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Whereabouts
Whereabouts

The best of intentions may not be enough to help a hopeful but hapless husband find his wayward wife.

Colin Winnette

“We have some information about your wife,” said a voice on the phone, and I was given an address. This was good news. I hadn’t heard from her in days. I ordered a car and because we’re pinching pennies, I agreed to share the ride with another rider along the way. She rode in the front with the driver, and they talked about which flowers were in season, because she was a florist and headed to work. When she asked where I was headed, I told her I was on my way to find my wife, and she offered me a discount at her shop, if I was willing to stop.

“These will show her that you care,” she said, stripping the thorns from the marked-down bouquet.

I’d had to let the car go, but it was easy enough to order another, and, in the spirit of our new penny pinching arrangement, again I shared the ride.

“You’re a decent man to share this ride,” said the other rider, shaking my hand while passing me a business card. She was a financial advisor, specializing in retirement plans for freelance workers, which both my wife and I are.

When I explained how funny that was, that she was a financial advisor and I’d shared the ride in part because of our recent financial troubles and a half-cocked attempt at recovering from them while working to prevent them in the future, she seemed alarmed.

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September 2016