by Aileen Fish
Picking up a stack of returned books, Hope carried them to their respective shelves. She couldn’t tell Marni that a part of her, a teensy-weensy spark of hope hidden in some unused corner of her heart, wished Galahad was a real man, one who had all the qualities she longed for. As long as she never replied to his response, she never had to stop pretending. She could use a fairy tale right now, so she’d trash his email as soon as she returned home to prevent her from learning the reality of who wrote it.
****
With the cursor hovering over the delete button that evening, Hope held her breath. Why was it so hard to click? She had no desire to continue the game, especially because doing so would make her a laughing stock to whichever friend was pranking her, so she should get it over with and read the rest of her mail.
She couldn’t do it. Instead, she double-clicked to open it.
Upon reading it again, a key element stared her right in the face in the closing of his letter. He hoped her life was happy. He had no intention of hearing from her. That fact let the air out of her bubble. She closed the laptop and rose. “Jayden, bath time.”
His whining response brought a smile to her lips. Life was happy, blessed with every cranky moment she spent with that boy. Putting all her attention on him—even more than she had been, if possible—would bring him around. “How about we read another chapter of your book tonight? We left it at a precarious point.”
“All right.” While his tone carried the self-pity only a child could express, she knew he really meant, “Yeah Mom, that sounds awesome!”
So, it was no surprise that when she placed the bookmark at the end of the chapter and turned out Jayden’s lamp, she noticed the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth as he fought a smile.
“Goodnight, son. I love you.”
“G’night.” He rolled away from her and pulled the covers up beneath his chin. With the wedge of light from the hallway, she watched his shoulders slowly rise and fall. Here was her life, and it was enough.
****
A week later, noticing Galahad’s message was still in her inbox, Hope opened it once more. Who would it hurt if she wrote to him again, as long as she didn’t hit send?
Composing the letter in her head, she began to type.
Dear Galahad,
I was probably as surprised that you contacted me as you were to find that bottle. I’d decided it had sunk, or broke on the rocks offshore. You were sweet to let me know its whereabouts.
What a boring letter. It was a good thing she didn’t intend to hit send. If she planned to play this game, she needed to do it right. And then delete it.
Deleting what she’d typed, she slipped into a fairy tale.
My dear lord knight, I’m pleased to learn you’ve arrived at the castle safely. Your magnificent steed appears tired. Please allow my man to lead him to the stables, and come inside for some warm wine and a hearty meal.
At least this wasn’t dull. Insanity came to mind instead. She should try her hand at writing a children’s story, a much safer platform for her overactive imagination than emailing a stranger.
She continued to type, paying little attention to where the fantasy took her. When she finally paused, she realized she’d written the equivalent of several pages. Perhaps she missed romance more than she’d admit, even to herself.
Grinning, she finished the letter.
If you have read to this point, you are patient as well as gallant. I’m lucky to have such a chivalrous champion in my corner. When you’ve rested from your long journey, I hope you will regale me with your adventures.
Your grateful princess,
Hope
As she rose from her desk, she automatically clicked on the send button and closed the email program.
She. Hit. Send.
“No!” No, no, no. “What have I done? Kill me now.”
Unable to decide which would be worse, her friends receiving the message or the guy getting it, she paced the floor. At least she had no idea who Galahad was, nor he her. She’d get over any teasing her friends would do if they read it, and never hear from the guy again, so she had no reason to stress over this.
Why didn’t she believe that?
It was impossible to sleep now. She opened the laptop again and began searching for a way to delete a sent email, which she knew was impossible.
****
Chase saved the spreadsheet where he’d entered the weekly ranch accounting, then opened his browser. He’d been thinking about bringing a new bloodline into his cattle, and on nights when he couldn’t sleep he’d visit the sites with the most promising stock. Tonight, he wasn’t worried about staying awake; he and Matt had rescued a heifer halfway buried in mud. A hot shower had eased the ache in his muscles, but he was tired enough to fall asleep soon.
Deeply absorbed in a cattleman’s association newsletter, hearing the ding of his email program startled him. It was probably spam—junk mail always hit at night. Maybe people were more susceptible when their brains were winding down. There was no sense waiting until morning to delete it, so he brought up his email app.
The subject line made him freeze: message in a bottle.
She wrote back?
Chapter Three
Chase’s first thought was the sender was clearly someone looking for money. Why else would he or she continue the correspondence? He’d said where the bottle was found, end of conversation.
Still, it could be fun to see where this goes. After reading the email, he could decide whether to write back and play along with the writer. He’d worry later about how the idea proved his life was beyond boring.
Hope’s letter went on and on; she’d created an entire world straight out of the King Arthur realm. He had to admit, she was pretty creative. Her grammar was too good for spam, although she could be some kid playing a joke on him. Chase’s brothers, or Matt, didn’t have enough imagination to go into such detail. Come to think of it, neither did he.
He hit reply anyway.
My fairest damsel,
They talked that way in the movies, right?
You are a most gracious hostess. It’s a true honor to serve you.
Snorting, he almost deleted that. One of the main things he enjoyed about working for himself was he was the boss. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. Still, he let the line remain as he searched for something more to say.
Adding a few sentences about make-believe places he’d visited and a dragon he’d rescued from a muddy bog, he sent the email.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t shut down the computer and go to bed. In one of Mom’s favorite movies, You’ve Got Mail, their messages began flowing back and forth like a messaging app. If he waited around, “Hope” might write back and give him some clue about who she really was.
The ding from the email program came unexpectedly, even though he’d been waiting for it. Her message was brief, continuing the fantasy. He wrote back in the same vein. After three or four exchanges, her final message read,
I’m afraid the night calls and I must retire. Farewell, sweet knight.
The words gave him a pang of loneliness. Their banter was fun, platonic as it was, yet it only made clear what was missing in his life. Any time he wanted company, he could go into town and stop by the Royal Oak Bar and Grill where everyone hung out. He had female friends as well as male, one or two of whom were up to some playful flirtation with no expectations. Yet this was more intimate, a private game between him and—
Some stranger. Who was he fooling? It was bedtime.
****
The next morning, Hope went to work with a smile on her face, despite the attitude Jayden dished out. Normally sullen, today he made Oscar the Grouch seem friendly. Perhaps he missed his friends at school, since he was still on suspension. With any luck, he’d remember this the next time he went to act out in school.
Marni noticed Hope’s happier than normal expression. “To borrow a very old expression, you look like the cat that cau
ght the canary. What’s up?”
“It’s nothing, really. I know, you won’t settle for that. Sir Galahad and I chatted last night through email.”
“Awesome! What’s his name? What’s he like?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Hope admitted with a laugh. “We weren’t in reality, and it was a blast! I’ve never met a guy who was willing to keep make believe going for a couple of hours. I should be exhausted, but I’m riding the wave of fun.”
“He sounds perfect for you. Ask his name. Then you can check him out online.” Marni disappeared while she went to fetch the cart where they stacked returned books.
Turning on the computers, Hope ran through the morning routine by rote. Her mind was too busy revisiting the chat last night to pay much attention to what she did, a fact Marni picked up on.
“Paging Mrs. Reynolds. Your presence is requested in the library.”
Glancing up to discover a fifth grader waiting for her book to be scanned, Hope reached for the barcode reader. “I’m sorry, Kayley. Let me take care of that for you.”
Focusing didn’t get easier through the day, and Marni had to draw Hope’s attention back into the room several times. “This guy has gotten to you.”
“That’s crazy. I told you, the game was fun, nothing more. For all I know the guy is a ninety-year-old children’s book writer.” Hope tucked a lock of hair back in her ponytail. “I probably act the same way after watching a really good romantic comedy.”
Shaking her head, Marni walked away. “You’re the only one who’d believe that.”
****
When Hope picked up Jayden from her mother’s house at the end of the week, she discovered he had a fever, and he was unusually quiet. “He can stay here tonight, if you’d like,” Mom said.
“Thanks. Since I’m off tomorrow, I can take him home. He’ll be more comfortable in his own bed. Not that he doesn’t love being here,” she added quickly.
Mom laughed. “I know. I’m happy he feels at home here. Call me in the morning and let me know how he’s doing.”
“I will.”
The drive to their house took only fifteen minutes, so she had Jayden in bed in no time. He turned down the offer of soup, and took a few swallows of ginger soda before falling asleep. Standing in the doorway, she watched him sigh that big breath showing he slept, then turned out the light and went to fix something to eat.
This was the time her single status got to her. Not eating alone, not Friday nights, but when her son was sick and she had no one to curl up with for comfort. The irony was she’d never had that. After their first year of marriage, Jayden’s father had resisted cuddling, so she hadn’t pushed it. What she missed was the warmth of another person beside her, maybe his arm around her shoulders, letting each other know they shared the same concerns.
In the morning, Jayden would be wanting to play in the rain or snow, his fever gone and energy returned. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself in the meantime.
Hope opened her laptop and visited her social media accounts. After “liking” and “loving” her friends’ photos and tweets, she checked her email. Just the usual stuff, nothing from her fantasy boyfriend. She opened the last message they’d sent, which held the replied-to notes back to the beginning. Some were downright silly, and some were more insightful, and the sum total made her smile.
Should she write him again? Tonight was the worst night to even think of doing so, since she was feeling down. She hesitated, returned to her browser to explore some discount shopping sites, and found herself with the email open again. So she wrote.
Hello again fair knight,
The castle is quiet this eve, since my men have set out on another quest...
She wasn’t into it—pretending to be someone else. They’d only been writing a few weeks, yet she wanted to know more about him. Deleting what she’d typed, she stared at the glaring white screen. It was time to find out if this was all just a game for him, too.
Hi,
It occurs to me you know my name, but I don’t know yours. Although you might have been named Galahad by some parent who had no clue about school bullying, I have a feeling it’s something else. Care to share?
It’s cold out, supposed to snow, so I’m curled up with some hot cocoa and my laptop. That’s sad for a librarian, I know. I read digitally more often than not these days. Read anything good lately?
Hope
After waiting about fifteen minutes for a response, she shut down and went to bed carrying her tablet loaded with books.
****
A hard winter storm trapped some of Chase’s cattle in a gully, and he and Matt spent the day freeing them before tossing hay in the usual places. The activity kept him from noticing the cold, until they returned to the house, when the lack of exertion allowed the frigid air to make his cheeks burn. “Come in for coffee,” he offered.
“I think I will.”
As they passed by the warm living room, Mom said hello and went back to her puzzle book. Chase poured two mugs and set them on the kitchen table. He wrapped his hands around his to warm his reddened fingers. “I hope we don’t get more snow tonight.”
“The weatherman doesn’t call for it.” Matt sipped his drink. His dark brown hair was creased from his hat brim, a look they both had at the end of the day. “How’s that girl you’ve been talking to? Have you seen a photo yet?”
“No, and we won’t exchange them, or real names, or any of that.”
“Right. Good idea. Keep the mystery going in the relationship. Everything goes downhill once you know who you’re really talking to.”
Chase grimaced at his friend, piercing him with a sharp look. “No relationship. Get that through your head.”
“When did you last talk to her?”
He didn’t answer at first. He knew what his friend would say.
“Last night, huh? Or the night before?” Matt chuckled, obviously pleased at reading Chase. “You talk to me less often than you do her.”
Shoving his chair back, Chase stormed to the pantry, grabbed a bag of jerky, and tossed it onto the table. “Give your mouth something else to chew on. You’re making too much out of this message thing.”
“What does it hurt to see if there’s anything there? See what you have in common.”
“We’ve built up a fantasy world. Not like how everyone makes about their lives more impressive when they’re on a first date. Obviously she’s happy with that, so I’ll let it die out on its own.”
Chase meant it, too, until later that evening when he found a new message in his inbox. This was getting serious. Real. If she wanted to exchange names, she wanted something more than he was sure he wanted to share. First names meant nothing—he could make one up, just as she might have done. Joining online groups, even on social media, wasn’t something he did. He was old fashioned and preferred to talk in person. Phones were great for getting in touch, setting up a time to meet. Online, people could pretend to be something they weren’t. Sir Galahad, for example.
Did he “care to share?”
Something about her made him hesitate to walk away. Her letters were always upbeat, yet not sugar-high manic. She had imagination—did that feed her work as a librarian or was it the other way around? Her job would be interesting, give her lots to talk about. His was…tossed hay for cattle, fixed a fence line, rubbed down his horse, and went to bed. There was a reason he didn’t talk much when he and friends got together. Now, get him started on football and things changed.
Hope’s emails had become something he looked forward to after freezing his butt off all day. Nothing would go wrong if he played along a few more weeks, would it?
He hit reply.
I’m Chase, and what I said about the black horse and jeans is true. I’m a rancher, and the last thing I read was an article about DNA testing in beef cattle. It was rather dry—parched, to be specific, and is highly unlikely to make a bestseller list.
It’s snowing here, too, but the woodsto
ve keeps my toes warm at night. I mentioned I brought the bottle home to central CA. Where are you?
Not one to admit to being interested in a woman until he knew she returned the feeling, Chase would never let on to Matt that he wanted to know more about Hope. Since Matt was so insistent that Chase continue the conversation, his friend was the last person who could find out what he was up to.
While he browsed more stock sales around the country, Chase kept an ear open for his inbox alert. When it came, he quickly opened her message.
I’m in southern Missouri. So, you’re a knight in dusty denim. Do you have a picture?
Now things were definitely personal.
Chapter Four
When Chase’s email appeared, a paperclip indicated an attachment. He’d sent a photo. Hope’s fingers trembled as she clicked to open it.
Then she laughed.
It was a breathtaking photo of him on his horse…in silhouette in front of a sunset. “Tricky guy. Cute, very cute.”
Game on. What could she send in return? An idea came quickly and she opened the camera app on her laptop. Grabbing the nearest paperback, she held it so only her eyes showed, and sent the picture. Then she waited.
