Small But Cozy
Mary Johns is getting married today. Her fiancé, William Morrison, would be here soon. They have been living together for 8 months but William insisted he keep his own apartment until they got married. It seemed silly to Mary, but it was not worth arguing over. Now it didn’t matter. Within the next few hours, twelve noon to be exact, they will be down at City Hall and performing their vows. William promised to get rid of the apartment after they married.
Mary’s apartment was larger than William’s, or so he told her. Her place would be perfect for the two of them to live in until they bought a home like they planned. It was 9:45 in the morning when she looked at the kitchen wall clock. William said he would be here at 9:30. Where was he?
She was going to call his cellphone but decided to wait a little longer. Soon, ten o’clock came and William was now a half hour late. Mary picked up her cellphone checked her favorites and pressed William’s number. After a series of rings, a recording came on. “This number is not in service” and was disconnected.
“What?” she mumbled and pressed William’s number again. The same recording played. For a moment, Mary did not know what to do. After all, this was William’s number. She called him time and time again and he would not have changed it without her knowledge. Why would he?
They had scheduled to meet Cara and Sean, their maid of honor and best man, at City Hall at 11:30. Sean was a last-minute replacement for William’s best friend Henry Mason, after he called the other day to say he couldn’t make it. He told William who was scheduled to fly in from Des Moines that his father had an unexpected heart attack and was near death.
Mary had her makeup on and was about to put on her wedding dress that she and Cara picked out weeks ago. Instead, she went to William’s apartment on Chase Street. Though they dated for eight months, she has never been to his apartment. He always told her it was old and small, but cozy. Mary knew his address, which she learned when they filled out paperwork for their joint bank account one week ago. William had little money to contribute, less than two thousand dollars, while Mary inherited over twenty-five thousand after her mother died. After all, they were going to be married. The money belonged to them both now.
William’s apartment was a fifteen-minute walk from her apartment. It was getting late. The building at 270 Chase Street was like William said old, most likely Mary guessed one of the first apartment buildings built in town about one hundred years ago. The front door to the building was not secure, and she walked in. A series of twelve mailboxes were in the hallway, one for each apartment. She looked at the names on each and could not find Morrison anywhere.
“This can’t be,” she told herself.
The listing showed that the super lives in apartment 1A. Mary knocked on the door and a woman about sixty years old opened the door.
“What is it?” She did not look happy to be disturbed.
“Hello, I am looking for William Morrison’s apartment. His name is not on any of the mailboxes.”
“There’s a reason for that. Nobody with that name lives here.”
Mary stared at the woman. “That can’t be. He told me he lives here.”
“Well, he doesn’t. Like I said, nobody with that name lives here.”
“He would not have moved without telling me.”
“Lady, nobody with that name ever lived here!”
“That can’t be.”
“We’re done here! I’m missing my favorite game shows.”
About to slam the door shut, the landlady swung it back open.
“Hey, if you know anyone looking for an apartment, tell them we have one here. A couple just moved out. It’s small but cozy,” she laughed.
Mary stood there. She wanted to knock on the door again, but why would the woman lie? Then again, where is William? Maybe he’s at her apartment. She gave him a key a week ago, which made sense since that’s where they would be living. He could be there, sitting at her kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee and wondering where the heck she was. Which made her wonder why he didn’t call her?
Mary rushed back to her place. When she arrived, she pulled out her key from her bag to unlock the door, but the door was unlocked. Strange, Mary had been positive she locked the door. She opened the door and called out William’s name.
“William” she called out again and again.
Silence.
At first, Mary stood there, confused. What the heck was going on? It had to be William who opened the door. No one else had a key. But where was he? That’s when she noticed her laptop, which she had put away last night was out on her desk.
Then it dawned on her.
On her computer, she signed on to their newly created joint bank account on the Bank First web page. She clicked it open and the balance on the account read one dollar!
Small but cozy, she thought.
