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* * *
After eatingdinner at the grill again with no sign of Erin, Graham drove home, debating his options. What did he have to lose worse than his command here? According to stats shared in his grief support group, the first relationship after losing a spouse rarely lasted anyway. Asking her out could be a practice run to overcome the awkwardness of figuring out how to act on a first date again. And, if she said yes, he could brush up on his conversational skills.
Going through the initial steps to set up a Facebook account seemed simple enough—until he came to the daunting decision about adding a picture. Other than his Army headshot, he didn’t have many pictures of just him. Cropping an image of him with Bethann didn’t feel right, and when the kids did group selfies, he never knew where to look and typically ended up staring anywhere but the right place.
It was probably easier to add a picture later than take it off, so he added a few details before finding the Army and USO’s pages.
Here goes nothing.
He clicked on Erin’s picture next to her comment on a USO post. Her picture looked fairly recent, and in it, she had the same engaging smile he’d been drawn to when he’d seen her at the homecoming and the grill.
He’d heard the term Facebook stalking and wondered if he was crossing lines looking at the information she had listed. Work, education, and places she’d lived were innocuous enough. She didn’t list her relationship status. He’d put widowed. She’d probably noticed his wedding ring, but he could explain. He sighed.
He clicked the message button, then read the notification that because they weren’t “friends,” the message could be delivered to her “other” box. What did that even mean? Probably like spam emails where she might not see it for a while—or ever.
It would be easier if Erin had an online dating profile, but he was not signing up for half-a-dozen sites to look for her. Why was dating today so complicated?
He tapped the screen to add Erin as a friend.Request sent.Now what? Rather than stare at the screen, he clicked on the TV to watch the Nationals game. It could be minutes, hours, or days—or longer—before he heard anything. Or maybe never.
ChapterSix
Erin spenta rainy Tuesday morning in the condo reviewing her students’ practice SAT essays before tomorrow’s sessions. After she finished, she opened her browser and went to the USO’s online schedule. She signed up for a shift on Thursday, checked emails, then went to Facebook.
The notification of a friend request fromGrahamHolmstrom made her breath hitch in her lungs. It wasn’t a common name, but what were the chances it’d betheGraham she’d met at the grill?
Slim to none.
She clicked anyway.
There was no profile picture. The account intro listed the US Army and West Point Military Academy, and for “Lives in” it said Fayetteville, NC instead of Damascus, Syria, which, for some reason, the accounts claiming to be military officers loved to list. It also said he was widowed. The Graham she’d met wore a wedding ring.
Things were spelled correctly, and there were no grammatical errors. However, there were also no posts and no friends she could see. Just another fake account. Maybe using a real Army officer’s name.
The least they could have done was find a picture of the Graham she met to use for her viewing pleasure. A picture of him would attract gullible women. She did a web search for Graham Holmstrom which didn’t result in a single hit.
The numerous friend requests and follows from accounts claiming to be military members she’d never met typically earned an immediate block, and she reported any account using the profile picture of a general—not that it typically did any good. She’d happily volunteer an hour a week if Facebook or Instagram would allow her to shut down the fake accounts, though the scammers would just set up another. And another. And yet another. Frustrating. Still, she left this request pending for now—just a day or two.
She had connected on social media with men in the aviation unit she’d supported, ones who were now sources for the aviation component of the proposed TV series. Occasionally, she’d been friended by someone she met while volunteering at the USO, though it was usually the wife of a soldier or a retiree, not a married officer. Of the real generals and command sergeant majors she’d met, not one had ever said “hit me up on my social media accounts.” While she suspected some had accounts, they kept them private like the Special Forces guys did to protect their families.
She replied to a friend’s comment on a post and sent happy birthday wishes to two friends from the notifications before clicking on the friend request again.
The Graham Holmstrom account had liked and followed the US Army and USO page. Of course, that could be where the account owner found her and could be sending friend requests to thousands of people. The timing was quite a coincidence, though.
Graham had mentioned kids. Wouldn’t they show up as friends? Maybe not.
This was ridiculous. She knew better than to fall for a scam or waste time messaging some faker saying he liked her smile or eyes. She wasn’t looking for love—just someone to help her get an inside look and feel for the life of a Special Ops soldier. Though she wasn’t opposed to a little companionship with someone who was a better conversationalist than Tink or Smokey.
* * *
After talkingto Ian about some story ideas, she spent several hours working on her script. Then, Erin fed the cats before fixing a tuna melt sandwich for dinner.
“No, you already ate.” She nudged Smokey off the table, then worked the Sudoku while eating. She lasted through cleaning the kitchen before checking Facebook.
The Graham Holmstrom account had replied to her comment on a week-old USO post. If it was one of those “I saw your beautiful smile and want to get to know you” comments, she was one hundred percent blocking the account.
Instead it saidSent you a message.
There was nothing in her inbox, but she navigated to Message Requests and found several in the spam folder from weeks ago. Half of those accounts were already deleted. Another from a Willaim Mark in Dubai simply said, “hi Erin!” Madison said bots sent a lot of these messages. But whoever set up the account didn’t even spell William right. Delete.
