Dear Maggie. Brenda Novak

gone most of the day. I thought you might want to take a nap. You don’t get enough sleep. You don’t eat good. It’s going to catch up with you one day.”

      Maggie smiled. Mrs. Gruber foretold her physical collapse on a daily basis. She was too thin. She worked too hard. She should be getting out more, making more friends, eating more vegetables. Today Maggie would’ve liked to take her up on the nap, but she wasn’t about to postpone her meeting with John. She’d been looking forward to it all afternoon. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “I have a…date.”

      Mrs. Gruber’s face brightened beneath the tight, perfect rows of short, bluish curls. “Is it that nice garbageman who takes my trash out to the curb each week? I’ve told you to introduce yourself to him. He’ll probably start getting your trash now, too.”

      Maggie didn’t tell her that there was no nice garbageman. She lugged the trash cans out for both of them when she got home from work on Tuesday mornings. “No, it’s someone I met online.”

      “On what?”

      Maggie laughed. “Online. On the Internet. We met at a chat, and now he’s e-mailing me.”

      Mrs. Gruber propped one age-spotted hand on a bony hip. “He’s sending you messages? That’s it?”

      “Well, no, not exactly. He’s taking me on a cyber-date tonight.”

      “But you’ve never seen him? Never heard his voice?”

      “Nope.”

      “You’re going to stay in your house and he’s going to stay in his?”

      “Yep.”

      “That’s too bad,” she said. “You can’t neck with a man online.”

      MAGGIE LEFT ZACH EATING spaghetti and playing Candyland with Mrs. Gruber and hurried to her bedroom so she wouldn’t be late for her date. She couldn’t believe she was actually nervous about “seeing” John again. What did she have to be nervous about? It was a cyber-date. It was nothing.

      Her modem screeched through the familiar pattern of tones as Maggie hooked up to the Internet. She’d added John to her buddy list and expected to find his screen name listed there, but a quick glance told her he wasn’t online yet. She found a message from him instead.

      Maggie—

      When you’re ready for tonight, just click on the link below.

      See you there.

      John

      The link John had sent consisted of a bunch of letters and numbers highlighted in blue. Maggie had expected another instant messaging session as their date, but apparently John had something else in mind. Pointing her mouse on the link, she clicked, and a moment later the picture of a beautiful island village filled her screen. Then a voice came through the speakers of her computer.

      “Hi, Maggie. You said you like sand. Welcome to paradise.”

      Was that John’s voice? she wondered. If so, she wished she’d been able to hear it more clearly. Her speakers weren’t the best. Whoever it was sounded tinny and unnatural.

      Mntnbiker: Are you always so punctual, or dare I hope you’re excited to see me?

      The words appeared in an instant message box in the upper left of Maggie’s screen, making her smile. John had arrived.

      Zachman: Where are we? This looks great.

      Mntnbiker: We’re vacationing in the Caribbean. Have you ever been here before?

      Briefly Maggie remembered Tim and his many promises. “After I graduate, we’ll…” She’d worked her heart out to put him through school, but it was his new wife, Lucy, who was cashing in on the trips to Europe, Hawaii and Asia they’d planned to take. Or, rather, Lucy was cashing in if Tim actually took the time off. Knowing him, he never would. In his mind, the good life was always just beyond the next professional hurdle.

      Zachman: I’ve never been anywhere, except Boston, to visit Tim’s family when we were married, and Iowa to visit mine.

      Mntnbiker: Then you’re going to like this. Click the start button.

      Maggie did as he said and heard a new voice through her speakers, a woman with a heavy Caribbean accent. Reggae music played in the background.

      “Welcome to the beautiful island of Barbados in the East Caribbean, a land of warm seas and fertile earth, a tropical paradise unlike any other….”

      A video tour showed shimmering aquamarine seas, white sandy beaches, dark-skinned locals, some wearing dreadlocks, and lush wet countryside. Through instant messaging, John pointed out sights along the way and summarized the history of the island, which was something the guide didn’t cover. Maggie was thoroughly impressed.

      Zachman: This is really cool! I love it. How do you know so much about the sugar plantations of Barbados?

      Mntnbiker: I worked there for a while.

      As a security guard?

      Zachman: Then you moved back to Utah?

      Mntnbiker: Yeah.

      Maggie felt a twinge of excitement at the thought that they could meet if they wanted to. Twelve hours by car wasn’t exactly close, but it wasn’t across the country, either.

      Zachman: I live in California.

      Mntnbiker: Is that where you were born?

      Zachman: No, I was born in Iowa.

      Mntnbiker: Did you grow up there?

      Zachman: Until I graduated from high school. Then I left for UCLA.

      Mntnbiker: Is that where you met Tim?

      Zachman: Yeah. We were married right before I got my Bachelor’s in journalism.

      Mntnbiker: Tell me about your family.

      Maggie told him about Ronnie and her mother, the only family she had left. When prompted by a few more questions, she shared what it was like growing up with a brother who was ten years older, what it was like having parents who were already forty-five when she was born and hadn’t been planning on any more children. She told him she’d been the apple of her father’s eye—until he died of a heart attack a year before she married Tim. She even admitted the terrible guilt she felt for going to UCLA and leaving him behind, how painful it was that she didn’t get to see him before he died. She’d received the bad news by telephone, returned for the funeral, and that was it. In her first great bid to make something of herself, she’d lost the one person who’d given her a firm foundation on which to build.

      Mntnbiker: I’m sure he knew you loved him, Maggie, and that’s all that matters. I bet he was very proud of his little girl.

      Maggie couldn’t help the tears that slipped from the corners of her eyes at that statement. Her father had never seen her as the ugly duckling she was—the acne, the skinniness, the knobby knees. He’d looked at her and seen a swan from the moment she was born.

      Zachman: At least he wasn’t around to see my marriage fail.

      Mntnbiker: That wouldn’t have lowered his opinion of you.

      Zachman: I hope not. I just wish he’d lived long enough to know Zach.

      Mntnbiker: I’m sure that would’ve been the highlight of his life. Where is Zach today? What do you do with him while you work?

      Ah, a happier subject. Maggie told John about Mrs. Gruber and her spaghetti, the balls of aluminum foil, the sweater she wore over her dresses even in the heat of the summer, and the old Cadillac she drove without much concern for inconsequential