She glanced over at Ellen Ronda, on the other side of the postmaster. She had never really liked the mailman’s wife. Ellen had always seemed too hard, too driving, too status-conscious for Bob, who had always been an amiably laid-back man, but it was obvious from the pain, evident even through the drug-induced haze of her eyes, that Ellen had loved her husband deeply and that his loss would not easily be borne. Tritia’s heart went out to the widow, and she felt welling in her eyes the tears that had eluded her until now.

Above them, the sky was a rich deep blue, the sun hot already at ten o’clock. From here could be seen most of the town: the dull-blue wall of the diner peeking out from behind the Valley National Building and the small Chamber of Commerce office; portions of the shopping center revealed through the trunks and branches of the trees; the brightly colored signs of the gas stations and fast-food restaurants in the newer section beyond. Closer in, across the meadow that separated the cemetery from the golf course, was the original nucleus of the town: the newspaper, the library, the bars and the police department—conveniently located within a block of each other—and, of course, the post office.

The post office.

Tritia found that she could not look at that empty building for any length of time. It seemed sad and forlorn, almost abandoned, though it was only closed for the day. She wiped her eyes and concentrated on the words of the minister, focusing her gaze on the dark rosewood of the casket. Smooth and rounded, it looked almost like a large polished stone. Tritia knew that Ronda’s family couldn’t afford such an obviously expensive coffin, and she was pretty sure that the insurance provided by the Postal Service would not make up the difference. She would have Doug find out if someone in town had started a memorial fund to help defray the funeral expenses. If no one had, they would institute one. The mailman’s family would have a tough-enough time just living with the pain and getting on with their lives without having to worry about financial burdens as well.

“Ashes to ashes,” the minister said, “dust to dust.”

Tritia and Doug looked at each other, then grasped each other’s hands, holding tightly.

“Amen.”

Ellen and the boys moved forward as the casket was lowered into the grave. Between the sobs of mourners, the quiet hum of machinery could be heard as the motorized jack folded downward. The town was silent. Since most of the residents had come to the funeral, there were not even the occasional noises of car engines or power tools to mar the stillness.