Chapter 4

Cynthia looked at the screen and wondered why she hadn't seen it before. She knew the answer, of course. She'd never looked for the solution this way. It made a lot of sense that she hadn't recognized it, the first time she'd read it. Grief was also going on in her life. She had just related, never knowing the real source.

Brad was none other than Samuel Gregory Smith, writer extraordinaire.

The realization of his pen name came from a fluke in her search. As she had her favorite authors already in queue, she was thinking about the car and absentmindedly typed in the date Melony had died.

Realizing what she had done, Cynthia looked at her screen for several minutes, not knowing if it was bad Karma to do a search based on that. Anticipation of what might come up made her hit the enter key. Of the five authors still in her possibilities list, only three had postings during that time frame.

Letters Written

As soon as Cynthia saw that story name, she knew. She went to the link and read chapter eight. Posted two day before Melony's death. She remembered the story, and soon lost herself in the words. She was so engrossed in the story, she went to the next chapter without thinking.

Chapters nine had been posted five weeks after Melony lost her life. As soon as Cynthia got into the second paragraph, tears were rolling down her face. The pain was all too real. She remembered crying when she read it the first time. Knowing the source of the words was almost too much. She couldn't go on reading, so she closed the chapter.

Letters Written had to have been penned by Brad. Cynthia was certain.

It was with a slight sense of satisfaction Cynthia wrote on a sticky note the initials SGS and stuck it to her brother's bedroom door. She knew he would know what it meant, while her parents wouldn't have a clue.

Then she went downstairs, and found her parents both in the kitchen.

"We invited Brad over for dinner," her mother told Cynthia.

"Why?" Cynthia replied in disbelief.

Her mother stopped chopping and turned to look at her daughter, raising one eyebrow along the way.

"Well, he is our neighbor. You and occasionally your brother baby sit his kids. He did offer you a car this afternoon. We all like him ... Shall I go on?"

Cynthia just stared at her mother, dumbfounded, until she realized a question had been raised and there was an expected answer.

"No, I guess not. When?"

"Tonight, which is why we're both working our fingers to the bone. Now come on and help," her father said, 'tongue in cheek.'

Cynthia hadn't made it over to the counter when her brother came bounding down the stairs, grabbing hold of the banister post and catapulting himself towards the kitchen.

He had heard the bang on his door, and read the note Cynthia had left. He heard her voice and it sounded like she was the kitchen. He hadn't, in his haste, paid any attention if there was anyone else in the house. The notion Cynthia wouldn't be just talking to herself didn't register. He was on a mission to have a talking with her.

Now, although, he had three faces staring at him. Only one, his sister, had an amused look upon her face. His mother and father were quite concerned about his sudden rash of strange behavior.

"Tim," his father said, "can you explain yourself?"

"Forget about that, he can help too," Cynthia said.

"Help what?" Tim said, hoping for a way out of this embarrassing situation.

Cynthia just couldn't resist an opening like that.

"Brad is coming over for dinner?"

Tim's eyes popped open wide as he stammered out the only thing that came to mind, "His kids too?"

"No," Teri said with a tease in her voice, knowing it would get to Cynthia.

Biting, Cynthia opened her mouth long before the words formed. "What?" and then in a more heated question, she questioned, "Who's taking care of them?"

"Brad thought they might be old enough to stay home alone," Teri replied.

She then ran out of the kitchen, laughing, with Cynthia chasing after her.

"Tim," John said to his son when they were suddenly alone in the kitchen, "you want tell me why you've been acting so ... strange? Mom and I have both noticed it."

"It's nothing."

"No, it's not 'nothing.' Does it have to do with your sister?"

John sometimes was a bit slow on the uptake, but he knew his son. Knew that if something had a hint of truth in it, his face always showed. It made Tim a bad poker player, and terrible liar, at least to his parents. As soon as John had said, 'sister, ' he knew something was up.

"You know she's going to be eighteen, soon, making her an adult. Somehow, that magic number makes everything change. She becomes responsible for everything she does, and we aren't liable for her."

"What?" Tim said, totally confused with what his father was trying to say.

"Simply said, she'll be a woman, soon."

Tim swallowed hard and said, "Dad."

Before any more conversation between the two males could take place, the two females walked back in.

"You haven't done a thing!" Teri said. "Come on, they'll be over in no time. Tim, set the table. Cynthia, take over chopping these. John," she said in a tone, "do you think you can complete your task?"

"Yes, Dear," he said in a serious tone, but his face wore a big grin.

Teri rolled her eyes and replied, "Men!"

I knew my latest chapter posting had shown up on the server in the morning. I had sneaked looks several times during the day to see emails coming back to me. Seeing readers take time to email notes back was always a lift to my spirits.

Most often the same people wrote although there was always one or two new names. It was a habit of mine to wait until evening, just before going to bed, to actually open, read, and then respond to all that came in each day.

Just before going over to the neighbors for dinner, something I still wasn't sure how I got talked into, I saw one of the newest arriving emails. It was from one of the few females who wrote to me, which made me smile. She had been consistently writing for the last year, and had a young, refreshing look on life. There were more times than I'd like to think of when I needed that outlook in the past year. So I relished when she wrote me.

Thinking a quick peak at the email would improve my mood for the evening, I opened the email. It made my heart stop. The first line was:

Hi, Brad

It was as if I had become paralyzed. I couldn't breathe, my hands didn't work, and my eyes went out of focus.

Only my little daughter's wail brought me back to life. I quickly turned the monitor off, even if no one but I would see it, and backed out of the room. It was as though I was suddenly scared of the computer. I ran down the hall and away from my office.

Hunger, that's what brought on the cry. It wasn't until she had almost finished her bottle that I felt my heart was beating normally, again.

The realization that Cynthia knew who I was ... that she was the gal, the girl, who had been writing me. It was all wrong. I felt my mouth go dry. How could she have liked my writing? I knew Cynthia couldn't have known I had been the writer of those stories. Not until her brother went snooping. So for the past year ... more than a year ... I had been having this online flirtatious relationship with my neighbor ... my underaged neighbor. Now what?

I also understood Tim's reaction better. Then the thought came that maybe Tim had even written to me at a point or two. Tim must know his sister had been writing. I knew Tim, even though younger, took on the 'older protective brother' model.

Through my thoughts, I was on automatic. It wasn't until my little angel burped did I realize that not only was she done with the bottle, but that she was also on my shoulder, with me patting her back.

'I've got to get a grip, ' I thought. 'If I go across the street in the state I'm in, who knows what will happen.'

As Cynthia chopped some vegetables, she had a moment to think. 'It was stupid to send that email. Now he would be over and ... and she didn't know what. He would know she knew. Would that change things? What things didn't she want changed?'

"Cynthia!" her mother screamed.

Startled she looked up and seeing her mother's wide eyes, looked down at the knife, poised right over her fingers.

The thought that she was just about to cut her fingers off shocked her into fainting. The knife, luckily, was tossed off to the right by reaction, onto the floor, and away from her.

Tim, who was walking into the kitchen from the dining room, had to jump away from the knife as it bounced.

John rushed over and caught his daughter, as she became a fluid drop of vertical dead weight. Fortunately for him, his hold on her caused her to bolt upright in surprise of what had just happened.

Teri, once she recovered from the fright, asked, "What has come over this family?" Looking at her children she went on, "Both of you have been acting ... very odd for the past week or so."

"I was just saying the same thing to Tim," John said.

Just when Tim and Cynthia looked at each other, thinking that nothing good could come out this, the doorbell ran.

"Saved by the bell," Teri said. "Your father and I are going to answer it. You two had better get your story straight. I don't want to see this behavior continue."

As soon as their parents walked out of the kitchen, Tim said, "Cindy..."

"Go back and read 'Letters Written' chapter 9 and then talk to me. I dare you to get through that chapter without tears. So he writes about some fantasies. I know better than to ask, if you have any fantasies."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tim asked.