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Back THE MAILMAN Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. DEDICATION
  2. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
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  33. 31
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  37. 35
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  40. 38
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  42. 40
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  54. 52
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  57. 55

“That’s what I been telling people all day. I can’t believe he killed himself. People always say that when something like this happens, but usually there are reasons. A guy gets divorced, his wife dies, he loses his job. But there’s nothing. I was just over at Bob’s house last night, and me and him and Ellen sat down, had a good dinner, some good talk. Everything was normal. He wasn’t depressed at all. He wasn’t happier than usual or sadder than usual or more talkative or less talkative. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He hadn’t been fighting with Ellen, ‘cause when they fight me and him always go out and get something to eat instead of staying to home.” He shook his head, looking down at the counter for a moment, then he looked up at her and tried to smile. The effect on his grief-stricken face was oddly gruesome. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“I just came to deliver a letter and to buy a book of stamps.”

“A book of stamps it is,” Howard said, reaching under the counter and placing the stamps before her.

She paid him the money, then gave his hand a small squeeze. “If you need anything just call,” she said. “Anytime.”

He nodded tiredly. “Will do.”

She stepped away from the counter. Behind her, she heard the postmaster’s dazed voice. “Next.”

2

The funeral was well-attended. Almost everyone in town knew Bob Ronda on a first-name basis, and almost everyone liked him. The cemetery was packed and many of the latecomers were forced to stand outside the wrought-iron gates on the side of the small hill. Bob had never been a churchgoing man, and Ellen had decided to have the entire service conducted outside at the gravesite. She stood next to the preacher, dressed in a simple black dress, staring down at the ground. A wilted wet hanky was clutched in her right hand, and she twisted it absently between her fingers. Rumor had it that she had nearly gone crazy when she’d found her husband’s body, screaming and yelling, tearing apart the house, even ripping off her own clothes, and that Dr. Roberts had had her heavily sedated ever since. Looking at her now, supported on both sides by her grown sons, Doug could believe it.