Page 49 of More Than Pen Pals

He barks out a laugh. “You’re funny sometimes, you know that? Now tell me what you’re going to do before I throw this bottle at you.”

“We’re going to write each other letters.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re going to be pen pals again?”

“Yep.”

“I like that idea.”

I stop my jaw from dropping. “You do?”

He nods. “You’ve always been better at writing than speaking.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, it’s not a criticism. It’s who you are. Most people are the opposite, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only way to be. You have a way of expressing yourself on paper that the rest of us can only dream of. It’s a gift. I think it’s why you wrote to Les for so long. You could tell him—her—things you couldn’t tell any of us because you could write it down and didn’t have to say it out loud.”

Who is this man, and what has he done with my brother? He does sometimes get philosophical when he drinks, but I expected nothing like that to come out of his mouth. And he’s right—except when it comes to Leslie. I had no problem verbalizing my thoughts and feelings to her last night and tonight.

I finally respond. “Thanks, I think. But if that’s the way you feel about it, why did you make fun of me for writing to Les for so long?”

He shrugs. “Because I was a little boneheaded jackwagon. And do you think I could’ve realized any of that when I was fourteen?”

I’m surprised he could realize it now, which makes me the boneheaded jackwagon.

“I was also a little jealous,” he admits.

I allow my jaw to drop. “You were what?”

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again. You spent more time writing those letters to Les than you spent with me. I’m your brother, for goodness’ sake.I’msupposed to be your best friend—not some kid in Arkansas.”

I don’t miss his use of present tense in his statement, and my chest constricts. “But youaremy best friend. You always have been.”

He stares at me, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down a few times. I’m afraid he’s going to cry. I’m not sure what I’ll do if he does.

“Do you mean that?” he finally asks.

“Of course I mean it.” I spread my hands wide. “Who else would be my best friend?”

“I was always worried you didn’t really like me—that you only put up with me because you have to.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’m hesitant to ask, but I need to know the answer. “Does that still worry you?”

He looks away from me, and I don’t think he’s going to respond. Then he nods.

Now I’m scared I’m going to cry. What an unexpected night this has turned out to be.

“Randy, I apologize for anything I’ve ever done or said to make you feel that way. I … I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry.”

He turns his head back to me and nods again. Then one corner of his mouth quirks and his eyes dance. “I bet you would know what to say if you could write it down.”

Even after our conversation, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing at his comment, so I press my lips together and stare at him. Before we know it, we’re in an old-fashioned staring contest, both determined to not blink first and apparently not laugh first either, because his chest keeps making minor convulsions and his cheeks twitch as he valiantly tries to hold back a grin. I finally blink and let out a full belly laugh.

“I win!” he crows and then laughs so hard he falls off the couch.

twenty-five

Iget to work early so I can accomplish a few things before I need to leave for the afternoon baseball game. Thankfully Wendy isn’t waiting for me when I arrive today.

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