A dozen long-stemmed pink roses, arranged neatly in an open florist’s box, sat on the wide library table inside the front door. Georgette Jones gazed down at the flowers in surprise. She set the groceries on the table and looked for a card. It was probably one of Marcy’s love-crazed boyfriends. Her pretty daughter was always getting flowers--lucky girl.

"They’re for you, Mom." Marcy passed by with a sly wink, her blond ponytail swinging with her bouncy walk. She flopped on the sofa in the living room, released a dramatic sigh, and flicked on the television.

Curiosity itched at her to find some answers. "When did they come, Marcy?"

The spunky teenager peered back over her shoulder. "The delivery guy was about to leave when I pulled up from school, so I signed for them. Got a beau, Mom?"

Georgette studied the long silver box. They were from that expensive florist across town. She pushed back the crisp green tissue and found a small white linen envelope. A nice masculine cursive sprawled her nickname across the note card inside.

Marcy walked up beside her. She removed the bouquet of delicate roses from the box to sniff them. "Wow, these smell great, Mom. What does the card say?"

She read the message aloud. "Etta, your heart sings music to my soul. It’s signed Don Quixote."

"Don Quixote?" Marcy echoed in total awe. "Who the hell is that?"

"Marcy, don’t swear! I don’t know who it is, dear." She turned the card over in her fingertips, trying to get a clue. Who was this mythical Don Quixote, as in Cervantes charming, romantic character inspired by chivalrous but impractical ideals? Impossible! She shook her head and laughed. Tucking the card into her purse, she picked up the overflowing grocery bag.

"Don’t you know a Don Quixote, Mom?" Marcy followed her into the kitchen and slipped the fragrant roses into a tall glass vase.

"Too well, I’m afraid." Georgette watched her daughter arrange the roses to her satisfaction and add cold water.

Marcy shoved the groceries aside and placed the roses in the middle of the kitchen table. "You’re weird, Mom." She grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies from the jar on the counter and bounced out of the kitchen, singing an unfamiliar song, way off key.

"I’ll take that as a compliment, Marcy. Thank you very much."

She sighed with fatigue and resigned herself to putting away the groceries alone. She should be harder on the children and make them help more around the house, but they had to have their time to relax too. She really didn’t mind taking care of them; it kept her mind off thinking too much--most of the time. Then there were days like earlier today when all she thought about was Ben. Gosh, she missed him so much!

She grabbed a box of cereal from the paper grocery bag and slipped it up into the cupboard above the stove. She may be weird and life was truly hectic at times, but receiving flowers from a stranger was simply an interesting mistake. That’s what it was, someone’s computer error. All it took was the touch of one wrong button to mess up a whole ordering system. She shook her head and slipped a gallon jug of milk into the refrigerator. She paused by the counter and stared dreamily out the window at the dog lying on the patio.