Anyway, I went to Mrs. Elder and I mentioned that I’d like to have a pen pal. She told me of this site where people write in asking for a pen pal, then the librarians all make a list and match people up. That’s how I found out about you.
So, Aster is the name of a flower? That’s nice. I wonder how old you are, but from what I read, you really aren’t supposed to ask a lady how old she is. I’m fifteen. I don’t mind telling that, since no one much cares about being fifteen. It’s not one of those fun ages, you know, like ten – a decade, sixteen – driver’s license, eighteen – adult. I don’t much care about turning twenty-one. Most people get to drink then, but we don’t drink in my family. At twenty-one we leave.
Let’s not talk about that. It makes me sad. See, I live in this incredibly beautiful place. Big redwood trees, a lot of ferns. We have a creek that runs along the back of the property and sometimes the deer come down to drink. Usually that’s in the morning or just before dusk. I like to see the deer. They’re so peaceful, so quiet. They make me happy.
Once in a while we go to the beach. I see you live in Reno, Nevada. That is definitely not near a beach. Do you ever wish you could see the ocean? I would be sad if I couldn’t see the ocean, but let me tell you, the Pacific is cold, really cold. It’s impossible to get into it all the way, but some people do. I like to watch the surfers. I can’t believe the way they ride the waves. I’d really like to try surfing, but that’s not allowed.
Wow! I just read back what I wrote and I talk a lot about what’s not allowed. There’s a lot of good stuff allowed too. I get to walk the trails in the hills for as long as I want and once I found a baby rabbit. His mother had been killed, so I got to keep him for a while. My chore is to work the garden. I like that. I like planting things and waiting for them to become food.
It’s better than chopping the wood. A lot of the boys have to chop wood or do other hard stuff, but not me. I get to dig in the dirt and pick vegetables.
I know why I want a pen pal. I want to hear about places far away from here, but why do you? Don’t you have a computer to talk to people? Sometimes when I’m in the library Mrs. Elder lets me get on the computer. That’s pretty neat. I see some of the kids at the library with their phones. Their phones are like a mini-computer. Isn’t that funny? People carry computers around with them now.
Anyway, that’s a little about me. Here’s what I want to know about you. Are you married? Do you have kids? What’s it like living in Reno? Don’t they do a lot of gambling in Reno? Do you not have a computer because it’s not allowed where you are?
Your new friend and pen pal,
Finn Getter
P.S. I guess my last name is weird too. Hee! Hee! What do you think?
CHAPTER 2
Saturday/Sunday
Peyton sat on the couch, her knees bent, her arms hugged around her legs, watching the display on the phone. She wore Marco’s jersey, it still smelled like him, and a pair of raggedy sweats. Pickles lay beside her, pressing his back against her hip as if to keep reminding her he was there for her.
The crying was spent. She was sick of it and sick of herself. She’d been crying off and on for days now and she wasn’t going to do it anymore. Come Monday, she was putting on a boyish black suit, pulling her wild curls into a ponytail, and going back to work. She was done wallowing.
Still, when the phone rang, she snatched it up, thumbing it on. “Hello?”
“Hey, little soul sista,” came Abe’s voice. “How you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re definitely not fine, but I get you. I’m sorry I’m not there.”
“It’s okay. How’s Marco?”
Abe went silent. Peyton realized she gripped the phone so tight, the edges pressed into her flesh.
“Abe?”
“He’s a mess, sweets. He’s been on a binge for days and he doesn’t seem to want to get out of bed. I finally forced him to go see the shrink. He won’t talk to me. I’ve tried and tried, but he just keeps saying the same thing.”
“What?”
“That he left because he had to. He left because you deserved a whole man and he’s not that anymore.”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep, calming breath. No more crying. No more wallowing. No more sorrow. “Couples are supposed to work through these things together. He didn’t give me a chance.”
“He was scaring himself with his possessiveness over you, darlin’. He was afraid he’d demand you quit your job and you would because you love him, but then you’d grow to hate him. That’s why he left. He almost asked you to quit.”
“I wouldn’t have quit!” she said angrily, but she knew she was lying. She would have done anything to prevent this from happening. God, she missed him. Even when he was breaking her heart, he was doing it for her. Shit! She hated that. “Honorable bastard!” she hissed into the phone.
Abe gave a laugh. “He is that. He’s also pretty as hell. Have I told you that?”
“A million times.”
“What are you going to do, honey?”
“Go to work. Give him space. What else can I do, Abe?”
“Nothing.”
“What about the drinking?”
“I threw out all the booze, every last drop. Do you know how long that took? Do you know how badly that hurt?”
“I’m sure it was crippling.”
“I had some damn fine stuff here, Peyton. I had a 21 year old bottle of Macallan Scotch. Into the recycle bin it went.”
“I thought you didn’t like Scotch.”
“Everyone likes 21 year old Scotch, but it was worth it. He’s scaring me with this drinking. I swear, he’s damn near pickled.”
“Do you think you should call Dr. Ferguson and tell him?”
“I don’t want to lose his trust, but if I catch him with anything, I will.”
A knock sounded at the door. Peyton glanced over her shoulder. “Someone’s knocking.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“How?”
“I sent them.”
Peyton went still. “You sent who, Abe?”
“Open up or Nathan says he’s gonna kick this bitch in!” came a loud voice.
“Have fun,” answered Abe and hung up.
Peyton scrambled off the couch, racing Pickles to the door, and yanked it open before Cho could kick this bitch in. Maria pushed her way into the house, carrying bags and other paraphernalia, and bussed a kiss across Peyton’s cheek. Cho followed her, his arms filled with stuff as well.
Peyton turned and watched as Maria dumped her stuff in the kitchen, motioning Cho to deposit his on the coffee table.
“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to sound as normal as she could.
Maria gave her a severe once-over. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Peyton pushed some loose curls behind her ears and tried to smooth out the wrinkled jersey. Cho looked down, avoiding eye contact.
“Maria, why are you here?”
“We’re having a slumber party,” she said as she began unpacking her bags.
“You’re having a slumber party,” said Cho, motioning between Peyton and Maria. “Me, I’m going home.”
Peyton shut the door and moved to the barstools, watching as Maria pulled out ice cream and donuts and chocolate syrup. “A slumber party?”
“Yep. You know, I’ll do your hair and nails, and…” She sucked in air and let it out slowly. “Make-up.”
“I’ve never been to a slumber party before.”
“Never?”
“No, and I think I might be too old for one now.”
“Nonsense. It’s Saturday night. We’ll stay up and talk, watch movies, eat popcorn.” She pulled out a stack of DVD’s. “I brought Grease, Pretty in Pink, Dirty Dancing...all the big ones.”
“If you were born in the 1980’s.”
Maria stopped rummaging and came around the counter, taking Peyton’s h
ands. She was distracted for a moment, looking at Peyton’s left hand where she still wore her engagement ring. “I’m here for you. This is what a best friend does. Come on. You’ll see. We’ll have fun.” She held up Peyton’s hand and studied her nails. “Besides, girlfriend, you desperately need a manicure.”
Peyton’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Cho tucked his hands in his pockets and moved toward the door. “That’s my cue.”
He stopped and gave Maria a quick kiss.
It wasn’t any romantic kind of kiss – just a quick touch of their lips to each other, but the intimacy of it was like a blow to Peyton. She sucked in air, but it was too late. Tears filled her eyes and she made a strange hitching sound, trying to stop the tears from falling.
Cho looked like he wanted to bolt, but Maria gave Peyton a sad smile and held open her arms.
That did it. Peyton collapsed against Maria and the sobs came wrenching out of her.
* * *
A knock sounded at the door. Peyton put down the dish towel and went to it, scooping up Pickles as he danced around her feet. Jake stood on the other side, offering her an uncomfortable grin.
“Jake?”
“Hey, Mighty Mouse, I’m here to take you to lunch.”
Peyton gave him a stern look. “Abe sent you, didn’t he?”
“What?”
“Maria just left and now you’re here to take me to lunch?”
“Can’t a friend take another friend to lunch on a Sunday without it being some national event?”
“Not when it’s you and Abe. Look, Jake, I’m fine.”
“Then come to lunch with me.”
She let out a sigh, then handed him Pickles. “Let me change my clothes.”
A few minutes later, they were in Jake’s purple car with the yellow daisies painted on the doors. He had enough money to get a paint job now. Hell, he had enough money to get a new car, but he was attached to the Daisy and wouldn’t part with her.
Peyton grimaced as she got inside. He’d duct taped the seat to stop the stuffing from coming out and the dashboard sported a hula girl covering a cigarette burn-mark. Peyton flicked the hula girl.
“This is sexist and you need to get rid of it.”
“It’s a classic. I’m thinking of getting those mud-flaps with the woman’s silhouette next.”
“You do and I’ll slash your tires.”
He started the Daisy and she choked to life. “That’s a fine thing for an FBI agent to say.”
“We could have taken the Prius.”
“Naw. I feel guilty when we ride in the Prius, like I should stop and recycles some cans or something.”
“Heaven forbid,” said Peyton, smiling at him. Actually she was glad to see him. He could take her mind off Marco if only for a few moments. “Where are you taking me to lunch?”
“The Cliff House.”
As he drove toward the coast, he kept up a steady stream of conversation. Most of it was silly, but Peyton didn’t complain. It gave her time to not dwell on her loss or the emptiness she felt inside.
The Cliff House sat on a rocky cliff, jutting out over the ocean. No matter how often Peyton had been here, she’d never seen it when the sun was shining. Fog caressed the sleek white buildings, slithering among the rocks like a snake. Jake got them a window seat and they looked out over the ocean, watching the waves crash against the boulders.
The waitress took their drink order. Peyton just wanted water, but Jake ordered a draft beer. Then she handed them menus and left.
Jake reached over and took her hand. “Look, Mighty Mouse, we don’t have to talk about anything, but I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I know, Jake, and I appreciate it. I’m just so raw right now I’m afraid I’ll burst into tears if I talk about it.”
He nodded, then turned back to the window, releasing her. “This was one of Zoë’s favorite spots. We’d come out here on a Sunday morning and get an omelet.”
Peyton smiled at him.
“They used to have this mechanical museum below this building, you know, with model trains and those old motion picture viewers. You could put pennies in the machines and watch things happen.”
“I remember that. My dad used to bring me here. I liked to see the seals on Seal Rock. He’d give me a couple of quarters and boost me up so I could look through the binoculars.”
“I think they moved the museum to Pier 45. We could go there after this.”
“Maybe.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
Peyton opened her menu. “I’ll have the crab sandwich.”
“Excellent choice. And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the same.”
She smiled and gathered the menus, then left again.
Peyton looked out at the ocean and ran her finger through the condensation on her glass. “Do you think you’ll ever date again, Jake?”
He lowered his beer and considered her a moment. “Why do you ask that?”
“It’s been almost two years since Zoë died. Do you ever want to try again?”
He studied her face for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s hard, Peyton. Zoë meant the world to me.”
“I know she did.”
“Whenever I think of having that sort of relationship with another person, I get scared.”
Peyton nodded.
He leaned forward on the table. “It’s going to be all right, Mighty Mouse. Adonis loves you. He’s gonna wake up and realize that.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Jake. Sometimes it doesn’t fix everything.”
“What are you saying?”
“This is something we should have worked out together, but he left. He didn’t give me a chance. How do I forgive him for that? How do I ever trust him again? And if I can’t trust Marco, how can I ever trust another man?”
“It’s too soon to be thinking about that.”
“I know, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
“I hate being alone. I hate feeling like there’s this hole inside of me. What if Marco was the only one who could fill it? What if he was my only chance at happiness?”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know. For so long, no one measured up to him. I love him so much, Jake. I can’t imagine life without him. That must be how you feel about Zoë because you’ve never moved on. You’ve never considered anyone else.”
He gave a laugh and looked into his beer. “That’s not exactly true. I’ve considered moving on, Peyton. I’ve considered someone else.”
“Who?”
He lifted his eyes and met hers. “It doesn’t matter.”
“How can it not matter? Tell me, Jake. Give me some hope.”
Jake reached over and took her hand again. “I don’t think you have to move on yet, Peyton. I don’t think you have to give up on Marco just yet, but I promise you, eventually, you’ll be ready. You’ll meet someone that’s different than he is, but you’ll realize that you could have something really great with that person if you just take a chance.” He looked directly in her eyes. “You aren’t meant to be alone forever. Trust me on that.”
* * *
“Hey, Dad, Mom wants to know if you want a sandwich?”
Jeff looked up from the letter and blinked at his son. For a moment, his mind was slow to process what he said. “Sorry?”
Simon stepped into the library, tilting his head to see what his father held. “Mom wants to know if you want a sandwich.”
“Uh, no, no, I’m not hungry.”
Simon nodded his chin at the letter. Jeff couldn’t believe how much he resembled himself when he was a young man – tall, thin, gangly. Simon had his mother’s brown eyes, but his freckles. “What’s that?”
Jeff glanced down at the letter, giving a fond chuckle. “Your grandmother had a pen pal, it appears. They wrote to each other
for years. The boy was just fifteen when they started. I’m up to sixteen now.”
“A pen pal?” Simon held out his hand for the letter. “You mean real letters? Stamps and all?”
“Yeah, go figure. It was a viable mode of communication for a long time.”
Simon glanced over the elegant script. “Texting’s better. You don’t have to wait long for an answer.”
Jeff took the letter back from him. “I don’t know. There’s something nice about a handwritten note. It’s more personal.”
Simon gave him a bewildered look. “Okay, Dad. Look.” He sank down into the chair across the desk from him. “I miss Grandma too, but you gotta eat. You can’t spend all your time in here. People are waiting in the other room for you. You gotta come out.”
Jeff glanced at the door. He really didn’t want to make small talk with people. “I hate wakes.”
“Well, take your own advice.”
“What advice?”
“Come out and talk to people. It’s more personal.”
Jeff chuckled. “Using my words against me.”
“Whatever works.”
Jeff settled the letter on the desk, resisting the impulse to smooth it, then he rose, crossing around the desk, and draped an arm around his son’s shoulders, directing him toward the door. “You’re getting pretty smart there, boy.”
“Well, college’ll do that to a guy.”
* * *
Dear Aster,
It was nice to read about your son, Jeff. He sounds like a good man. It must be hard to work in business, but then again, I don’t know. We mostly stay here on the farm, but sometimes we go to town.
Mostly I go to town because I have asthma and I need to see the doctor. We save up for a long time to go to the doctor. We have to take turns. Mostly we take care of ourselves.
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 2
