The Letter - Chapter 33

Beverly bustled into my house and shook the rain off her coat.  I took her coat and hung it up in the hall closet.

“Rain again!  Seattle weather can be so tiresome.”  Beverly was carrying her laptop.  “Gangway, Ellie.  I need to set up my computer.  We’ve got some research to do."  She pushed past me and headed toward the kitchen.  “The kitchen table is as good a place as any.  Make some tea and break out those ginger snaps.”

“What on earth has gotten you into such a lather, Beverly?”

Beverly went to work plugging her laptop into the outlet under the table and turning it on.  “Which one of these is your Wi-Fi?” she asked.  I pointed to the correct name.  “Do you know your password?”

“Just a second.”  I walked into the spare bedroom where I had my computer set up and picked up the index card I kept in my desk with the Wi-Fi password.  I walked back into the kitchen and handed the card to Beverly. She typed the password and clicked on the connect icon.  “You know, Beverly, I have a computer here in this very house.  You didn’t have to bring yours.”

“Ellie, first of all, I know mine better.  Second, I’ve seen your computer, and it’s close to being an antique.  Okay, first I want you to see George Leskovic’s blog.”

“George Leskovic?  Oh come on, Beverly.  That ship has sailed.”

“I’m not ready to give up on the two of you, and I want you to see why.  I have a theory, and that’s why I’ve brought my laptop.”

“Oh brother.  Okay, tell me your theory, Darwin.” 

Beverly gave me a wry smile.  “Look at this post written just a few days ago.  He describes in detail his experience at the anti-gun violence vigil and details what steps he believes we should take to make our cities safer.”

“So?”

“So, read it and tell me if it sounds like it was written by someone with Alzheimer’s.”

I took a few minutes to read it over Beverly’s shoulder.  “Okay, I admit it’s very good.  Very insightful.”

“And look at this post written a few weeks ago.  It’s a humorous look at the trials of a single father raising a teenage daughter.”

I started reading and felt myself smiling and outright laughing at a few of the experiences he described.

“Now does that seem like a guy that would send a nasty letter to a friendly voice from his past?”

“You’re right, Beverly.  That letter was nasty and jarring.  I can hardly believe the same hand wrote this piece and that letter.”

“Exactly my thought.  Beverly turned around in her seat and looked up at me.  “Ellie, if you’re game, your dear Auntie Beverly is going to conduct an experiment.”

“What sort of experiment?”

“You’re on Facebook, aren’t you?

“Sort of.  I signed up for it a long time ago, but I hardly ever go on it.”

“Let’s take a look at your profile.  Ellie or Eleanor?”

“Frankly, I don’t remember.”

“You are so lucky you have me as a friend.  There. Eleanor Barnhart, lives in Issaquah, Washington.  God!  You don’t even have a profile picture!  There’s hardly anything here.  Okay, work with me Ellie.  Go take off that sweatshirt and put on a nice top.  You’ve got that cute Elizabeth Warren haircut.  I’m going to take your picture and we are going to spiff up your Facebook page.”

I did as she asked and about a half hour later, Beverly pronounced my Facebook page as being “very nearly adequate.”

“So now we’re ready to send a friend request to George Leskovic,” said Beverly.

“What?  Why on earth should I do that?”

“Bear with me, Ellie.  If he accepts the request, he can’t be the same person that sent that nasty letter.  If he doesn’t accept it, then who knows?  Maybe he does have a nasty streak, and we can just put this whole sorry episode behind us.”

“I thought for a minute.  All right, Beverly, you’re on.” I nudged Beverly to get up, and I sat down in front of her laptop.  “Let’s do this.  I am sending a friend request to George Leskovic.  There – off  into the ether.”

Well, it might take a few days before we know anything.  If he’s anything like you, it might be weeks before he checks his Facebook messages.  But friend requests come through on email, so he should find out about this even if . . ..”  We heard a ping and checked the screen.  George had accepted the request!

“Now see?  Doesn’t Auntie Beverly know best?  Hmm.  I think Facebook might prompt him to send a message.  Of course he can ignore the prompt.  While we’re waiting, let’s have those cookies.”

“I’m so sorry, Beverly.  I’m such a poor hostess.”  I walked to the cupboard to get them.

“No worries, Ellie.  We both got caught up in the search for the real George Leskovic.”  Beverly bit into a ginger snap and we heard another ping.

“Look.  He sent a message.”

Hi Ellie!  My daughter somehow figured out that you were the person that sent me a mysterious letter around the first of the year.  I didn’t know if I would ever hear from you again.  My daughter told me you were in Pittsburgh to visit your family the day I got arrested at a peace rally. LOL.  I would have been better off watching the basketball game with you.  Maybe another time.  Stay in touch.

Beverly dusted her hands and closed up her laptop. “Looks like my work here is done. Now it’s up to you to fire up that antique machine collecting dust in your spare bedroom and respond to George’s message.”

“Beverly, thank you so much.”  I helped her on with her coat.

“All in a day’s work for your fairy godmother.  You can take it from here, but I have just a little more research to do.  I’ll let you know when I know more.”

I gave her a quizzical look as she turned to say goodbye.  “Look, it’s stopped raining,” Beverly said holding a palm upward.  “And over there – a rainbow.  See you later, Ellie.”  She hustled down the sidewalk and away toward her home.

As I watched her go I wondered for a moment if my friend was actually responsible for putting that rainbow in the sky.