It looked like today was not going to be that day. By the time the alarm on Myra’s phone went off an hour later she had seen nothing of interest. Nothing of disinterest either. No delivery trucks, no mailman. She looked at her phone to check the date. It was not a Sunday. It was Tuesday but there was no mail. That had to be an important detail but until Myra had more information she was not sure what it meant. She left the balcony and her beloved telescope resting against the outside wall of the house. She returned inside undetected.
As she stood in the hallway outside her office she listened for signs of activity from the living room. All was quiet. It appeared Wyatt was going to be occupied a bit longer.
She went to her room and tidied herself up. Returning to her office, she sat down to begin writing the letter she had mentioned to Wyatt earlier.
Myra had managed the words:
Dear Sara,
Hello. How have you been doing? It’s been ages since your last letter
when her phone beeped with a text notification.
Memo: Changes to program schedule.
Changes to the program schedule are pending. A meeting is requested today at 4 pm with Wyatt regarding this matter. Click here to accept.
Myra clicked on “Accept” and returned to her letter without giving any of it much thought until her phone beeped a second time.
Congratulations My Sweet Toilet Repair 101 has been replaced. We’re going back into the kitchen for Thursday’s broadcast. Tell you more at 4. Smooches. Wy.
Myra continued to struggle through her letter, not sharing much about her own life, as stipulated in her contract, she focused on inquiring about how Sara was faring and how Sara’s children were. Myra’s questions focusing on the specifics of their lives at home. She asked nothing pertaining to their lives in the outside world. It was becoming difficult to find new ways to recycle the same tired questions. Eventually she gave up and contemplated a nap. She opted to do some cleaning instead, starting with the abandoned mess from breakfast. After the kitchen was in order Myra cleaned the floors and tackled the bathrooms.
Her options might be limited but they had not disappeared entirely. If things did not pick up in Hollywood after the pandemic perhaps she’d simplify things. She’d spent a lot of time during the last few months dreaming about selling her properties. All of them. She’d find a modest home in Europe or New Zealand? No. Not New Zealand it was too far removed from the rest of the world. Wyatt would never go with her. Canada? Canada might be an option.
A modest home, a dependable car, work that she loved, and a tidy savings to keep everything going looked very appealing at the moment. She might even have time for a pet. She’s always enjoyed spending time with her Aunt Mimi’s cat, Boudreaux, a gray and brown striped Tom that was not allowed inside. He hated everyone. Everyone except Myra, Aunt Mimi, eventually he even warmed up to Sara. He had become a dear companion after they lost Aunt Mimi. She didn’t know what she would have done without him when Mom and Dad began fighting all the time. Then they divorced. The divorce was the worst. She was fairly sure there were law schools that referred to the Collins divorce in their curriculum. It was one for the record books. Boudreaux had always been there for her and Sara on the worst days.
By three pm things had grown quiet. There was a pandemic and most of her neighbors had opted to wait it out in their European or tropical vacation hideaways making things quiet to begin with.
This was a different kind of quiet. It reminded Myra of the change in atmosphere before a big thunderstorm or the tension she sensed when coming home from school after Mom and Dad had one of their fights. She remembered the sick feeling she would get while walking through the house slowly, not knowing if she would find busted windows, broken knick knacks and someone no longer living in the house or just a disheveled living room, both parents in their separate corners doing their own thing and working very hard to pretend that nothing was wrong.
Myra stopped dusting. Turning, she walked across the living room and through the open glass doors to her patio not stopping until she reached the gate to her estate’s grounds. She looked at the sky, the beach, and studied the ocean. She saw something moving. A figure was stumbling across the beach. It appeared from just beyond the pool house and across the sand heading south. He or she was having trouble moving quickly.
That was when she heard the helicopter. Myra watched as it stopped further up the beach. It hovered low, allowing time for several soldiers to drop easily from its cabin to the sand below. They drew their weapons and moved quickly towards the struggling figure.
Was it a he or a she? Myra looked more closely. He. The figure was a man. When he spotted the soldiers he turned back in the other direction only to find his way blocked by a second group of soldiers. They walked forward slowly, weapons drawn.
Myra watched as the soldiers closed in on the wounded man until a face appeared in front of her.
“Ma’am. Ma’am. You need to go inside.”
Myra looked at the rest of the man blocking her vision. His helmet, the camo fatigues, the gun he was holding. Two identical soldiers stood with him, one on each side. “What?” she asked.
“Ma’am this is government business. You need to go inside.”
At that moment Myra felt tired. Tired of her contract, of being monitored, tired of being made to feel like an incapable child in her own home; mostly she was tired of being told what to do. She managed to say, “Government business that is taking place on my private property,” before Wyatt was standing at her side.
“These men are here to protect us.” Wyatt said cheerfully. “Let’s go in the house.”
“If he’s here to protect us then why is he pointing a semi-automatic weapon at me?” she asked without pulling her eyes away from the soldier’s.
“I’m sure he’ll lower it when we go into the house.”
“I’ll go into the house after he lowers it.”
Myra heard a strange sound in her ear and looked at Wyatt, his face was pale, his green eyes wide.
“Please Myra.” Wyatt whispered. “Just, come inside the house.”
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