Frank limps into the local H and R Block, cane in his left hand, doffing his straw hat with his right just as he steps over the threshold (In spite of the three guys in the waiting area wearing backwards baseball caps like three village idiots.) Nervously, Frank checks in at the front desk. "Yes, your appointment is with Rachel. She'll be with you shortly."
"Why I even bothered to make this random, insignificant, appointment I just don't know." Thinks Frank. "Uncle Sam doesn't really care about an old man who might owe or get back a paltry hundred bucks or so, does he? But Erma would have wanted me to do this. She was always so honest. Cross every T and dot every I."
Soon Rachel walks into the waiting area to get her next appointment. Another tax return like the ones she's been doing all day, all week, all tax season. Just another randon, insignificant meeting. "You must be Frank," she says behind a false smile, "Come right this way."
Frank sits in a nondescript chair in Rachel's cubicle. "Would you like some coffee before we start?" Rachel offers with another forced smile.
"Oh, no thank you. If I have coffee after twelve noon, I never get to sleep." Frank then hands Rachel a stack of envelopes, receipts and papers held together with a thick rubber band. "Erma used to always take care of this," he says, "I don't know what's all in here."
"That's fine," says Rachel behind an increasingly less convincing smile. She had left that morning without even a kiss for Steve. Just a reminder to get the girls to dance class and pick Aidan up after his scouts meeting. And now, this old guy, with his mess of papers. His return, if any, will be insignificant.
"I have your phone number here. May I please have your e-mail address and number where I can text you?" she says robotically; indifferently.
"I don't do that e-mail stuff and I never got one of those texting machines," mutters Frank. "Me and Erma never really bothered with such new fangled stuff. We've had the same phone number for the last fifty-two years"
Worse than a fake smile is a patronizing smile. "That's okay. Let's have a look at these papers," Rachel replies. She begins the enormous task of wading through the stack of papers: some outdated, some junk mail, some actually relevant to the task at hand. She continues to sort the papers and type on her computer silently as Frank watches, confused and nervous.
"You know, my Erma would have had all those papers set up just right for you. I never had to do this before. She was quite the lady."
A nod from Rachel as she wonders if Steve will be on time for Aidan when his troop meeting is over.
More silence. More tapping on the computer. More memories of Erma's love and organization. More thoughts of Steve getting the kids where they need to be.
Finally, Rachel puts on one more insincere smile and says, "The news looks good. It seems you'll be getting a refund of eighty-two dollars."
Frank grins a semi-toothless grin. "You did a fine job, ma'am. Thank you so much. You made my day. When can I expect the check in the mail."
As Rachel looks up and sees the mist in Frank's eyes even as his grin broadens, she finally smiles a real smile. "They don't send checks in the mail anymore. It'll be sent right into your bank account" And she escort him to the front desk.
A random, insignificant meeting?
As Frank limps in through his suburban front door, he whispers, "I did it, Erma. I got the taxes done. We're getting money back, and somehow, it'll be piped right into our account. I miss you like hell, honey, but you know what. I got our taxes done. I'm thinking I might actually be able to deal with this widower thing until the Good Lord brings us back together."
Meanwhile, Rachel comes home and holds Steve's hands, squeezing them tighter than she has in years. She holds gentle eye contact with him a little longer than she has in at least as long. She lingers over the kids a little longer as she tucks them into bed, and sits a little closer to Steve on the couch that night.
A random, insignificant meeting? Not at all.