She shared mostly thoughts and emotions, something that was easier when she could be anonymous. She suspected he’d felt the same way in the beginning. Lately, he’d been hinting at the possibility of the two of them meeting in person.
“Do I ever really want to meet him? Do I ever want to reveal my identity to him?” she whispered to herself as she stared at the screen in the Center.
Yes.
No.
Oh hell, she didn’t know. She’d shared more with S. than she’d ever shared with anyone about her true thoughts and emotions. They never shared details. About the only few facts he knew about her were that she was in her late twenties and that she had been fostered by a loving, elderly couple when she was fourteen, a life-changing event that had brought her from California to Maine.
The only information she knew about him was that he was male, worked for the Sinclair Fund, was entering his midthirties, wasn’t married, and seemed to be around a computer when he probably should be out dating. He’d captured her interest when he’d simply replied to her snide return email, complimenting her intelligence and humor, telling her she’d made him laugh, like it was a very rare occurrence for him. She assumed it was something he didn’t do often.
He’s listened to me through my grief, trying to understand my pain and fix it. Somehow, he always seems to know I feel alone now.
Dennis and Joan had brought her into their home fourteen years ago, and she’d felt the sense of actually being “home” for the first time in her life. She’d only left Maine for college, returning home with her teaching degree. The Tylers had been so proud of her, so encouraging. They’d never been able to have children of their own, and they didn’t have close family. They weren’t rich, but they’d been happy together for almost sixty years. Randi hoped she’d find a love like theirs someday. “Everything I am, I owe to them,” she said softly as she clicked the “Reply” button on her friend’s thoughtful email.
Dear S.,
Sorry it’s been a few days since your email and I haven’t answered. I’ve finally tackled the task of going through my foster mom’s things. She wouldn’t want them to be wasted. I’ve donated as much as I can, and kept the things that are sentimental. Everything feels more final now, and I still feel alone in my parents’ empty house. But thank you for your kind words. I don’t feel as conflicted anymore. I’m glad the suffering is over, though the loneliness remains. I try to just focus on my job, and appreciate my friends. I think it will just take time.
Speaking of parents, are yours still alive? We’ve never spoken much about family.
Hoping you’re staying warm in this incredibly cold winter!
M.
Randi sent the email, hoping she hadn’t crossed the invisible line that she and her pen pal had drawn by asking for personal details. She’d shared her situation with her foster parents willingly, though she’d left out the particulars. They shared thoughts and feelings, but never details.
He had recently said he sometimes wished they could meet face-to-face. Sometimes Randi wanted that, too, and more often than not she wanted to know more about the man who had been her confidant through some very difficult times.
“The mysterious man in my life,” Randi murmured under her breath. “What’s his first name? Starting with S?” Stewart? Sam? Sylvester? Scott? Seth? Randi had gone through the list many times. None of those names had ever quite fit.
Her heart accelerated as she saw an answer pop into her mailbox almost immediately. She clicked on the mouse to show his response.
Dear M.,
I’m glad you’re feeling a little less conflicted, but sorry you are feeling so alone. Please let me know what I can do to help you. I know we’ve never met in person, but you’ve been more of a friend to me than anyone else in my life in the past year.
Are my parents living? Yes . . . and no. My father died when I was in college and I haven’t seen my mother for many years. She doesn’t want anything to do with me or my siblings. The last I heard, she was living with a guy in Europe, probably trying to forget about my deceased, alcoholic father. He wasn’t a pleasant man. Perhaps that’s too much information, but it’s the truth.
I’m not in Boston at the moment, but I haven’t gone to a warmer climate, unfortunately.
Hope you manage to stay warm, too.
Sincerely,
S.
Randi had to read the email twice, surprised that S. had shared so much personal information. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t be shocked. She’d certainly poured her heart out to him about her foster parents over the last few months. Maybe he felt more comfortable. She hit “Reply,” somehow knowing he was waiting for her response. Sometimes it played out that way. They had a back-and-forth discussion when both of them happened to be on the computer at the same time.
Dear S.,
Where are you now?
She didn’t bother to sign the reply because they were in conversation mode at the moment. He answered within a minute.
Maine. And can I just say that it’s pretty damn cold here.
“He’s here,” Randi whispered, tracing her finger over his answer on the screen. His reply could have been creepy, since she lived in the state he was visiting, but it wasn’t. Whatever his reason might be for visiting Maine, it wasn’t because of her. He’d always known what town she lived in, and she’d been writing to him for over a year. “Don’t do it, Randi. Don’t ask him to meet up. He’s probably here on business or fundraising. Most likely in some rich area where donors can be found,” she reasoned to herself quietly. Her fear of meeting an unknown male overrode her desire to see him, no matter how much she’d like to know him in person.
Randi typed back a quick reply.
Why are you here? BTW . . . there’s a storm coming. I hope you don’t get stuck here.
His response came back quickly.
I have family in Maine. I’m just visiting. And no, I didn’t know we were expecting bad weather. But it’s not a problem if I have to stay here a little longer. I have a place to stay.
It made sense. He was in the area for a family visit, and he hadn’t said a word about meeting her in person. Seeing each other face-to-face would be as unlikely as it was inadvisable. With a major storm coming their way, they could hardly meet. She answered him for the last time, knowing she needed to get moving.
I have to get going, but I hope you have a good time with your family. Maybe we can talk if you get bored during the storm.
She moved her mouse to sign off the Center’s computer, but she saw a reply pop back into her mailbox almost instantly.
Hot date?
Randi laughed aloud, glad there was nobody else in the Center’s computer room at the moment. It was Friday night, and the two of them often caught up and went into conversation mode on date nights, razzing each other because they were both alone when most single people like them were out on the town. Unable to resist answering, she typed a response.