by Joan L. Cannon
Published at Smashwords by Write Words, Inc.
© 2007 . All Rights Reserved Joan L. Cannon
Ruth March reached for the arm rest to steady herself as the big black Buick sedan slewed on a curve. She wondered why Realtors felt such a pressing need to show how big a car they could afford. Her mind felt as unbalanced as her body, turning from one misgiving to another with the futility of a goldfish circling its bowl. She wound down her window to get some fresh air on her face. The view through the windshield showed her how far she was venturing from Greenwich Village, from everything she had known for over twelve years.
A moist wind blew across her face and pulled strands of her copper-colored hair free, dragging them into her eyes. She pulled down the visor and used the mirror to try to tuck them into place again. She was surprised at the face she saw there, not the features, which showed some distinction, with her short nose and wide mouth, high cheekbones and level brows, but rather by the expression. She had been unaware of how mournful she looked.
Mrs. Chapin, the real estate broker, had a nasal voice, full of flat As. "Don't you want to run the window up? The wind is spoiling your hair. You say you're moving out of the city?"