When Arthur Christensen heard her voice, some snow fell off his shovel. It wasn’t that he was unaccustomed to hearing her sing. Even early in the morning, in hard winter. Andrea opened her bathroom window whenever she took a shower, whatever the season, especially in winter. The rush of frigid air hit the spray and steam of her very hot shower, turning her bathroom to soupy, fragrant fog. Her fluorescent light seemed to shimmer a bit more. And she always closed the window when she felt the vanguard signals of hot water running out, so she was always warm.
Her bathroom window was at the back of the house, in a recess she said the architect forgot to erase. Certainly no one could see in. But Arthur’s driveway was next to Andrea’s. Their one-car garages sat next to each other, well back of their homes. When Arthur walked out to clear his driveway, he often heard her sing.
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