The Wrong Pen Pal

I slowed my pace, hoping she'd look up so I could get a better look at her face. It had been, what? Ten years? The chance, I knew, was slim, infinitesimal even, but if it was her, Johnny Garcia, who'd been injured in our corporate softball game the evening before, would have to wait.

She didn't look up, stopping instead outside of a patient's room where she looked at the chart, nodded, and reached for the door to give the usual curt knock before entering.

I had a second, basically a single heartbeat, to make a decision, to draw her attention to see if it might actually be her. In this case, I didn't need a second.

"Staci?"

Her knuckles stopped inches from the door and jerked back as her head swiveled toward me. The questioning look on face faded and the corners of her mouth turned upward and her eyes lit up.

"Brian Pierce? Is that you? What on Earth are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," I replied, "but I think your outfit explains that pretty well. I'm here visiting a friend who got hurt in our game last night."

"Ah, Mr. Garcia in Room...349, I think, right? He's already been hitting on me."

Ten years and too late again. I felt crushed and I think that was evident in my words. "Oh, that's too bad. I was thinking of asking you to dinner."

"Good. I'm a second-year resident, but I don't date patients. Are you free tonight?"

Relieved, I picked her up at her apartment at 7 PM that evening, we had a great time at dinner, and I was mentally debating what I was going to say as I walked her home. I'd gained a lot of dating experience over the past ten years and could usually handle myself quite well, but this, this was different. This, I felt, had the potential I really wanted it to have, and I didn't want to mess it up.

"Staci, I...I'm really glad we ran into each other."

"Me, too, Brian. It was great to reconnect with you."

"Really great. I had a lovely evening with you, too, and was wondering if we might--"

"Brian, yes. Now shut up and kiss me."

I'd never forgotten our first kiss all those years before; it was sweet but relatively short and almost melancholic as we realized too late what we might have had. This time, though, there was passion, a hunger for each other, that our ten years apart had honed to a fine edge, and short didn't come into the picture.

Her lips, so soft and tasting so sweet, thrilled and excited me, and then her tongue sought mine, raising the stakes and my libido. I turned a bit to keep her from noticing and then asked if I could see her again.

Our second date was the next night, and by end of the third evening and our third consecutive date, I was head over heels in love with her. This time, when I walked her to her door for that goodnight kiss, she pressed herself against my rising hardness, making it even worse.

When we broke for air, both of us panting more than we'd realized, I whispered, "Staci, I like you a lot and really want this to work, so I'd better go before we do something we might regret."

"I like you a lot, too, Brian, you're not going anywhere, and we're not going to regret a single fucking thing."

I was shocked by her comment and her language until I realized she'd said it for the shock value, to reveal her desire but also to keep me from resisting until it was too late. As it was, she pulled me into her apartment, threw the deadbolt, and led me to her bedroom before I could say a word. By then, it really was too late and I wanted her more than anything in the world.

With her curtains open but the lights off, we undressed each other standing by her bed in the dim glow of the nighttime street and building lights outside. She was beautiful, the pale lights highlighting her skin perfectly and casting shadows that accentuated her. I drew her into my arms and felt the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her feminine curves. My hand slid forward and cupped her breast, allowing me to pinch her nipple lightly and feel it harden as I continued.

Staci moaned lightly, her hand captured my rod, encircling me, and she began to pump me slowly, her thumb flicking over my tip to capture a bit of the precum I almost certainly had before using it to rub my frenulum and leading me to moan in kind.

"Bed, Brian," she breathed moments later. "I want you. I want you so bad."

I eased her down and grabbed the condom I'd put in my wallet earlier in the day as a precaution. She rolled it down me, the feel of her hands being exquisite. She was on her back then, smiling up at me as she directed me to her entrance. I pushed in just a bit and then a bit more before withdrawing and going again.

When I finally bottomed out, buried completely in her and the two of us pressed tight, she pulled me close and wrapped her legs about me, enjoying the sensation of being filled for a bit before relaxing. "Brian, make love to me now, please?"

Slow and steady, I began to pump in and out of her as she used her muscles on me, lightly at first, but as my speed increased and the sweeps of my pubis against her clit became harder, so too did her intensity. Her gentle moans increased over time and I felt myself building for the coming release. When she was close, I increased my speed and the strength of my thrusts again, causing her to cry out softly some moments later as she came. I couldn't hold off any longer so I joined her, a powerful release that practically made my head spin before I rested lightly atop her, laying my head against hers.

"Nope, not regretting a single thing," she whispered, in my ear before we turned so our lips could meet once more.

"I'll never regret being with you, Sweetheart," I whispered back to her when our kiss ended.

We were smiling at each other as she replied, "Nope, never."

***

I remembered that we'd made love a second time later that evening, though so many years later, I couldn't recall the details of that like I could with our first time that had been so special.

Looking back at Etta and realizing that I'd been quiet for a few moments, I concluded, "Staci and I became an official couple on our third date in three nights, and we were engaged by the time we'd been dating for six months. We moved in together shortly after that and had been happy together forever until the virus...."

"That's so sweet, Brian. Thank you for telling me. I guess I better go...but I hope to see you again soon."

I started to walk her out, but she said she'd see herself out, so I stood back far enough there in my office to keep from tempting her into giving me a hug.

***

I was looking at upcoming deadlines on my computer's calendar when I saw it coming up just a few weeks later:

Yvette Martel Dufort's birthday

My pen friend Yvette Martel had married Pierre Dufort several years before I'd reencountered Staci, so we'd switched from being pen pals writing long and detailed letters, often with a level of feeling, even intimacy, that came from being friends for nearly forever, to swapping cards with innocent little updates on our lives each year on our birthdays.

After Staci moved in with me, she would always include a little note of her own in Yvette's birthday card. Eventually, we switched to scanning the cards and sending them by email so they'd arrive on the actual birthday rather than up to a week early or maybe even a week late, depending on the whims of our respective postal services.

On our 15th anniversary trip to Paris, Staci and I were happy to finally meet Yvette in person, with her acting as our tour guide one day before visiting her art gallery and then joining Pierre for dinner that evening. Yvette was as sweet in person as in her letters and as lovely as her photos, with a delightful accent to her English that made me feel bad that I couldn't remember any of the French she'd tried to teach me. When we'd chosen one of her paintings to purchase and ship home, she'd had her assistant crate it for shipping before telling us that it was our anniversary present and she refused to accept a single Euro.

Pierre, on the other hand, was a bit frustrating, having that constipated look one gets when they'd rather be almost anywhere else rather than where they are. Maybe he was upset about the gift of the painting, for he and Yvette swapped rapid-fire French on a couple of occasions that evening; while I couldn't understand the words, his demeanor told me they weren't spoken kindly. However, he sent us off with polite words and a friendly handshake later that evening.

It made me wonder the next morning when Yvette called with her regrets, saying that she'd had something come up that prevented her from serving as our guide again as originally planned. She was kind enough to email us her planned itinerary, which we followed and used to great effect, but I always wondered if what came up might have been Pierre's ire about his wife spending an innocent day with and giving a present to an old but always-distant friend.

I bought a nice birthday card for Yvette during my next trip to the store and then spent quite some time debating what I'd say. Reaching no real conclusion, my fingers finally started flying over the keyboard, typing the first long and winding e-mail I'd sent my friend in many years. I told her of Staci's medical issues and her dedication and how that combination had ultimately been her undoing at the hands of the damn virus. My anger overwhelmed me and the words flowed onto the page, exposing my heartbreak and anger, while encouraging her and Pierre to take care of and treasure each other and stay safe.

When I reached an end, I felt almost exhausted but at the same time, I felt curiously refreshed, having put my thoughts in writing for the first time since Staci had been taken from us. I attached the file with the scan of the card and then saved the draft, waiting for Yvette's birthday to actually send it.

Sinking into bed a few minutes later, Miss Snickers joined me, curling up on top of the cover where Staci had always lain. I petted the sweet cat as she purred, knowing that she missed our dear Staci, too.

***

A light tap caused me to turn away from my screen for a moment to see Kyle standing at the door to my home office. He whispered, "Visitor," and stepped out of the way to allow Etta Wicklow to step in and lean against the door frame. With a glance at the time, I saw we still had a few minutes before the on-line meeting would be over, so I muted my microphone and said, "Hi, Etta. There's a few more minutes of this, so have Kyle get you a drink and I'll join you shortly, okay?"

She was standing in the living room looking at family photos when I joined her about fifteen minutes later.

"Sorry about that," I said. "Some people are long-winded."

"I know that well," she replied with a chuckle. "I had good news and was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd stop by to let you know and, well, maybe chat for a few?"

"Please, have a seat. The promise of good news sounds like a welcome relief after all that's happened in recent months. So?"

"Brian, may I?" she asked, indicating her mask.

We were seated diagonally across from each other so there was a good 6 or 7 feet between us. "Feel free," I agreed.

She removed the mask, revealing her face to be every bit as lovely as I'd expected. In fact, with the exception of Erica, who I considered a sister as much as a sister-in-law, I hadn't knowingly been so close to such a beautiful woman in months, since Staci in fact. The thought of my late wife, though, caused me to reflect as I looked at Etta, realizing how young she was. Instead of late 20s as I'd been guessing, I had to lower my estimate to mid-20s or maybe younger. However, I refrained from commenting about it, fearing I'd stick both feet in my mouth, so I smiled and asked again, "So what's the news?"

She opened her satchel and pulled out paper. "The insurance company has funded the professional policy and the funds hit the doctors' group's corporate account today. That starts the clock so you should be receiving the funds for Staci's buyout from the group within 60 days of today's date. With the strategies you've set up with our tax consultant, he's investing that part as discussed and making a payment directly to the IRS for their estimated share to avoid penalties, leaving you the amount shown at bottom." She held the paper out to me at arm's length.

I took it from her with an outstretched arm of my own, and a quick glance at the sheet showed that the final numbers were within a few dollars of the earlier estimate in all cases.

Looking up at her, I saw a strange expression in her eyes, making me pause for a moment. "Ahem, Etta, thanks for bringing this...."

I almost asked, considering that there were no problems and no real changes, why she'd done it instead of just emailing it to me, but I hesitated, enjoying her smile for the moment before she shifted in her seat and in the conversation, saying, "So...how are you?"

We had a very nice chat for about ten minutes before I received a call and had to excuse myself to go attend an online meeting on a new problem at work. Kyle was passing by the living room, taking Gryf out for a walk, so I asked him to see Etta out. Thanking her again, I was wondering if she'd come again the next time a policy was funded and, considering her age, if I should welcome her back or if I should speak to her father about the need.

***

Etta Wicklow came by two more times over the next few weeks, giving me a paper, another pile of money, and even more frustration each time.

Despite my wishes and completely against my common sense, I found myself attracted to her despite our very different ages and despite me still mourning Staci. I resisted the urge to try to engage with her on more than a professional level, and also resisted the increasing temptation to do anything unseemly after she left.

After her last visit, though, I called Ross on his cell phone. Erica, Ross, and I spoke as a group every week or so, but I didn't want to discuss this with Erica since she might not understand.

"Hey, Ross, it's Brian. How are you guys doing?"

"Hey, buddy. It is what it is. Erica's still coping as well as she can, trudging through the stages of grief. I think she's trapped in Anger and Depression right now, sort of skipping that Bargaining phase. Then again, with this crazy COVID, I think everyone's got some of that right now, particularly with the way it's spreading and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. How about you?"

"It hit me hard, Ross, and I'm still depressed as hell some days, but I've mostly moved on to Acceptance; Staci's gone but it was her choice to keep helping people despite the risks instead of retreating into a shell and trying to be safe. Now I'm starting to wonder where I'm going from here and if I'm moving forward too fast."

"Nobody can know that but you, Brian. Just remember, whenever you do, you'll still be part of our family. You're our brother, you're our kids' uncle, your boys are our nephews, and we'll still give you a hard time and tease you if you mess up. So, moving forward? Got someone on your radar?"

Surprised he understood better than I thought, I hesitated before speaking. "No...not really...but I've bumped into the same woman several times recently and it made me think that the time will come, eventually, when someone will spark my interest and I'll try to take that step."

"Well, you'll have to bring her, whoever she might be, to dinner with us when it finally happens, and make sure she knows she'll be part of our family, too, okay?"

"Sure thing, man, but don't be planning the menu."

"Oh, I don't know. Seeing the same woman several times and you're still glad to see her and still having such thoughts sounds like the interest is there to me, my friend."

We laughed and made plans to play tennis the following weekend.

***

Yvette's birthday was that Friday, so I sent her the birthday message with the card as soon as I woke up. I'd tweaked the message a number of times since it had been written, and I could only hope that Pierre wouldn't be too upset with me, or with Yvette for receiving it. I hoped that she would be willing, and able, to reply.

Ross and I spoke more on Saturday following our tennis match. He'd eked out the victory, winning the deciding set six games to four, so I was responsible for buying the beer, only to find the door of the club's restaurant locked and the bar closed due to COVID precautions when we arrived. I bought us a couple of sports drinks from the machine instead, and we went outside and set well apart at one of the tables in the shade.

"So, have you given it any more thought, pursuing your mystery woman?"

I gave a little huff and shook my head. "I don't know, Ross. It's not that I'm intentionally trying to move on from Staci, but I know she's gone and I've met that woman--a woman totally inappropriate for me--who seems to be flirting with me and attracting a whole lot more of my attention than she should."

"You know, if you look back 150 years in the United States, and particularly in the South, widows were expected to be in mourning for some period, usually at least 12 months and sometimes as much as 30 or 36 months, to show their grief for their late husband. Men weren't expected to show the same restraint though, particularly if they had younger children who needed a mother. The male mourning period, if you can call it that, was sometimes as little as a few days."

Ross was a high school history teacher so I assumed he knew what he was talking about. He continued, "Since you said 'totally inappropriate for you' and since I've always known you to be a nice, forward-thinking guy who was married to one of the extremely hot Evers girls, I assume that she's at least a fairly good-looking but somewhat young lady, right?"

"Do you teach logic or deductive reasoning, too?" I asked.

"Enough said," he laughed before turning serious. "Brian, COVID has changed attitudes about a whole lot of things. It's been a little over four months since Staci passed; if you think that's long enough, then power to you. I won't stand in your way and I'll give Erica a good talking-to if she objects. Good luck, man."

***

Fortunately, I didn't have to find out.

Etta Wicklow, either having no reason or having gone back to school, didn't show up at the house again and the boys started the new school year, too. With his education fully funded, Kyle was able to rent an apartment with another student near the medical school, gaining himself some privacy and knocking off nearly twenty miles each way of what would have been his daily commute.

Kevin's university, on the other hand, continued with remote learning for the fall semester, leaving him stuck at home, stewing over the situation and, without being around his friends, leaving him missing his mother even more. With Kevin needing the familiarity of our surroundings, my thoughts of selling our home and moving ended.

Ross, Erica, and I continued our usual conversations, and during one, Erica invited me to lunch one day. "The dining room is closed due to COVID, but we can get takeout next door and eat in the park. It's supposed to be sunny for the next few days, so it would be good for us." Ross, being back at school, couldn't make it but told us to enjoy ourselves.

I arrived at the lobby of Erica's building a couple of minutes early and saw her exit the elevator with a shorter, very attractive woman with dark hair. They were about to go in separate directions until Erica saw me and had her friend come over and meet me.

"Hi, Brian! I want you to meet Wendy--I'm sorry, Wendy, what was your last name?"

"Fuller," replied the woman.

"Wendy just started working with us last week when we came back to the office," continued Erica. "Wendy, this is Brian Pierce, my brother-in-law, my late sister's husband, and one of the nicest, sweetest guys you'll ever meet. My sister rarely had any, well, many, complaints about him."