When attorney, Henry Mancuso, stumbles upon Ruth’s complaint, he has no idea that a simple Facebook scroll is going to change his life. Now, he has to get Ruth to agree to a class action lawsuit when she’s just looking for some peace on her mobile device—not a drawn-out case against a coffeehouse giant.
As Ruth and Henry battle the legal waters, a friendship full of fun and spontaneity blooms. But could something more be brewing between these two and this coffeehouse case?
Clutching my phone, I hop off my bed and retrieve the remote for my blinds from the drawer of my nightstand. As I hold down the button to close them, I scrutinize the mess I’ve made of my bed.
I’m straightening my sheets and comforter when my phone dings. Anxious to see if it’s Ruth Bateman, I stub my toe, causing the nail to bend backward. But that doesn’t stop me from pacing as I read the email that could set the Bucky’s case into motion.
Hi again, Henry. (I hope it’s okay if I call you that. Please feel free to call me Ruth.) My email address is firstname.lastname@example.org. Just so you’re aware, I don’t want to be involved with a lawsuit, nor do I want any sort of compensation from Bucky’s. (I assume you don’t do anything without the prospect of getting paid, so that’s why I’m bringing this up.) All I want is for the texts to stop.
Have a good night and enjoy the rest of your weekend!
“Okay,” I whisper, as I make my way to my office. I have a habit of thinking out loud when I’m trying to solve a problem, and Ruth’s comment about not wanting to be involved with a lawsuit has problem written all over it. “Maybe she’ll change her mind when she sees how many others are receiving the texts . . .” I type as I talk. “Maybe she’ll want to be more involved then.”
I’ve gone over this case in my head dozens upon dozens of times, so I know exactly what the letter to Ruth should say. Within five minutes, I’m done, and the message is whizzing through cyberspace to her inbox.
Now, I play the waiting game. I kill time by cleaning my keyboard with short bursts of compressed air. Then I dust and straighten the items on my desk—a stapler, a statue of the Empire State Building (which serves as the perfect paperweight) from when my family drove to New York City when I was in eighth grade, a framed photo of my family from last Christmas, and a magnetic paperclip holder.
By the time eleven o’clock rolls around, I decide it’s time to shut down my computer and head back to bed. Unlike me, Ruth Bateman must have better things to do on a Friday night than worry about unsolicited text messages from Bucky’s Beans.
Farnham is a former educator who grew up in the Milwaukee area and now lives in western Wisconsin with her husband and three children. When not keeping up with her kids, she can usually be found reading or writing. Coffee, acoustic music, beach outings, and road trips are among her favorite things.