the Spadina Ramp just minutes before it drove into the city. He had thought about the woman he had loved and recently lost in the breakup of their relationship and pulled out his cell phone. As he dialed her number back in London, he looked out the window of the bus and into the eyes of the driver of the transport truck directly across from him. He too was dialing a number on his cell. They looked each other in the eye and nodded. The Greyhound bus continued on to the Elizabeth Street Bus Station and he took his carry-on suitcase with him as he walked out of the bus doorway and into the cold snow-filled streets of Toronto. He also called his daughter to let her know he was on his way to her house.
She sat on the couch for the full length of a slow cup of coffee and stared at the flashing message light on the telephone. The distant traffic noise had died down and the only sound in her apartment was the hum of the fan on the heater. She put down the coffee cup, placed her bare feet on the rug, stood up and headed for the red flashing message light. She took the phone off the hook and sat back down on the couch, lifted the phone to her ear, punched in the pass code and hoped to hear the smile in his voice somewhere in a transport truck sitting above everyone else, passing cars and buses and other vehicles along the cold black highway.
She had two messages. The snow in her heart began to melt and she would have two road weary smiles in her ear. She put the phone down and walked over to the patio door, opened the curtains and watched the snow fall covering everything with a fresh new coat.
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