Pen Pal

Iput the letter in the back of my underwear drawer and leave it there, determined to forget about it. If another one comes, I might call the nice detective who interviewed me after the accident and see what he thinks about it. Maybe I’ll get him to look into this Dante character and see what he can find out.

In the meantime, I’ve got other things to worry about.

Aside from the new roof leak, the house has also decided it has electrical problems.

The dining room chandelier flickers. I hear popping and crackling noises when I hit the light switch in the master bedroom. Every once in a while, the doorbell rings when no one is there.

I tried calling three different local roofers, but nobody called me back. So now I’m waiting for a handyman, some guy named Ed. I came across his business card in the bottom of my kitchen junk drawer when I was looking for a pen.

I don’t know why, but I’m expecting an older man with a balding head and a beer belly wearing a tool belt slung around his hips. Instead, what I get when I open the front door to his knock is a smiling, slender young man with long brown hair held off his face with a braided leather headband. He’s wearing a John Lennon T-shirt, faded bell-bottom jeans, and sandals, and holds a rusty metal toolbox in one hand.

He reeks of pot.

“Hey. You Kayla?”

“That’s me.”

Grinning, he extends his hand. “I’m Eddie.”

I return his smile, and we shake hands. He seems sweet and harmless, two things I appreciate in any man I allow into my home while I’m here alone.

“Come in. I’ll show you around.”

He follows me into the kitchen, commenting on how cool he thinks the house is.

“Cool, but falling apart a little more every day.” I gesture to the two brown water stain rings on the kitchen ceiling.

“Yeah, these old houses need lots of TLC.” He cranes his neck to stare up at the stains. “Especially with the humidity here. You got mold problems?”

“Not anymore. Took care of that a few years back. Right now, it’s the roof leak and the electrical.” I give him an overview of what’s been happening with the lights and the doorbell. “Plus, I smell something burning when I run the dryer. And the TV sometimes turns itself off. Oh, and a couple of light bulbs have exploded recently.”

A sudden cold draft lifts the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck and sends a tingle down my spine. Shivering, I rub my hands over the goose bumps on my arms.

I should ask him to have a look at the weather stripping around the windows while he’s here. But first things first. “Let me show you where the electrical panel is.”

Eddie follows me to the utility room at the back of the house next to the garage. The washer and dryer are there, along with cabinets containing a hodgepodge of household supplies.

Setting his toolbox on the floor, Eddie flips open the metal door on the electrical panel and does a quick visual scan of the switches.

“I’ll check the voltage first, see if the breaker’s running at the right capacity. Then I’ll look at the integrity of the wiring. You might have water damage or fraying that could cause problems. Then I’ll check all your outlets, make sure they’re not compromised. Where’s the meter?”

“Right outside the garage door.”

He nods. “Dig it. I’ll take a look at that, too. Should take me an hour or so to get through everything, then I’ll give you an estimate for the repairs. Sound good?”

“Sounds great, thanks. To get into the attic, the access is on the second floor through the master bedroom closet. The ladder’s in the garage.”

“Cool.”

“Holler if you need me. I’ll be around.”

“Will do.”

I leave him to it and head into my office. I’m able to work for a while before the headache starts. It’s a dull throbbing around my temples and pressure behind my eyes so strong, it makes them water. I lie on the small sofa with the shades drawn and the lights off until Eddie appears in the doorway with his toolbox.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t know you were sleeping. I was just gonna check the outlets in here.”

Disoriented, I sit up. “I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes. I have a terrible headache.”

He nods in sympathy. “I used to get crazy migraines.”

Used to, past tense. I feel a weird pang of hope. “Did you find something that helped them? Nothing I take makes a dent.”

“You’ll laugh. Mind if I turn the lights on?”

“Go ahead. And I won’t laugh, I promise. I’m too desperate.”

When Eddie hits the switch and light floods the room, I wince. I try to stand, but discover I’m too dizzy. So I sink back onto the sofa, close my eyes, and gingerly pinch the bridge of my nose.

When did I last eat? I can’t remember.

Eddie ambles around, hunting for outlets. He’s so slim, his footsteps are silent on the floor. I’ve known cats who made more noise.

“After I started seeing a therapist, the headaches went away. Poof, man. Just gone. Turns out, I had lots of emotions bottled up.”

I open my eyes to find him crouched under my desk with a small power meter in his hand. He sticks it into the electrical outlet, waits a moment as he reads whatever it’s telling him, then stands and moves to the next outlet, where he repeats the process.

“Psychosomatic illness, they call it. Your brain literally makes you sick. Stress is that toxic. Far out, isn’t it?”

“Far out,” I agree, wondering if he lives in a commune or co-op. They’re all over Washington and the Seattle area, communal-living groups started in the free-love sixties where people share housing and resources and eschew modern things like cell phones and GMO foods.

I’m much too private to live in such close quarters with people I’m not having sex with, but I don’t judge anybody’s life choices.

Standing, he turns to look at me. “I can give you my doc’s name if you want. Unless you don’t think stress could be a problem for you.”

“Does losing my husband count as stress?”

I don’t know why I said that. Or why I said it in the biting way I did. I don’t normally wear my heart on my sleeve, and I’m not sarcastic like Michael was. He dealt with depressing or morbid things with black humor that sometimes came off as insensitivity, but I knew was just a coping mechanism. The man was a marshmallow.

Confused, Eddie stares at me. “You lost him?”

No one can possibly be this dumb. “He died.”

Now he looks stricken. “Oh, dude. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it recent?”

“New Year’s Eve.”

“Holy shit! That’s only a couple weeks ago!”

I should stop talking now. Every word out of my mouth makes poor Eddie more and more upset.

I’ve always had a problem over-empathizing with other people, which is one of the reasons I tend to keep to myself. Everyone else’s emotions piled on top of my own can get suffocating sometimes.

“Yes. Anyway.” I manage to stand this time, then avoid Eddie’s eyes as I say, “So what’s the verdict?”

In his pause, I feel him looking me over. Reading the stiffness in my body and the artificially bright tone of my voice. Maybe he’s empathetic too, because he takes pity on me and changes the subject.

“Well, that leak in the roof is a bummer. It’s coming from the roof deck by the turret, which means you’re gonna have to remove the shingles and cut away the wood to repair the leak. Between the gables, the turret, and the steep pitch of the roof itself, it’s gonna be a major job, I’m sorry to say. You’re definitely gonna have to bring in a specialist.”

My heart sinks. Anytime a specialist gets involved, the price goes up. “I tried calling three different roofers before I found you, but couldn’t get hold of anybody.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, don’t know why, but roofer guys are notoriously flaky. I’d give you a recommendation, but I don’t know anybody I trust with a job like this.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway. I’ll just keep trying. I was hoping to avoid calling a firm from Seattle because they’re so pricey, but I guess I have to.”

After a beat, he says gently, “If you want, I can look at the quote you get. You know, so you don’t get ripped off.”

Because I’m alone, he means. Because I won’t have a man around to negotiate for me.

Because someone in my position—grieving, disoriented, desperate—is a target for scams.

When he smiles, I know he’s not trying to flirt with me. He’s just a genuinely nice guy trying to help someone out who he can tell is in distress.

If only the whole world were made up of such kind people.

“That’s very sweet of you, Eddie. But I can handle it. I come from a long line of ball-busting Jersey girls.”

His smile turns into a laugh. He has a crooked front tooth, which is oddly endearing. “I knew one of those once. She was only four-foot-ten, but she scared the living shit outta me.”

I smile at him. “Even small dragons can still breathe fire.”

“True that.”

“So how about the electrical? It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He shrugs. “No. Everything checked out.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “What do you mean it checked out?”

“I mean there aren’t any problems. The current’s strong, breakers aren’t tripping, can’t find any frays in the wiring, there’s no arc faults, hot spots, dead outlets, or loose connections…” He shrugs again. “Everything looks groovy.”

“That can’t be right. What about the flickering lights?”

“Could be a problem with the local power grid. You might want to ask a neighbor if they’ve got the same thing happening. Parts of the network around here are over a century old. Whatever the cause, it’s not coming from inside the house.”

“And the exploding light bulbs? That’s definitely not normal.”

“It’s more common than you think. Either the manufacturer didn’t put enough insulation in the base so the filament overheated, or there was a loose connection between the bulb and the socket that made the current jump. Just make sure you don’t buy cheap bulbs from now on, and also make sure they’re screwed in real tight.”

I’m getting a little exasperated. Did he even check the wiring or was he up in the attic smoking pot this whole time?

“Okay, but the doorbell rings when nobody’s there. And what about the burning smell when I run the dryer? How do you explain that?”

He hesitates. I sense him carefully choosing his words.

“I mean…you have been under a lot of stress lately, man.” He adds sheepishly, “What with your husband and all.”

For a moment, I don’t understand. Then I get it, and I have to take a breath before I speak so I don’t bite off his head. “My mind isn’t playing tricks on me, Eddie. I’m not hallucinating electrical problems.”

Uncomfortable under my stare, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful. All I can tell you is that when I was in a bad place, I thought I heard whispering voices and saw shadows move.”

“Did any of that happen while you were under the influence of mind-altering substances?”

His expression is pained, which I take as a yes.

Either way, I think our business relationship has reached its conclusion. Maybe whoever I get to do the roof can recommend an electrician who’s sober. “Never mind. Thanks for coming out to check. What do I owe you?”

He stuffs the small power meter into the back pocket of his jeans, bends to pick up his toolbox from where he left it on the floor, then straightens and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“No, that’s not right. You should be compensated for your time.”

His smile is lopsided. He flips his long hair over his shoulder. “I appreciate it, but it’s my policy that if I don’t find a problem, the visit is free.”

I have a sneaking suspicion he just made up that policy on the spot because he feels sorry for me. “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage.”

“Nah, we’re cool. But maybe if one of your friends needs a handyman…?”

“I’ll recommend you. You bet. Thanks, Eddie, I really appreciate it.”

He grins at me, flashing that crooked tooth. “I’m outta here, then. You take care now, okay? And call me if you want my doc’s name. He’s really the best.”

I force a smile and lie. “I will. Thanks again.”

“I’ll let myself out. See you around.”

He leaves. When I hear the front door open and close, I go after him to make sure it’s locked. Then I go into the kitchen for a glass of water, but stop short when I see the envelope sitting on the table.

Even from halfway across the room, I can see the LOVE stamp in the corner and the neat block printing in blue pen spelling out my name.

My breath catches in my throat. My heart starts pounding. My steady hands begin to tremble.

Then all the overhead lights in the kitchen ceiling grow brighter.

With a sharp buzz of noise, they flicker and go out.