She accepted the officer’s paperwork and reprimand with an apology, her cheeks burning hot as more rubberneckers passed them by. After he’d gotten into his car and pulled away to find some other unsuspecting victim, she took a deep breath, put her car back into Drive, and pressed her foot to the gas. Between the scene with Maya this morning and then being publicly humiliated, Morrow has already had quite a day, and it has barely started.
The last of the three women is Sylvie, whom you’ve already met. She did make it to the post office after all. She is hoping the line moves along quickly because she needs to hurry back to Robert. Sylvie tries not to think about what Robert could be doing in her absence. Instead, she studies the signs about federal regulations for mailing packages as if there will be a test later, clutching the manila envelope in her hand so tightly she realizes she is creasing it. It does not fit in her purse, so she has to carry it, which makes her resent the envelope all the more. She relaxes her hand and, pressing the envelope against her thigh, bends over and tries to smooth it back out. But the paper refuses to cooperate with her efforts. It is permanently wrinkled, like her.
She gives up, her back protesting as she stands up straight again, glancing once more at the lone woman working in the post office today and the rude man who is taking up far too much of her time. Whatever his issue is, Sylvie thinks he needs to step aside and give other people a chance. But that doesn’t happen.
The postal worker, Nadine, whom you’ve also already met, and the man just keep talking and talking, their heads bent close together as they discuss whatever is in his envelope, which he has begun to jab with his index finger. Sylvie, Blythe, and Morrow watch the interaction intently, trying to ascertain what’s going on. The woman who is talking on the phone, however, seems not to notice or mind the delay. She has gone on to launch into a list of the merits, and various sources, of protein. Being of a certain age, Morrow knows that protein is important, but in her opinion, this woman has taken it too far. She feels for whoever is on the other end of that call.
Sometimes Sylvie, Blythe, and Morrow give one another sympathetic glances, but they don’t speak, only expressing their impatience by alternating their huffing and sighing. Once, Blythe, who is next in line, turns and rolls her eyes at Sylvie, like “Can you believe this?” Sylvie smiles in response, pleased to be in on the joke. Usually young people don’t notice her at all.
Sylvie debates leaving. She could go over to the Food Lion and get the things they need for supper tonight, then come back after the rude man is gone. She glances down at the envelope, sees Robert’s name there, the familiar address. She flips the envelope over so she doesn’t have to look at it. She wants this done and off her mind. Then she can get on with her day. Or she can try to. In truth, she doubts she will think about anything else for the rest of the day except what she is doing here, in this moment.
Still, it has to be done. She agreed. She promised. So she keeps her place, watching the scene at the front of the line a little moreintently as she tries to discern what the holdup is. She tries to make out what the man is saying, but her ears aren’t what they used to be and the two are less talking and more murmuring. All she hears is his voice, the words like a hiss. It’s pretty clear that he is angry. Someone should intervene.
Sylvie looks around the post office, trying to find a supervisor or... someone else to help. But there is no one, which is different. Every other time she’s been in to mail something there have been at least two people taking care of customers, and usually a third person who serves in some sort of support role. Sylvie wonders if perhaps thereissomeone in the back, if maybe she should try to let another worker—hopefully a superior—know there’s a problem up front.
“Do you think maybe we should check back there?” she tries to ask Blythe, but Blythe’s nose is back in her phone, her fingers moving again. It amazes Sylvie how fast these young people are with texting. Sylvie can text, and she does. It’s the only way she communicates with her granddaughters. But she’s nowhere nearly that quick at it. Sylvie still prefers a good old-fashioned phone call. But she realizes she is one of the few who does.
She rises up on her tiptoes, trying to peer at the back of the building, but it is useless. From where they stand, she is not tall enough to see beyond the section where the clerks work. There is a half-wall partition blocking her view, but she can make out some sort of shipping area behind it. Sylvie sinks back on her heels, her arches protesting as she thinks again about walking out, her grip tightening on the envelope anew, as if she can squeeze the life out of it. She’s being silly, obviously. There is no life in this envelope. Which is sort of the point.
“Surely he’ll move along soon.” She says this sort of loudly, boldly, hoping the man will hear her and take the hint. She would like that very much.
The man does not appear to hear, but Blythe does, looking back and nodding before returning to her phone.
“I’m thinking of saying something,” Sylvie says to Blythe’s back. Then she tries to get the attention of the woman on the phone behind her, but that woman doesn’t notice because she is still deep in her very public private conversation.
Morrow, who would like to get this errand over with so she can go home and maybe even have a glass of wine with her lunch—she feels she has earned it—chimes in, “You probably should if it’s been a while.” Morrow is the last person in line; she has been there for the least amount of time. But she is in favor of moving things along.
“It’s been more than a while,” Sylvie answers. “I debated leaving, but I don’t want to have to come back, you know?”
Morrow nods.
Sylvie looks nervously over at the man and Nadine, still locked in what seems to be a heated conversation. “So you do think I should?”
Morrow and Blythe, who has looked up from her texting again, both nod. They watch as Sylvie leaves her place in line and bustles up to stand right beside the agitated man. It is a little too close if you ask Morrow, but she isn’t getting involved. She is a bystander and a bystander only.
“Excuse me,” Morrow hears Sylvie say to Nadine, completely ignoring the man standing there. “I was wondering if perhaps you have someone else who might wait on us?” Sylvie gestures to her fellow line mates, though the woman talking on the phone remains oblivious. “We’ve been waiting quite some time and, well, we all need to be getting on with our day.”
“Yes, certainly,” Nadine says, looking down at the man’s envelope as she speaks. “I’m sorry,” Nadine says to Sylvie, then looks back at the man. “I guess you’d better go now.”
In response to being dismissed, the man steps back from the counter, indignant. He sways before regaining his footing. His nostrils flare as he breathes in and out, in and out, like a bull who just spotted the matador waving his cape. The noise is loud in a room gone quiet, his face a question mark as his head swings to the left to look at the women in line, then to the right to look at the doorway, then back at Nadine.
“When I call you later, you’d better answer,” he growls.
Watching this, Morrow now understands that they were not discussing the mail, that he is not a customer. She sees him snatch up the envelope they appeared to be arguing over and stalk off. But when he does, she keeps her eyes on Nadine, who appears to be about the same age as the man. She’s probably not much older than Morrow’s own son, a recent college graduate, now off in the world of “adulting,” as he calls it. Adulting, he tells her, is not as much fun as he expected it to be. Morrow tried to tell him that all those years when he was so anxious to grow up. Now he has, and now he knows.
Chapter 5
Outside Tommy kicks his way out the set of doors that takes him to the parking lot. He sees his truck, old and rusting, parked as far away from the building as he could manage. He hadn’t wanted Nadine to spot him coming. And she hadn’t. She’d been so surprised when she looked up and saw him walk in, the envelope containing the papers he’d been served with curled against his chest like he might’ve held a child. If they’d had the chance to have a child.
But no, Nadine has seen to it that that won’t happen now. What happened to vows? To promises? To “for better or for worse”? Sure, he’s been pushing the limits of “worse” for a while now—probably longer than he should have. But he’d counted on her love; he’d depended on her grace. He’d always had both. Since they were teenagers, her love and her grace have been as steady as the tides.
He climbs up into his truck, tosses the damn envelope into the passenger seat, and slams the door hard, the whole truck rocking on its axles as he reaches for his seat belt. He pauses, thinks better of it, then lets the belt go, hearing it zip back into its place. He rests his hands on the steering wheel and stares at the post office, thinking of the old man who was in line in front of him when he arrived. Hadn’t he waited patiently for his turn? Hadn’t he smiled at the old man when he left?
Tommy had listened as Nadine spoke gently to the old man, who was there to return a piece of mail that had been misdelivered to him. She’d explained to him that if that ever happened again, he needed only to place it back in his mailbox, pull the flag, and the postal carrier would bring it back to the post office and see to it that it was delivered correctly. That way he wouldn’t have to spend his time driving to the post office, waiting in line, and all that.
The old man had listened to this, nodding along. When Nadine finished, he smiled and said, “I’m eighty-eight years old. I didn’t have anything better to do.” Then he smiled again and shuffled off to wherever he’d come from.
Instead of turning to greet her husband (he is still her husband, and that’s the point), Nadine had watched the old man make his slow way across the floor and exit the building before turning back to look at Tommy. For a few minutes they were in the same room alone. It had been a while since that had been the case, and it took all he had not to reach across the counter and pull her to him or to come around that counter, get on his knees in front of her, and beg her not to do this.
