Page 27 of More Than Pen Pals

I consider whether I was right when I said I would’ve written to her if I’d known she was a girl. I think so, but I wouldn’t have told her nearly as much as I did when I thought she was a boy.

I groan out loud when I recall telling her about Melissa Teague, my first in-person crush. Melissa went to my school and my church and was pretty and popular. She was my first kiss during a game of “Seven Minutes in Heaven” at Alex Conover’s house in seventh grade, and the next day I heard her laughing about it after church. I’d never felt so humiliated.

There was no way I could tell Randall what happened, so I told Les. I remember his—her—response all these years later. “That girl doesn’t deserve you, Ash. Ten years from now you won’t remember her, but she’ll read all about you in the newspaper and all the great things you’re doing to help people, and she’ll wish she’d never made fun of you.”

Twelve years later, I haven’t forgotten about Melissa, and my name hasn’t been in the paper for anything related to helping people, but Les’s words made me feel so much better at the time. I wonder if Leslie remembers. I bet she does. I bet she remembers everything.

I realize I’m still thinking of her as Leslie, not Les. That answers the question of which name feels right. Les was the kid I wrote to. Leslie is the woman keeping me awake.

At five a.m. I still haven’t slept, and I know I’m not going to, so I shower, dress, and drive in to work. It’s nice to not have to fight the morning traffic from Evanston to downtown. Of course, if I lived near the office, I wouldn’t ever have to deal with traffic, but it suits me to live in my parents’ pool house, even if Randall teases me about it. It saves money and I get to see my little sisters most days. I’m not into the Chicago nightlife, so the noise and bustle of downtown every night would undoubtedly bug me.

I pull into my reserved parking spot in the garage under our office tower, and for once I’m grateful to be a partner’s son, since almost everyone else in the office who drives to work has to park blocks away.

Dad’s car is already in his spot. I wonder if he went home last night. His office has a comfortable couch and its own full bath, so it’s not unknown for him to sleep there. But my stomach clenches when I think about the few times I’ve caught him flirting with the new young paralegal. I tell myself there’s nothing there. My parents might not be the most loving couple in the world, but I can’t see him jeopardizing his carefully crafted family image by messing around on Mom.

The overnight security guard in the lobby greets me as I pass from the garage elevator to the bank of office elevators. I say hello and give him a brief nod as I press the elevator button. The door opens immediately, and I punch the button for the top floor. I sag against the wall as I ride up twenty-seven stories, which always takes longer than I think it should. At least it won’t be stopping anywhere along the way at this time of day.

The elevator opens into the small, glassed-in room outside the plush lobby of Murphy, Hamilton, and Walker. I pull out my key to unlock the door, since it’ll be hours before Annette arrives to buzz anyone in.

As soon as I walk past Annette’s desk, I can see my office door is slightly open, and the light is on. I know I locked the door when I left yesterday, so I can’t imagine why it’s open now, but I’m certain my dad is in the office and the lobby door didn’t appear to be tampered with, so I don’t think I’m interrupting a break-in. I reach the door and nudge it enough to discover a woman’s backside and legs sticking out from behind my desk.

“Hello?” I call out.

The legs disappear, and a head pops up above the desk. I stifle a laugh at the sight of the woman’s wild hair and eyes.

“Mr. Hamilton, I did not hear you! I am so sorry.” She scrambles to her feet.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Carmela,” I say to my favorite custodian. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Where’s your cart?” It should be in the hallway, but it’s not.

“One wheel is stuck, and I cannot fix it myself. So I must carry everything with me.” She motions to the opposite side of my office, where a collection of cleaning supplies sits on a file cabinet next to an industrial-sized vacuum.

“Come show me,” I say, heading back into the hall. “Let’s see if I can fix it.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Hamilton. I cannot ask you to do that. I will wait until Barney gets here at seven.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered. And please, call me Ash.”

Her eyes widen. “It would not be proper.”

She’s right, and I’m irritated by that fact. If I was in charge, it would be perfectly proper, but not with Walter Hamilton at the helm. I would also allow her to speak her native Spanish in the office if she wanted to, instead of forcing her to always speak English.

“All right.” I wave my arm to beckon her. “Come on, let’s go fix your cart.”

Carmela scampers past me and is halfway down the hall before I can catch up to her with my long strides. I follow her around the corner and to the end of the hall to the janitor’s closet. She squats down next to one of the rear wheels of the cart.

“Here, see?” She pushes the cart with her hand, and it rocks forward slightly, but the wheel doesn’t rotate.

I drop to my knees beside her. “Let me see what I can do.” I quickly discern that one side of the metal wheel guard is bent against the wheel. “I need some pliers,” I tell Carmela. “Do you have any in here?”

“Pliers?” she echoes.

I think for a moment.“Alicates,”I translate. This might be one of the few times I’ve needed to use Spanish since college, but I’m still glad I minored in it, even though Dad threw a fit when I told him. One of these days it’ll come in handy.

“Ah, yes. Here.” She opens a cabinet and grabs the tool off a shelf.

As I pry the guard away from the wheel, I ask, “How’s your family? Everybody okay?” I’ve talked to Carmela about her family a few times over the past two years. She’s always eager to tell me about her husband and two young sons.

She pauses a bit too long before saying, “Everything is good. Thank you for asking.”

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