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Penned
by Ella Vines
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Editor: Em Petrova
Cover Art: For the Muse Designs
Pam sat in her driveway for a moment, willing her eyes not to close after a brutal afternoon of reading files. A bird trilled in the bushes as the sun sank in the sky, spreading threads of pink through the blue.
She pulled herself out of the car with a heavy sigh. The days grew longer and longer, or so it seemed with the onset of spring in the South.
And having a stressful job and no love life isn't helping any.
“Hi, Pam.”
She suppressed a groan and half-turned toward her neighbor who lived to the left of Pam's ranch-style house, Joan Winchell.
“Hi, Joan.”
“Gorgeous day, isn't it? It was perfect for gardening.” Joan mopped at her brow, her perfectly toned biceps flexing.
“I bet.” Pam glowered and pivoted toward the mailbox.
Last thing I need is to deal with that perfect busybody today. Great life, wonderful husband, and me—well, good job at least, and I'm not dead yet.
“Have a wonderful evening.” Joan's sing-songy words floated on the air.
“You too.” She grimaced as she pulled a bundle of bills from the box.
Pam threw the wad of mail down on the table a minute later, busying herself with supper. She whipped eggs in a frenzy as annoyance from Joan's comments and a terrible day settled over her.
She has it all and definitely rubs it in—handsome husband, good marriage, and plenty of money and good looks.
Pam sighed. “At least I have a good omelet,” she said to Fluffems as he purred around her ankles.
* * * *
After the last television show she normally watched on Monday evenings ended, and her toenails were dry from the quick paint job she'd done, Pam wandered into the kitchen, her gaze falling on the unopened mail.
“Fun thing to do before bed,” she muttered and grabbed the pile.
Bills and more bills and sales flyers.
Her fingers stopped on the last letter—one in a mint green envelope.
“A Lineton P.O. Box with no name. That's strange.”
The only people that still wrote her letters were her parents, who lived in a retirement community in the south of Florida, and the odd graduate or other young person she gave a gift to for some special occasion.
She ripped into the envelope, cutting her thumb as she did so.
“Ouch. Dammit. Whoever wrote this wasn't worth that.” Pam sucked at her thumb and managed to open the letter.
The white stationery peeked out of the top.
Pam plucked it out.
“No el cheapo here. This is quality stuff,” she said, glancing in her cat's direction. He was used to her conversations with him. She grinned and unfolded the sheet.
Dear Angel,
Strange to write you, I know, when email is the easiest way, but it's been so long since we last spoke. I've been out of touch. Well, you know how we left things. And I'm sorry about that.
Pam stopped reading and gazed into the distance. Ross?
She read on:
I just wanted to ask how you're doing. I wondered if we could start again. I'll await your reply by letter. You know I've always loved letters, especially love letters. But maybe you've forgotten that. It's easier to write, so we can have more time to think about things as they
Penned
by Ella Vines
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Editor: Em Petrova
Cover Art: For the Muse Designs
Pam sat in her driveway for a moment, willing her eyes not to close after a brutal afternoon of reading files. A bird trilled in the bushes as the sun sank in the sky, spreading threads of pink through the blue.
She pulled herself out of the car with a heavy sigh. The days grew longer and longer, or so it seemed with the onset of spring in the South.
And having a stressful job and no love life isn't helping any.
“Hi, Pam.”
She suppressed a groan and half-turned toward her neighbor who lived to the left of Pam's ranch-style house, Joan Winchell.
“Hi, Joan.”
“Gorgeous day, isn't it? It was perfect for gardening.” Joan mopped at her brow, her perfectly toned biceps flexing.
“I bet.” Pam glowered and pivoted toward the mailbox.
Last thing I need is to deal with that perfect busybody today. Great life, wonderful husband, and me—well, good job at least, and I'm not dead yet.
“Have a wonderful evening.” Joan's sing-songy words floated on the air.
“You too.” She grimaced as she pulled a bundle of bills from the box.
Pam threw the wad of mail down on the table a minute later, busying herself with supper. She whipped eggs in a frenzy as annoyance from Joan's comments and a terrible day settled over her.
She has it all and definitely rubs it in—handsome husband, good marriage, and plenty of money and good looks.
Pam sighed. “At least I have a good omelet,” she said to Fluffems as he purred around her ankles.
* * * *
After the last television show she normally watched on Monday evenings ended, and her toenails were dry from the quick paint job she'd done, Pam wandered into the kitchen, her gaze falling on the unopened mail.
“Fun thing to do before bed,” she muttered and grabbed the pile.
Bills and more bills and sales flyers.
Her fingers stopped on the last letter—one in a mint green envelope.
“A Lineton P.O. Box with no name. That's strange.”
The only people that still wrote her letters were her parents, who lived in a retirement community in the south of Florida, and the odd graduate or other young person she gave a gift to for some special occasion.
She ripped into the envelope, cutting her thumb as she did so.
“Ouch. Dammit. Whoever wrote this wasn't worth that.” Pam sucked at her thumb and managed to open the letter.
The white stationery peeked out of the top.
Pam plucked it out.
“No el cheapo here. This is quality stuff,” she said, glancing in her cat's direction. He was used to her conversations with him. She grinned and unfolded the sheet.
Dear Angel,
Strange to write you, I know, when email is the easiest way, but it's been so long since we last spoke. I've been out of touch. Well, you know how we left things. And I'm sorry about that.
Pam stopped reading and gazed into the distance. Ross?
She read on:
I just wanted to ask how you're doing. I wondered if we could start again. I'll await your reply by letter. You know I've always loved letters, especially love letters. But maybe you've forgotten that. It's easier to write, so we can have more time to think about things as they
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