Hope must give some sort of command from wherever she is because they watch as the man carrying the pizzas enters and all but two of the officers exit. Sylvie goes to take another step toward the door, but Tommy reaches out to halt her a second time. “You know what to do,” he says.
She wants to tell him to shut up, but instead she just nods and listens as he gives her his instructions again: no sudden movements, no going anywhere near the main door, no opening the pizza boxes before she gets back in. She knows that telling them all what to do makes Tommy feel powerful, perpetuates the myth that he is in charge here. So she lets him say his piece even as her shoulder strains against his grip. When he lets go of her and unlocks the door, he pulls the waters in and she walks purposefully toward the vestibule, her eyes trained on the man standing there. She had not expected this. But she should’ve. These last few months, she has forgotten what he is capable of.
She comes to a stop in front of him. “You’re Sylvie?” he asks her. She has no doubt he is wearing some sort of wire, or the pizza boxes are bugged, or both. Either way, she understands this is not a private conversation.
She nods. “You’re Bo?”
He gives her a sheepish look. “Yes,” he says. He has used his nickname from back in his early precinct days, back before he went to the FBI.
“Pizza delivery, at your service,” he says, lifting the stack of pizza boxes and giving her a little smile. His hands are large enough to hold them all, his thumbs anchoring the top box and his pinkies the bottom one. The other fingers hold the center box in place. She cannot take her eyes off his hands, how strong theylook, how capable they make her feel, even now, in spite of the protruding veins and age spots. They are still his hands.
His wedding ring glints in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the lobby they are standing in. She wants to toss the boxes to the side, take his hands in her own. They could make a run for it. She doubts that Tommy would pursue them, that he would shoot two old people as they flee.
But Sylvie stays put. She and the other women have promised to walk out together, and she will keep her end of that promise. The smell of the pizzas wafts up between them, filling the air and reminding her of the time they went to Italy.
They look at each other for a few silent seconds, saying with their eyes what they cannot with their mouths. If the pizza boxes are indeed bugged, then from now on the people outside will be able to hear everything that’s going on inside the post office. More progress.
He looks past her, peering into the glass at Tommy, who stands watching them, the gun in his hand. “Everyone okay in there?” Robert asks.
She nods, because for a moment she cannot speak. It is the kindness in his voice, the voice she knows better than her own, that catches her up short, sparking tears. He has found a way both to be here and to let her know that he is here. She thinks of the envelope under her stool and questions anew what she came here to do today.
“We’re okay,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper because it’s all she can manage. “Everyone okay out there?”
He looks at her, gives her a little smile. “County will be here soon, and I’m betting once they are they’ll have this in hand pretty quick. Meanwhile, I’m trying to be of assistance. I came the minute I heard. I’m a former FBI agent,” he says. “Retired now, but I was in law enforcement for forty years.”
Sylvie smiles at him. He misses it, she knows, the work, the respect, the purpose it brought. “I’m sure they appreciate the help,” she tells him.
“We’re all just doing what we can. We’re out there for you, working to get you free.”
She nods and—a reflex—goes to reach for him, wanting his arms around her more than all the pizza in the world. When she does, he thinks quickly and pretends she has reached for the pizzas. He fills her arms with the warm boxes instead of himself.
Tommy uses the gun to rap on the window. Her time is up.
She sees Robert’s eyes go glassy. “You be safe in there,” he says, giving her a wink that is so fast it is barely perceptible as he turns to exit the building, to leave her behind. She does not watch him go, turning instead toward the door that will take her back into captivity, carrying sustenance that makes her, for the moment, a hero to the other women inside. She hears Tommy turning the key in the lock as the door closes behind her.
“Do you know him or something?” Tommy asks, following her. “You sure did talk to him a long time.”
Sylvie busies herself with setting the boxes on the counter, one, two, three, an excuse to keep her back to them as she works to compose herself and come up with a good lie at the same time. She carefully takes the white plastic pizza savers out and places them to the side, scooting them just behind a large packing tape dispenser nearby. Robert hadn’t designated her because she is old. He’d designated her because she would know what to do. She’s been a cop’s wife her entire adult life. She’s learned a thing or two.
“He just asked about each one of us,” she says. “He wanted to make sure everyone is okay, no medical needs or anything like that.” She looks over her shoulder at the other women. “Itold him we were fine, which sounds a little silly if you think about it.”
She moves her hand in the air over the pizzas like a game show hostess showing a contestant what they won. “Now, let’s eat while it’s still hot!”
But then there is a noise at the windows, the sound like the bird that flew into Sylvie’s front window just a few weeks ago. It is like that, but louder. Startled, everyone wheels around to see what happened, momentarily forgetting the pizzas, some of them wondering if it was a gunshot or the police trying to come through, some sort of surprise attempt when Tommy’s guard is down. But at the window they don’t see a bird or any officers or a bullet hole.
Instead, they see a girl, standing on the other side of the glass, banging her fists against it and yelling. Morrow blinks at the face as her mind registers that the girl is her daughter and what she is yelling is “Mom!”
Morrow rushes to the windows, but before she can reach her, Maya is dragged away, kicking and screaming, by several officers. She thinks about Maya as a toddler, how many times she had to drag her away from something she wanted, kicking and screaming much the same. But this time what she wanted was her. Morrow stands and watches Maya until the police take her out of sight. Behind her, she can hear Tommy opening the pizza boxes, unfazed by the disruption since it poses no threat to him.
Beside her, she feels a hand on her shoulder. “Your daughter?” Sylvie asks her.
Morrow’s eyes are shining with tears as she turns to her and nods. “Their attention must’ve been diverted after the pizzas got delivered, so she saw her chance, I guess.” She looks back to the windows, scanning for a glimpse of Maya somewhere out there. “I didn’t even know she was here.”
“I’m sure this is scary for her. You trapped in here like this. Her unable to get to you.”
Morrow only nods, unable to speak, as she thinks of the morning, the regrets that have been taunting her all day. She’d thought she’d be the one to bridge the gap between them as soon as she could manage it. But Maya had found a way to her instead. She must’ve also wanted to make sure they didn’t leave things the way they were.
“She’s a brave girl,” says Sylvie. Morrow nods again, smiling through her tears. “You must be very proud.”
