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The Letter-Part 4
By wrify Posted in The Letter on June 6, 2018 0 Comments 8 min read
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David awoke late that morning. It had been 9:30 am when he opened his eyes to a bright sun glaring through his bedroom window. The window had been open during the night so he could fall asleep listening to the old owl that made his night watch in an oak down the street and back toward the little creek that ran gurgling past he and his neighbors houses. He loved to hear the owl hoot and then listen as another owl would answer from some mysterious perch located in what could easily be imagined as a land far away.  A land where the trees at night swayed to and fro in a warm, gentle breeze, murmuring words and song only they understood.

It had been a late night for David as he would pick the letter up, read it again and again and put it down resolved to go to bed. His thoughts had ben of surprise and then, after a few readings, a rising suspicion as to any motive behind the letter. The “Bagman” had warned him that people may very well come out of the woodwork, people David had never heard of, asking for money for grants and causes or claiming to be distant relatives or friends of Christine’s to whom she had promised, or owed, unlikely as that seemed, money. David had heard of this happening to lottery winners yet had doubted this would happen to him.

On the other hand, less than a month and along comes this letter from a person (this is the way he ended up considering the letter) claiming to be Susan or Susan had somehow heard he had received this money and was trying to horn in on the action. Caution had stolen over the warm and glad feelings he’d had earlier in the evening. It was at that point that he felt more himself and decided a new day was needed to allow him to shove back the feelings of first glow over the letter for a more sober approach to it in a more business-like manner.

Breakfast of oatmeal and two eggs finished, he changed into his painting clothes and was on the back porch when he heard his name being shouted in front of the house. It was John Alan from up the street. John was a painter and told David that he would lend him a hand with his sprayer if he had time from his other jobs. There he was as David walked up the side of the house to his front yard. The spray rig was already set up and tarps laid. “Thought you’d never wake up!” John said with a grin. “I’ve been out here for six hours waiting for you to finish your “wonderland” dreams and get the hell to work.” David waved as he rounded the corner.

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