More Than Pen Pals by Dana Wilkerson
two
“Do you know the woman with the scary smile?” Jay McDavitt asks me.
“Yeah, he does,” my brother Randall says, as he smirks at me across the table at Sapori D’Italia. “Wendy O’Halloran. Works at Carter-Jenkins PR. She’s been in love with Ash since she first clapped eyes on him six months ago.”
“She’s cute,” Jay says. “Or she would be if she wore a normal expression.”
“Hmph,” is my only reply to the latest addition to the Murphy, Hamilton, and Walker team. Jay isn’t my favorite person, and for some reason, he keeps inviting Randall and me to lunch. Today my brother and I finally gave in, and I’m already regretting it.
“You’re not interested in her?” Jay asks.
“Not in the least.” I shake my head. “She may be cute—and smart—but she’s always way too happy.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Yes,” I say. “Nobody should be that upbeat all the time. It’s like she refuses to believe anything bad ever happens.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Jay replies. “Especially in our line of work. We see the ugly side of life every day. Might be nice to go home to someone who only sees the beautiful.”
“Then you date her.”
“Maybe I will.” He takes a sip of the drink that almost magically appeared in front of him the moment we sat down. Jay must already be a regular at Sapori. “But she has eyes only for you. Look at her.”
I shake my head, as I have no intention of looking. There’s no reason to give Wendy the impression I have any interest in her.
“Her friend is a stunner,” my brother adds. “Take a look at her, at least.”
“Nope.”
“Why? She’s—”
Randall’s statement is interrupted by the clatter of a utensil against a plate followed by choking sounds. He’s up and away from us in a flash. Jay and I watch my brother’s quick progress to Wendy’s table, where he jerks the blonde-haired woman up out of her chair, wraps his arms around her middle, and performs the Heimlich maneuver. A chunk of food launches out of her mouth and lands on the floor a good fifteen feet away. The entire restaurant applauds as the woman covers her crimson face with her hands and Randall helps her back into her seat.
“Randall Hamilton, saving the day yet again,” I say when he returns to our table a minute later.
“He has a habit of rescuing ladies in distress?” Jay asks.
“Yes. He should’ve been a firefighter, not a lawyer.”
“I rescue plenty of distressed people every day.” My brother sounds defensive, as he does each time I point out he could’ve chosen a different profession.
“And they pay you handsomely for it,” Jay replies. “Much more than if you were a fireman. You made the wise choice, my friend.”
Randall doesn’t reply. He and I both know he only went to law school and joined the firm because he was too chicken to defy our father, whereas I was born to bring justice and do my best to right the wrongs of the world. Not that I’m getting a chance to do so.
“What did you learn about your beautiful damsel?” Jay asks Randall. “Since her friend’s heart obviously belongs to Ash, and you’re attached to Colleen, maybe I should set my sights on her. She does have a great—”
“Jay,”I say firmly before he can utter what I knew he was thinking—what we were all thinking.
“What? It’s true.”
“You don’t need to say it. Have some respect.”
He purses his lips but doesn’t argue. Though he’s a couple years older than me, I’ve been around the firm longer and am a partner’s son. He knows better than to get on my bad side, and disrespecting women is one of the quickest ways to do that.
“As we’ve ascertained,” my brother says, “she’s gorgeous. And she has the most delectable Southern accent. Told me she’s originally from Arkansas.”
The mention of Arkansas unleashes a flood of memories of my childhood pen pal. I only did the pen pal thing because my fourth-grade teacher required it, but I ended up writing to Les for four years until I decided I was too old keep it up. In fact, I stopped partly because Randall made fun of me for it.
“Her name is Leslie,” he continues.
I whip my head toward my brother.
He cocks his head at me. “What?”
“Nothing. Her name reminded me of someone.”
“Oh yeeeah,” Randall says. “Your old friend Les. He was from Arkansas, too, wasn’t he? Maybe she knows him!” He chuckles. “Isn’t everybody in Arkansas related to each other?”
His statement irks me, though I’m not sure why. More than a decade has passed since Les and I last wrote to each other, so I shouldn’t care. But I have a rare soft spot for my old pen pal. He had a way of asking the right questions to draw things out of me, and I felt safe sharing my secrets with a virtual stranger.
Randall is mostly a great brother, but when we were younger, I could never talk about anything important—especially about girls—without him teasing me. So I told Les everything instead. It was easier writing about my feelings than talking about them anyway. But the one thing I never told him was I thought his twin sister was cute. I didn’t think he’d appreciate that level of honesty.
As I eat my minestrone, I wonder where Les is now. He always said he wanted to be a journalist, and I hope he made it happen.
“Earth to Ash.” Randall waves a hand in front of my face.
“Sorry.” I snap out of my reverie. “What are you guys talking about?”
“The Carruthers case,” Jay said. “Unless you’d rather talk about Wendy.”
“Not a chance.”