all the world traveling he can’t now. But I hope you get to go somewhere soon!” Cory gathered her things, high-fived the security officer and trotted barefoot into the airport.

Forty-five minutes later Cory settled herself into the wide, cushy leather seat A, against the window in aisle 4. Seat B remained empty while several hundred other passengers filed past. Cory liked to watch the people go by her and wonder where they were going. “Were they going home or were they just heading out on vacation? Is this a happy trip for traveling or a sad trip to honor family lost?” she wondered. Cory noted many families with babies and children and some families without. There were old folks and young people, people traveling alone. People with brief cases and people with diaper bags. For each one Cory made up a quick story. Then noting how unusual it was to have an empty first class seat this far into boarding, particularly on a full flight, she began to make up a story about her absent seat neighbor. “She probably had to use the bathroom but being a germaphobe didn’t want to sit down on the seat. She was in a hurry because she thought she might be late for her flight, dropped her purse all over the floor while trying to hang her ass over the seat and simultaneously search for a tampon.” Cory smiled at herself as she stuffed her own simple rucksack under the seat in front of her and took out her journal to record her made up stories and her random acts of kindness from the day, which included helping an old woman put her luggage into her car just outside the terminal.

Several long minutes after the seemingly last passenger squeezed themselves down the aisle, one final person boarded. The tall man in black Harry Potter glasses Cory had seen earlier looked nervously down at his boarding pass and then at the numbers on the overhead compartments indicating which seat was his, 4B. Although his empty seat was not difficult to locate, the man still double checked his boarding pass and the seat number 2 more times before cramming his bag into the only available space left in the overhead compartment. The man sat down and for a split second Cory was disappointed that he was not a woman having just dropped her purse all over the bathroom floor. She was however very interested in the happenstance in the fact that this was the man that she had not only seen earlier but with whom she felt odd connection to. She wondered what sort of cosmic forces were at work and then just smiled, because she recognized that that was the way the universe liked to work sometimes. Cory also noted that the man’s cheeks were flushed in what she interpreted as either embarrassment or being out of breath, or maybe both. She noticed that he did carry a purse of sorts, a leather satchel that he stuffed under the front seat at the flight attendant’s instructions. She wondered if he had ever accidentally spilled the contents in a public restroom.

“You nearly missed your flight,” Cory said to the man as he finally exhaled a deep breath that he seemed to have been holding all day.

“Oh yeah, well I had some travel troubles. First I had trouble at the baggage check counter. They said my other bag was too heavy and they wanted to charge me extra but my card kept declining for some reason. They made me use cash to get this prepaid debit card so that I could pay the extra fee. Lucky I had some cash. Then I got stopped at security for an extra pat-down, that was fun. Although that was the first time in a long time I got felt in some of those places, if you know what I mean. They must have thought I look like a terrorist or something because they went all through my carry-on and made me leave a couple things. Finally I got through it but I guess I was a little frazzled because I wound up going to the wrong gate all the way on the other side of the airport and then I had to run here when I realized my mistake,” he barely managed to eke out his words while still trying to catch his breath. “I’m not much of a traveler,” he gasped and whispered. “Seems I’m not much of a runner either.”

Cory nodded her head in acknowledgement and assured him that “airports can be tricky.” Looking over at him, she noticed that he was buckling his seat belt and had pulled the strap extra snug across his waist, as if he though he may slip out accidentally if he weren’t careful.

“Nervous?” Cory asked him.

“A little. I saw a movie once about a plane crash in the Andes Mountains and the survivors ate the dead to stay alive. I am not sure how good dead people would taste so I would rather not fall out.” The man spoke just above a whisper and shook his head with a very serious expression on his face. 

Cory stifled her laughter at what she thought was an absurd fear. She also thought his story of some Andes plane crash and the survivors eating the dead sounded preposterous at best. At last the flight crew took their positions and began their safety briefing. Cory had seen the demonstration a million times and wanted to continue her conversation with the stranger but he clearly did not feel the same way. The man’s eyes were locked in attention toward the flight attendant. He was taking in every detail of every safety feature; the overhead oxygen, the seat and how it became a floatation device, where the exits were. He clearly wanted to be prepared in the event he suddenly found himself crashed in the Andes or somewhere, Cory didn’t know.

“So if you’re so nervous to fly then why are you flying? Where are you going?” Cory asked just as the attendant finished up.

“South Carolina for my good friend’s wedding. We grew up together and if it weren’t for Facebook we might have lost touch. I don’t socialize much.” The man quietly announced.

“Sorry, what?” Cory leaned in towards him. He was so quiet she was having trouble hearing him.

“Oh sorry. In Seinfeld’s World they’d call me a ‘quiet-talker’. I don’t know, I guess I just don’t like to be too loud and noticeable especially because I am already so tall,” the man said as his knees brushed the seat in front on him, a difficult feat to achieve with the extra leg room in first class.

“Anyway, I am going for my childhood friend’s wedding,” he said a little louder the second time. “Where are you going?” the mystery man asked Cory.

As bubbly as ever, Cory announced that she was off to Costa Rica for a quick two-week trip.

“Two weeks, wow!” said Mr. Tall-Quiet-Man as Cory now thought of him in her head. “I have never gone anywhere for that long. Come to think of it, except for moving to San Fran, I have never gone anywhere.”

The pilot announced that the plane had reached cruising altitude, it was safe to move around the cabin and that the flight attendants would be by momentarily with the snack cart. The man reached down and retrieved his satchel and from it pulled out a skein of navy blue yarn. He wound it around his fingers and rhythmically began to knit.

Cory turned her head in both amusement and interest at this unexpected development. This certainly did not fit with the imaginary details she was secretly making up about him and instantly added ‘Knitting’ to his name. “Knitting?” said Cory. “I was not expecting a guy such as yourself to be into knitting and certainly not on an airplane. But where are your needles?” She had never seen anyone knit with no long needles before.

“They wouldn’t let me on the plane with them. I had to leave them at the security check. It’s ok, I can do without them. I actually learned when I was a little kid how to knit on my fingers. My grandmother taught me. She thought it would help me relax.” Mr. Tall-Quiet-Knitting-Man said.

“Well, does it?” Cory questioned.

“It actually does. It gives my mind and hands something else to focus on besides whatever else I am anxious about,” he told her.

“What’s your name?” she asked bluntly.

“Oh,” he blushed a little. “It’s Hathaway. Hathaway Jones.”

“That may be the most unusual name I have ever heard of. Well, not the Jones part but the Hathaway part for sure. So, you mean like Anne Hathaway?” she asked.

“Yes exactly only not the actress. I was named after Shakespeare’s wife. My mother was a writer and she loved William Shakespeare. She said she picked out William for a boy and Hathaway for a girl.” Hathaway said.

“Why not just go with Anne?” Cory asked him.

“I asked my mother that same question once when the other kids were teasing me about my name. She said because she knew a mean kid in high school named Anne and always thought it was a horrible name, but she liked Hathaway,” he explained.

“Wait, I’m confused. You’re a guy so then, why aren’t you William”?

“Oh well, William is my middle name. When my mother was pregnant with me she had this really vivid vision that I would be a girl and that I would grow up to be a writer like her. She was so convinced I was a girl she had my grandmother make a knitted pink blanket with ‘Hathaway’ written on it. When I turned out to be a boy she felt like she still had to go with Hathaway because the blanket was already finished and my grandmother had worked so hard on it. Funny thing is, I hate to write and I am not much of a reader either. SO much for Shakespeare. Anyway, so that’s how I got my name,” explained Hathaway.

Cory listened with bated breath. “Wow! That’s quite a story! What about your dad? He didn’t mind?”

“Oh my father hates my name. He was actually drunk and passed out on the floor when she went into labor so she went and drove herself to the hospital and had me all by herself. When the lady came around with birth certificate papers my mother figured she could put down ‘whatever name she damn well pleased’ as she used to say,” Hathaway had gone on to say. “And oh man was my father pissed at her! He was such a ---”  he paused, “--- weeell, he was not a nice man let’s just put it that way. He told my mom that I would grow up ‘to be a faggot’ what with having a girl’s name and a pink blanket and all. He would call me horrible names like Sissy Boy, or Pussy Boy or Girly Boy. Sometimes he wouldn’t call me anything at all and would just ignore me, which is how I liked it best. It didn’t help things that my grandmother taught me to knit, which I suppose was a way to take my mind away and escape from him especially I was never much of a reader. It just made him hate me even more, though. He had a lot of anger issues and he left us when I was about 10. Things got a little better after that, although it created different problems.”

Cory felt instantly sorry for Hathaway as she thought back on her own idyllic childhood. “How did his moving out create new problems. Wouldn’t that have been the best thing for you?” she asked.

“Oh well it was the best thing for me but see, my mother was suddenly a single parent and couldn’t really afford much. As a result she became crazy nervous all the time and wouldn’t let me do anything. She said she couldn’t afford medical bills and stuff so I’d better not ever get hurt. I think she had some general anxiety anyway but all that just made it worse. I guess she was afraid I would get lost or hurt or something. Once I asked her if I could get a motorcycle. Not sure what I was thinking since she barely let me ride a bicycle. She made me wear a helmet and this was back in the early 80’s when no kids ever wore something as dorky looking as a helmet. Of course she said no to a motorcycle. I kept asking for one for every birthday and every Christmas for 5 or 6 years after that and every time she said no. Eventually I stopped asking. So as I got older I started to develop my own fears. So now, no motorcycles for me!” Hathaway reminisced.

Cory nodded that she understood but said excitedly “I have a motorcycle! My friends and I race them over the Bridge sometimes in the middle of the night! It’s fun! I can totally teach you!” Cory’s excitement was building and she ran though scenario after scenario in her head about what fun they could get into. She figured that was the reason she had felt so connected to him earlier. He needed her…and Cory LOVED to be needed!

            Hathaway found himself with both a sudden rush of excitement and a feeling of anxiety that he couldn’t quite explain. He found himself dreaming of what it would be like to race a motorcycle at 80 miles per hour across the Golden Gate Bridge and have the wind beat on his body like a million tiny massage therapists. He felt such inspiration from this young woman that he wanted to act on but he need to handle his insecurities first. “I can’t believe I have just told you all that, a perfect stranger and you’re probably half my age. I don’t generally talk to strangers at all, let alone give out personal details like that. I don’t even know your name. It’s weird though, I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” said Hathaway, wondering if there was some sort of truth to past life connections.

“Me too! Isn’t that weird? Well even though we’ve known each other our whole lives, I’ll introduce myself anyway. Hi, I’m Cory.” She reached out a hand to invite him into a handshake. “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Hathaway Jones.” In her head she recorded his name in her little mental notebook as Mr. Hathaway Tall-Quiet-Knitting-Man Jones. “My name story isn’t nearly as cool as yours is, though.” She added.

“I’d love to hear it anyway,” Hathaway whispered and smiled shyly. Cory wondered if his quiet nature had anything to do with his abusive father that she had just heard about.

“Well see, my father is a doctor and he was in the army back in the 70’s and served in China for a while. While he was there he learned to use a bunch of herbs and stuff particularly to deal some depression issues he was having, you know, from being in the army. He used this one herb in particular, corydalis, that he said saved his life and he he thought that Corydalis would make a pretty girl’s name. So when I came along some 20 years later he knew what my name needed to be. He said he hoped I would be the sort of person that could “cure depression”. My mom didn’t care as long as Love was my middle name. I think it’s funny because my last name is Smith. So I am essentially a ‘Lovesmith’. You know, like a blacksmith only I create love instead.” Cory explained.

“I think that’s a brilliant story!” Hathaway exclaimed loud enough for all of first class to hear had they actually been listening. His volume surprised even himself. “Lovesmith,” he repeated with a smile and then consciously lowered his volume.

“Yeah, that’s why I like to do RAOKs, because I’m a Lovesmith!” Cory told him excitedly.

“Huh? You like to do what, exactly?” questioned Hathaway with a confused look on his face.

“You know, Random Acts of Kindness! My dad has been in a nursing home for couple of years and he left me a bunch of money to travel and spread love and good cheer where ever I go. He said I could change the world, one RAOK at a time. He says that one tiny little thing can set off a huge chain reaction of good and positive energy. I try to do them whenever I can. Sometimes it’s stuff with money but not always. It doesn’t really matter as long as the other person feels good. Most of the time I don’t even know who the other person turns out to be” Cory explained.

“That’s really cool. I have some neighbors that I have never met. Actually, come to think of it, I have never met any of my neighbors. Maybe when I get home I will surprise them with a homemade pie or something. Maybe I will bring in their trash cans too, I don’t know,” Hathaway brainstormed out loud.

“See!? Now you’re getting it!” exclaimed Cory. “It makes you feel good in the process even though you don’t really get anything in return. My dad used to say ‘the getting is in the giving’. Now it’s sort of like my motto. It works for me too because it keeps me busy. It’s really painful to visit my dad and him not know who I am so I don’t really like to go see him. I inherited his old cat too and while I am happy to have him, he makes me sad too. So I just do stuff for other people to make up for it.”

“Hmmm. That’s kind of sad, about your dad I mean. If my mom were alive, I would give my right arm to see her. Family is the most important thing; I think”. He paused in thought and Cory looked at him woefully.

“It’s just so hard”, she said.

“Hmmm, well what about work?” Hathaway asked, sensing she would like to change the subject.

“Actually I don’t have a job at the moment. But I am taking a few classes at SFSU and I volunteer a bunch. The animal shelter and the food bank are my favorites. Like I said, I like to stay busy,” she said.

“That’s awesome. I have never really done anything like that. I just go to work, which is almost always in my home. Only sometimes do I have to go into the office. A lot of times I have a service bring me groceries. I don’t even have a girlfriend!” Hathaway told her. “Funny, you’d rather be on the go and I would rather be holed up in my little apartment”.

“So this trip is a big deal then!” she shouted.

“Yes. Yes it is,” he agreed.

A few hours later as the flight was making its final descent the two were still talking and felt like old friends. They each had their own distinct differences and yet, each had made a profound mark on the other. Cory was excited to make her connecting flight to San Jose and spread love to the people of Costa Rica. Hathaway on the other hand was anxious about wending his way through the Dallas-Fort Worth airport and to get his connecting flight to Charleston to visit his childhood friends. As Hathaway began to gather his things from the seat pocket in front of him he saw that an air-sickness bag had a handwritten note on it. Curiosity took hold and he pulled out the bag to see what it said. In blue pen and in semi-neat chicken-scratch handwriting, the bag read;

Dear Perfect Stranger in seat 4B,

You are the right person.

This is the right time.

You’ve paid your dues.

You’re thinking the right

thoughts, you’re doing the right

thing and at this very moment,

you’re exactly where you are

supposed to be…poised for the

happiest time in your life.

I’ll be cheering you on – all the way!

I love you❤,

the Stranger in Seat 4B.

Hathaway, read through the letter three times before Cory had even noticed what he had. She was frantically scratching out details of the day in her little journal.

“What’s that?” she asked when she did eventually look over at him. Hathaway held up the bag and with a tear in his eye, turned to face her. Cory looked up at him, saw the tear and then looked down at the letter, quickly reading it. A look of surprise and wonder came over her face. She had done countless things like this for other people but never had it ever come back to her in such close proximity. She felt as if maybe it were written for her too, like some sort of karma. Cory looked back up at Hathaway and when his eyes met hers she said, “Do you realize what this means? It’s absolutely perfect for you!!”

“What?” he asked.

“YOU ARE READY!” she boldly announced.

With a genuine lack of knowing he asked, “Ready for what?”

“Ready. For. EVERYTHING!” she said with the largest smile he had ever seen on a living human being.

The plane made an uneventful landing and the two gathered their bags and walked together up to gate 50 at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. “Well, I guess this is it”, said Hathaway, feeling uncomfortable with the small talk of goodbyes.

Cory pulled her journal and pen from her bag and tearing out a piece of paper, jotted down her phone number. “Call me if you want to learn to ride a motorcycle.” and she handed it to him.

Hathaway suddenly felt compelled to hug her. He opened his arms and leaned in and Cory leaped into his arms like a tiny little girl hugs her daddy.

Twenty minutes later, Hathaway had lugged his suitcase through the crowd to his next gate. He found that he was a little less anxious since having met and talked to Cory. He thought it must be because she was so laid back and everything. Maybe her aura had rubbed off on him or something. He located an empty seat and immediately pulled out his laptop and began searching motorcycle lessons and singles meetups in the Bay Area. He also began to scan the airport to search out an opportunity to his very first Random Act of Kindness.

Halfway across the airport, Cory sat at her gate waiting for her connecting flight to San Jose. She couldn’t stop thinking about the stranger turned friend that she had found in Hathaway. She thought about what he had said about family and picking up her phone she scrolled through her contacts and stopped at Jamie – House sitter. She pressed the call button and 35 seconds later she heard Jamie’s voice mail pick up on the other end.

“Hey it’s Jamie! Leave me a message!” the message shouted into Cory’s ear.

“Hey Jamie? Yeah, hey, this is Cory. Will you do me a favor and tell Mergatroid that when I get home that I am taking him to see my dad in the nursing home? I think he will like that. Oh, and I might not need you next month for my trip to Spain. I don’t think I’m gonna go. I think I might stay home a while. Sorry! I know you were counting on that. I will pay you anyway. Well, I hope Mergatroid doesn’t tell you too many lies while I’m away. If he does, don’t believe him! See you in two weeks! Bye!” Cory told recorder on the other end of the phone.

With a touch of the screen, Cory ended her call to Jamie. In that same flick of the finger, she opened a new text message from an unknown San Francisco number.

Hey this is Hathaway.

I am hoping to take

you up on those riding lessons

when you get back to town.

Talk to you soon. Enjoy your trip.

Cory smiled the biggest smile and reveled in the new connection that she had made.