Donald watched his grandson leave for the day. He kept the house and he made meals and he ran errands but with Tom in charge there seemed to be less farm work for him to do, the boy was keen to do it all himself, he wanted to look after his grandpa let him retire and relax. But half the time Donald didn't know what to do with himself other than park himself on the porch with the radio, listen to the weather reports and watch for storms. He'd tried reading but he found real life too distracting, he never wanted to let his guard down, he couldn't relax.
After Tom drove away Donald took up his seat on the porch and watched as the truck approached. George the postman stepped out and Donald went to meet him as the man handed over a letter. He waved him away and looked down at it.
It wasn't from Murph so it could only be from the schoolteacher.
Donald hadn't really expected her to write back. He was a stupid old man and frankly, despite how he'd veiled his letter as an update about her former students' lives it was clearly a plea for friendship and it was inappropriate. But he'd done it because he knew she was kind and polite and so the letter in his hand would probably tell him to join a bingo club or something, and that would be the end of it.
He opened it and looked down. He was surprised and he laughed as he looked over her message and the grid and the garbled mix of capital letters that followed. He shook his head and went inside to pick up a pencil from the side before heading back out and sitting back down to start decoding his message.
After a couple of minutes he laughed to himself and spoke out loud, "how much do you want to bet, Don, that it says 'fuck off you old pervert'?" he smiled and continued to fill in the letters beneath the gobbledegook.
SFGW SHZGES,
AFT K WFGS G EHC HO IHHPT.
IMC K GETH FZBHA G SWKZP.
JWKCF UF IGYP.
(KC SHFTZ'C LGMF CH IF KZ YHSF.)
YGWWKF.
Dear Donald,
Yes I read a lot of books.
But I also enjoy a drink.
Write me back.
(It doesn't have to be in code.)
Carrie.
It took him a half hour. It had been a long time since he'd done a crossword or a Sudoku, it made him want to go into town and see if he could find a book of them, it was satisfying using his brain again, it seemed like he hadn't used it for a long time.
He wondered what he could say to her in his reply other than thanks for making him actually think about something.
He looked down at his old hands holding the pencil and the paper, he was nearly seventy, was he really going to carry on flirting with a woman half his age? Part of his brain argued 'well, what else is there to do?' and he was tempted to listen to it, after all there would be no misunderstandings, no broken hearts. Even if she had been looking for love Donald wasn't deluded enough to think she'd be interested in him, and he wasn't looking either, not for love, not even for companionship, just for a friend.