The letter came in the mail on a Monday afternoon. Neatly typed, my name and address stared starkly out from the legal looking envelope, Ms. Jessica Louise Hawthorne. I always hated my legal name. It sounded so stuffy and old fashioned and because of that very fact I suffered unmerciful torment as a child in school. I signed everything Jessie H. and tried to hide the name I was blessed with by unthinking parents who chose to honor their dead relatives. Hopefully one day I'd be able to change that last name, but up till now the prospects looked slim.
That was the only thing that looked slim on me. I was also genetically blessed to be a chubby child, who thankfully grew into, as they say, a well-endowed woman. As a child, suffering from glasses and fat cheeks that your grandmother loved to pinch, you don't think you'll ever become anything of beauty. I guess when you reach my age you have to call yourself a woman, even if inside you're still feel young and have an imagination that tends to carry you through a dull life. As for beauty, well that I wasn't too sure of. No man had ever really looked my way twice, at least not that I'd noticed.
Mamma used to tell me to get my nose out of the books and look at the world, but I was afraid to see if anyone was laughing at me for my short comings. My books let my mind wander freely to distant places with many men who called me lovely. It was that same imagination that took over as I picked up the envelope and turned it over, looking for a return address. There was none.
Well now, do I open it and read some dreadful news I don't want to hear or find out that I finally won some lottery somewhere. My luck, it's a well conceived ad campaign to get me to buy into some time share too far awhile to travel to. Coffee, that's what I need. Leave the unpleasantness till after I have the afternoon fix of caffeine. So I puttered in the kitchen and walked by the letter sitting there on the counter at least a dozen times, touching it once or twice, picking it up and then laying it back down.
Pouring steaming java into my favorite cup, throwing in a dash if Irish Cream for a touch of confidence, I finally picked up the letter opener and started to slit the top open when the phone rang. I nearly knocked the coffee over onto the envelope. Quick reflexes saved the official looking thing in time. I ran across the room to answer the phone before it stopped ringing. Probably my mother, she was the only one who ever called me.
"Hello?"
"Is this Ms. Hawthorne?" a masculine voice asked quietly.
