Jean, part ii:
It seemed to take forever before the bus came into view. Jean was cold and tired by the time she plopped herself into what they must have considered to be a whole seat. This was the one remaining seat though, next to a large, malodorous man who whistled through his nose.
She thought she heard her name, but she didn't turn toward the voice, so certain was she that her aging ears were playing tricks on her. Rarely venturing out of her sheltered neighbourhood, who could she possibly know on the North Main Express?
Jean? The voice approached. Jean Rickert? Is that really you?
Jean slowly turned, trying to place the vaguely familiar voice with a long-ago memory. Only then did she find herself looking up into the woman’s beaming face. Hesitating, she said, Marj...Marjory?
But before she had time to have a really good look at the person belonging to the smile, the woman had already wrapped herself around Jean's neck with no sign of letting go. Hmm, this has to be Marjory, Jean thought to herself . . .