Pen Pals

By Jan Bono

Thirty-nine-year-old Delia Griswald wanted to find a boyfriend before hitting the big 4-0 so she placed a personal ad in a large city newspaper. The best writer quickly become her confidant and pen pal. Unfortunately, that pen pal resided in the state penitentiary. Delia's family disowned her, but she and her pen pal grew closer, month by month—until she learned he was eligible for parole.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan Bono
• Release date: Aug 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781735658995

Jan Bono

I am a retired teacher-turned-writer on the Long Beach Peninsula, tucked away in southwest corner of Washington state. I've written for Guidepost, Woman's World, Byline and Star. I wrote a bi-weekly humorous personal experience newspaper column for over 10 years, garnering 11 state awards. I'm a frequent contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series, with more than 50 stories accepted for publication, putting me in their top 5 contributors, world-wide. I have won or placed in many local short story contests, and I won the grand prize for an Astoria, Oregon, newspaper murder-mystery serial contest. The SYLVIA AVERY MYSTERY SERIES has been a long-held dream of mine, and it is now COMPLETE at 6 books: Bottom Feeders; Starfish; Crab Bait; Hook, Line, and Sinker; Oyster Spat; and Tsunami Warning. These humorous cozy mysteries all take place in SW Washington state. Thanks for checking out my bio; You can learn more and keep up-to-date on my JanBonoBooks Facebook page. I hope you enjoy my writing! Jan

Book preview

Pen Pals

Jan Bono

Copyright 2022 Jan Bono

Published by Sandridge Publications at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Sandridge Publications

P.O. Box 278

Long Beach, WA 98631

http://www.JanBonoBooks.com

ISBN: 978-1-7356589-9-5

Sandridge Publications

Long Beach, Washington

CHAPTER 1

I’ve got a real bad feeling about this, Delia, said Sally. She didn’t look directly at her best friend. She knew she was setting herself up for Dee to be annoyed with her, but she also knew she had to speak her truth. If anything horrible bad happened to Dee to her because Sally had held her tongue, she’d never forgive herself. So instead of looking Delia in the eye, she gazed into her glass and idly swirled her straw around the ice cubes, quietly waiting for Delia’s her friend’s certain disgust.

Delia was glad Sally hadn’t looked up from her the empty drink glass, or she might have seen her roll her eyes. You’re so predictable. She sighed. You get a bad feeling about almost everything.

But this is different, said Sally. She motioned to the bartender by moving her upraised index finger in a circular motion to bring them another round of cocktails.

It’s always different, replied Delia,, shaking her head. You’re not a risk taker. You never have been. You never stick your neck out, not even a little bit. Not even when it might turn out to be the best thing you ever did for yourself.

That’s true, Sally agreed. But ever since ever since this morning when you told me you were going to put a want ad in the newspaper in search of a boyfriend, I’ve hadI’ve had a rock the size of Texas taking up residence in my stomach.

Delia Griswald and Sally Wilcox often met after they got off work at Central Coast Medical Services in Lincoln City. Especially on Fridays, when they both finished their work week at the same clinic, they liked to get together and have a few beverages. Even though there were others in the bar, at least their coworkers wouldn’t accidentally eavesdrop as the women unwound the day’s stresses. Here they were free to speak their minds.

Delia quickly gulped down the last swallow in her glass and handed the empty to the bartender as he set down a full one in front of each of them. She laughed. As I recall, you had one of your ‘bad feelings’ about the last presidential race, too.

Sally sat up straighter; Delia could almost see her friend’s spine stiffen. Who would have bet on Bill Clinton, from Arkansas, no less, having the chops to oust George H.W. Bush? Bush was an incumbent, for crying out loud.

Well, it’s a good thing not everyone was such a disbeliever, Sally, or we might still be stuck smack dab in the middle of a second four years with good old H.W.

Sally narrowed her eyes and glared at Delia. What you’re doing is called deflection, she said. But I’m well-aware you’re trying to steer the conversation off course and make me forget how intent you are on risking life and limb in the name of finding love.

Delia nodded, carefully considering her next words. I thought you’d be more supportive, Sal. I thought you’d be happy to see me going outside the box to look for a date—or a mate.

What kind of guys do you think are out there, with nothing better to do than to read through the personal ads for the lovelorn? asked Sally. Then, before Delia could respond, she continued, Just the world’s greatest losers, that’s all.

Delia cleared her throat. "I’ll have you know tThere’s an entire section dedicated to dating in the want ads of The Oregonian every Friday. And if I’m there, then perhaps there’s an age and education appropriate male counterpart there doing the same thing and. I’m serious about this, Sal; I’m leaving no stone unturned."

I’m sorry, said Sally. I didn’t mean to call you a loser. I’ve just got a really bad feeling about this.

So you said. Delia sighed again, more pointedly this time. She puffed out her cheeks and blew out a big breath before deeply inhaling another one. "I’m 39, Sally, and I swear I’ve beaten the bushes locally around here for the last 6 or 7 years looking for a decent guy I’d like to get to know better.

It’s time to cast a wider net. I have no intention of turning 40 and still being single.

Sally tilted her head and stared at her friend. I’m already 40; it’s not fatal, you know! And unlike me, you’ve already been married and divorced once. How about giving the rest of us a chance to find someone before you go out and grab a second helping for yourself, Miss Piggy? She instantly regretted her words.

Delia glared back. I don’t see you being very proactive about your relationship status. Why should I wait, when you’re not even looking?

Sally considered her friend’s words. I’m sorry, Dee, she said. The whole idea of placing a want ad— It just strikes me as being a bit… her voice trailed off as she considered her words.

Desperate? Delia offered. She leaned back, used both hands, and pulled her long hair back behind her shoulders.

Sally nodded. I suppose that word will work as well as any. She reached out and squeezed Delia’s hand. You just don’t know what kind of men are out there, looking for their next unsuspecting relationship victim.

No need to worry, Delia replied. I’m not an idiot. I’ve covered my tracks. I’ll be perfectly safe from any potential stalkers and perverts.

It was Sally’s turn to roll her eyes. You seriously think you’re going to find love in a 30-word personal ad, meet Prince Charming, fall in love, then convince him to move here, to the end of the earthwestern edge of the continent, just to be with you?

Whoa! Slow down, girlfriend! I’m just trying to find out who’s available. Maybe some wonderful guy has already considered moving to Lincoln City, but just hasn’t had a reason to make the leap yet.

Sally looked doubtful. But why are you doing this now?

I told you; I’m not getting any younger.

I mean, what’s the rush? Why not wait a few months to think it over? Maybe start the new year with a better plan than placing a newspaper ad?

It’s September, Sal. Neither one of us has to put in much overtime at the clinic now the tourists have gone inland, and the local kids are back in school. With any luck, I could be planning my happily ever after by Christmas and getting engaged on New Year’s Eve.

Sally pretended to choke on her last swallow of rum and diet coke, fanning the air in front of her mouth with her free hand. She hadn’t seen Delia signaling for thea third drink the bartender set in front of her, but was grateful to stall for a little time by lifting it the full glass up to toast her friend.

If your mind’s made up, Dee, then here’s to getting exactly what we both want this Christmas, she said. Love, life, and the pursuit of happiness all around!

The way I see it, Delia drolly continued, after Sally’s theatrics subsided, it’s pretty much now or never. I’m hoping to meet someone before the holidays to spend the rest of my life with.

When Sally didn’t say anything, Delia continued. Seriously. I’m pretty sure I know all the single guys between 35 and 45 years old within a 50-mile radius. She raised an eyebrow at Sally. Don’t you dare go raining on my parade before the band starts up. She smiled. You know, there might even be two or three good guys who answer my ad…

Sally shrugged, ignoring the implication she might be interested in any of Delia’s rejected suitors. So tell me—exactly what precautions have you made to avoid the losers, users, abusers, stalkers, and potential serial killers?

Good old Sally, thought Delia, she’s tabling her personal concerns to focus on the practicalities of the situation. Briefly, Dee wondered if Sally came by that skill professionally, or if she became a counselor because she was naturally predisposed to seek out measurable solutions to emotional issues.

As a nurse practitioner often working in the same medical clinic as Sally, Delia worked more closely with the tangible cause and effect aspects of a person’s pain. If she could put a band-aid on a problem and call it good, she was happy to do so. And what Delia thought she needed a band-aid on right now was her non-existent love life. She cleared her throat and ticked her safety measures off on her fingers:

"One, all the replies to my personal ad will go to a blind box at the newspaper. They are sorted by ad number, and those addressed to my ad number will be forwarded to me once a week for three weeks.

Two, I rented a Post Office box in Depoe Bay under a fake name where the forwarded letters will be sent, so even the people at the newspaper won’t know who I really am.

Depoe Bay? asked Sally. You’re going to drive clear to Depoe Bay to pick up your mail?

It’s only about 15 miles, Delia replied with a shrug. Maybe a 20-minute drive each way. I’ll only go once a week, and it’s not forever. With any luck, the subterfuge will only be for a month or two. After I’ve made a solid, stable connection, I can drop the pretense.

Go on, said Sally, without further comment on the extra mileage Delia would be adding to the odometer of her soon-to-be-ancient split pea green 1972 Ford Pinto.

"Three, I’ve decided to place my ad in The Oregonian in Portland instead of the Statesman Journal in Salem. Salem is only about 60 miles away on Highway 18, so it’s a little more than an hour away, but it felt like it might be a little too close for comfort. BSo by advertising in the greater Portland area, it’s likely the guy will not be someone who lives next door, and I won’t be constantly tripping over him if things don’t work out."

Yeah, said Sally, that wouldn’t be good. What if someone responds who you already know? What if it’s someone who works at one of the SeaMed clinics?

SeaMed was how the two of them abbreviated Central Coast Medical Services in conversation. Although the service group was comprised of three different clinics, Sally’s counseling office stayed put, while Delia’s work schedule took her to all three locations in a single week.

And fourth, to answer your question, continued Delia, when I reply to a letter, I won’t mention my real name, occupation, or any traceable information—at least for the first few exchanges. In fact, when I describe myself, I’m going to change my height, weight, and hair color.

Sally sat quietly and considered Delia’s points. Then she slowly nodded. It does sound like you’ve covered your tracks pretty well. She again reached over and gave Delia’s hand another quick squeeze. I just don’t want you to end up a victim of any deranged serial killer.

On that, my friend, we have complete agreement. After a moment of silence, Sally asked if she’d written the ad copy yet. When Delia said she had written what she thought was a pretty solid draft, Sally asked if she’d like to have her opinion on it, and Delia agreed it would probably be a good idea for a second pair of eyes to read it objectively—if that were possible.

Delia pulled a small spiral-bound notebook from her purse and flipped it open. Divorced White Female, she began, then stopped. What I really wrote was DWF. That’s the shortcut lingo they use in this section of the newspaper.

Sally took another sip of her third drink, wondered if she would need another one, and nodded to Delia that she understood.

Why don’t I just read it straight through, said Delia. Here goes: DWF, 39, college educated, career oriented. Loves living at the beach, but hates the isolation. Please write! Then she added, I put an exclamation point at the end.

Please write? asked Sally, wincing. With an exclamation point?

Don’t say it, said Delia.

Say what? Sally raised her eyebrows innocently. That the words ‘please write’ might sound a wee bit on the desperate sideroad to desperation? She giggled. I think the exclamation point pretty much seals the deal that it’s a desperate, lonely female’s ad grasping at straws.

As the words come out of her mouth, Sally saw the look on Delia’s face and abruptly decided she’d probably had enough alcohol. She pushed the empty glass away from her, shaking her head as the bartender raised a fresh glass with an inquiring look. Just a regular diet soda, she called to him, already grateful she didn’t have to go to work the following day.

Then to Delia, Sally said, You didn’t say what part of the coast. Could be anywhere from the Long Beach Peninsula in Washington all the way down to Brookings in southern Oregon.

I was being intentionally vague, Delia smugly replied. No need to provide that specific info unless, or until, I decide if we’re going to communicate further. She scowled. I thought you’d appreciate that.

Sally scowled as she took the first sip of her diet soda, struggling with her thoughts.

What now? asked Delia.

It’s the word ‘isolation’, Sally answered after a moment. Won’t that sound like you live all alone, way out in the boonies somewhere, and if you were in some way threatened, no one would be likely to hear you scream?

Delia slowly blinked her eyes to keep herself from another exasperated eye roll. Then she cleared her throat again, closed the notebook, and tucked it back into her purse. Thank you for your suggestions, she said tersely. I’ll take them under advisement.

Abruptly indicating a subject change with her body language and big, bright, although forced smile, Delia said, Since it was my turn to choose, I picked up two movies at the video store during my lunchtime commute from the north clinic to central.

That was a very sloppy segue, old girl, but I’ll give you a pass this time, said Sally. Thank goodness we have our mutual love of movies to fall back on when things get a little uncomfortable between us.

Who you calling old?

Sally shook her head. Deflection, plain and simple.

Delia laughed, and this time her smile was genuine. You know how tough it is to be best friends with a woman who analyzes every word of every sentence of every conversation? Take your counselor hat off and stop digging around in my head, Sal. Just guess what movies I got.

Give me a hint, said Sally, deciding to let her off the hook.

The year was 1982.

That’s not much of a hint, said Sally. You better just tell me.

"Okay, fine. Would you rather see An Officer and a Gentleman or E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial?"

Hhmm… Sally pretended to be thinking her options over. Would I rather spend Friday night watching two hours of a hunky Richard Gere or a troubled kid who befriends a lost, cuddly, little alien? She laughed. Tough choice. She took a quick look at her watch, picked up her purse, and stood up. If we leave right now, I think we’ll have time for both.

CHAPTER 2

Although Delia worked in the same clinic as Sally’s office twice during the following week, she didn’t say anything more about placing a personal ad in The Oregonian. Sally had hoped her friend’s crazy idea was now a moot point, but it suddenly raised its head again two weeks later.

That Thursday night her answering machine light was blinking a bright red number one when she got home from work. She hit the button and played back her only message, which turned out to be from Delia:

Hey Sally! It’s Delia. Guess what? I just got back from Depoe Bay. You won’t believe it! I’ve got mail! Apparently, lots and lots of mail! There was a huge manila envelope folded over and stuffed into my PO Box. The return address says it’s from The Oregonian. Can you meet at my house tomorrow after work? Like 6:00? I’ll pick up a pizza. Bring the wine!

Sally had had a long and emotionally tiring day, and she wasn’t inclined to return the call. Delia already knew Sally would move heaven and earth to be there Friday night, and she certainly didn’t want to get into a lengthy conversation, which might very well end up with Delia convincing her to come over right away.

But curiosity got the best of her, and after heating up some leftovers for dinner and taking a long, hot bath, Sally called her back.

Just how many responses did you get to your ad? asked Sally, not bothering to say hello before launching into their conversation.

I don’t know, replied Delia.

What do you mean you don’t know?

I decided not to open the envelope until tomorrow night. By committing to wait for you, I won’t be tempted to stay up all night tonight combing through them.

Smart woman, said Sally. I’ll see you tomorrow at six. And she she abruptly hung up.

Friday seemed to drag on forever, especially since Delia wasn’t working in Sally’s clinic. By the time she got off work, Sally’s stomach was knotted with anticipation, and she arrived at Delia’s apartment with a shopping bag sporting containing six different kinds of wine.

I didn’t know what kind of pizza you were getting, Sally explained as she set each bottle on the kitchen counter next to the ominous manila envelope addressed to #WO744. She arranged the bottles from white, to rosé, to red—two bottles of each color.

Delia laughed. No anchovies or oysters, if that’s what you’re wondering.

Sally nodded. So I guess we can save the whites for another time.

Delia looked questioningly at her friend. Did you seriously think we might need six bottles of wine tonight?

Sally chuckled nervously. You’re right, we don’t need all these. I was thinking Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc would go with fish or smoked oysters, the rosé is best with veggies or soft cheeses like feta or goat, and the heartier reds would pair well with beef or pork sausage, or pepperoni, which is a combination of beef and pork. She wasn’t sure why she was nervously chattering about nothing, but she recognized anxiety as the basis for her babbling.

It’s basically pepperoni, said Delia, motioning to the large pizza box on her kitchen table, but with lots of veggies, so it’s at least a little bit healthy. She handed Sally the wine opener. Your choice, whatever you’d like, rosé or burgundy.

Sally opened both of the dark red wines and poured some from the first bottle in each of the glasses Delia had on the dining room table, determined to zip. She zipped her lip and was determined not to say anything more until they’d eaten a few slices of their dinner.

Wow! said Delia, when she finally got up to clear the table. That pizza was delicious, and the red wine made it even better, thank you, she said.

How is it you’re so calm? asked Sally. "How is it you were able to restrain yourself from ripping into that envelope the second you got it back to your car? Who are you?"

Delia laughed. Don’t think it was easy, she said. Just imagining that my pathway to a wonderful new boyfriend might be enclosed inside one of those interior envelopes made me giddy with excitement and maybe more than slightly crazy at work today.

You really didn’t take a sneak peek?

I really didn’t, said Delia. I decided I wanted to savor the experience—and I didn’t want to explain to you, Madam Counselor, that I have no impulse control.

They shared a good laugh while Delia brought a letter opener, a pen, notepad, and the manilla