There’s a message on my answering machine. The man is too good. He knows just when to call, just what to say. Face-to-face isn’t necessary. A message will do. My coat is still zipped, my hands are still numb when I push “play.”
“This is Bob. I was wondering if you needed a load of wood. I thought I’d call you first before I asked around.”
In August I noticed we still had half a rack of wood. I was even thinking we could maybe get by through the whole winter that way. But Bob doesn’t call me in August. He calls me in October on the first snowy day. So I’m dialing his number, ordering a full load of wood, definitely more than I need. The man has timing is all I can say.