Home > culture, escape, liberty, life, orthodox, religion, secular, sex > Better Late – 9

Better Late – 9

Shaynah hesitated a moment before she opened her e-mail. With David Goodman’s address typed into its field, she paused to think about what to put in the subject line. The only kind of communication Shaynah ever had on line was about business, never anything personal… with a man. She decided a businesslike approach was most appropriate.

“Property enquiry:

“Mister Goodman, I am interested in your property and have some questions that I hope you will not mind to answer.

“I am a Jewish woman alone, and I think you might be Jewish because Goodman is usually a Jewish name. If you are Jewish, where do you worship? Is there a congregation nearby?

“Do you think a woman in her 40’s living alone there would be safe?

“Is the boat I saw in the background pictures included in the price? Is the price negotiable for cash?

“I hope you don’t mind my questions, sir, but I am honestly interested in your property and wish to learn all I can about it before I can proceed.”

Shaynah Levy read her note over and over again, hoping to make certain she was not too bold, and she didn’t realise that her approach was clumsy and stilted. She signed off as “Shaynah Levy” and felt a little thrill, a small dash of spice in her pabulum life when she used her maiden name.

She went into the kitchen and started a pot of tea. She thought she heard the ping of an email coming to her computer and left her chore to rush to the monitor. There was nothing there. It had been her imagination. Embarrassed by her immature behaviour Shaynah returned to the kitchen to finish preparing the tea. She again heard the ping of incoming mail, but refused to be fooled again. It was her imagination. Shaynah stood at the large window that looked from her luxurious kitchen out across the huge yard with its groomed lawn and perfect array of colourful flowers in meticulously sculpted beds. The Asian gardeners she’d hired years before had always done a wonderful job, and had never missed a week to come to mow the lawn and tend the gardens.

When the tea was steeped to her preference, Shaynah sauntered back to the computer and sat down in front of the monitor. She let herself slowly look over at the screen. The new mail icon was there. She put her coffee mug down on the desk and eagerly opened her mail. It was just business – confirmation of an order. Shaynah forwarded the order to the appropriate person at the warehouse and sipped her coffee. Her imagination struggled to form scenes of what life could be like for her alone on an island, but she couldn’t manage it. She had no frame of reference for such a life, because her scope had been severely limited by the doctrines of her religion.

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