Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. The sun’s rays woke a still exhausted Casey from a deep sleep. She yawned, turned over and slowly opened her eyes, her radio alarm slowly blinked: 9:15.
With an incredible sense of deja-vu Casey shrieked and leapt out of bed. “Arrgh, not again!”
Tigger looked at her, yawned and curled back up to continue his dream.
Pulling on a pair of jeans and clean shirt, Casey ran a comb through her tangled curls and ran out the door. No time for a shower, no time for breakfast either. As she pushed the button for the elevator she came to an executive decision: there is no way next month’s gala was going to be on a Friday. Tuesday or Wednesday would work just fine. Friday was too close their other really busy day…Saturday. She pushed the button impatiently again.
Giving up she ran to the stairs and raced down them two at a time. As she leapt down the last three stairs and trotted towards her car a thought popped unbidden into her head: Andrew. She hadn’t heard from him since he stopped in to talk to her the previous day. He hadn’t called last night either and with her machine broken she had no way of knowing if he’d left a message. It recorded messages but at the moment wouldn’t play them back. And of course she’d forgotten to charge the cell phone again. Shit. There were a couple of unidentified numbers on her call display. Had one of them been him?
They had spent the last week practically glued at the hip. What could have happened?