Until Hell Freezes Over

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Leather couches can be hard, cold, or inviting. Today, it was cold. Ten years had passed since my Lori died. My daughter Joni was away at dental school, preparing to succeed my practice. The mantle clock ticked the seconds as two words racked my mind. What next? Ramee, the hound curled on the couch beside me, remained silent.

Reflecting on my years in High School, one person filled my mind like a Chanel-scented candle. Holly Jones, Miss Summerville, had kissed my cheek at graduation and whispered in my ear. "I will love you until hell freezes over Billy." The next day, she left town to attend Stanford. Forty years later, I still wondered what she meant.

I found her profile online and discovered she had grown more beautiful with age. Her status read, Widowed.

I called my friend Hal and asked if he remembered Holly.

"Holly Jones?" he said, "I read her obit two days ago. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"She was a looker for sure. The Class of '76's Christmas party's tonight."

"I'll pass," I said with nostalgic regret.

"You promised. I will pick you up at seven."

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Later, a hard leather couch in the corner hid me well at the party. The crowd parted ways, and Holly Jones appeared in a black shoulder-less velvet dress. A magnificent apparition floated across the room toward me. Preceded by her Chanel Nº 5, she dropped on the couch, leaned into me, and whispered.

"Billy, apparently hell hasn't frozen over yet."

"Are you a beautiful ghost taunting me Holly? The local obits said you died."

Her eyes danced, and her voice teased,

"Billy, you silly goose. You forgot there were two Holly Jones in our class."

The leather couch transformed from cold and hard to inviting.

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