Doug sat on the porch thinking about the mail. Brooding about the mail. This morning, he had received a slew of returned envelopes, some of them bills made out weeks ago, stamped with the notice “Not Deliverable as Addressed.” There had also been an envelope addressed to Tritia, written in a flowery hand, smelling of perfume, which he had torn up and thrown away without opening.

The walk to the mailbox was really frightening him, he realized. Much as he tried to hide it, much as he tried to deny it, he felt nervous walking down the drive and was now almost hypersensitively aware of the bushes and trees on the way to the mailbox, knowing they could be used for possible hiding places.

He thought of moving the mailbox to a spot right next to the door, like mailboxes in the city, but he rejected that idea immediately. He did not want the mailman coming up to the house, coming that close to Tritia and Billy. He also thought of taking the mailbox down entirely. If they had no mailbox, they could get no mail, right? But that was not only cowardly, it was crazy. What the hell was he doing hiding from the mail? Did he think if he ignored the problem or tried to avoid it that it would go away?

Tritia pulled into the driveway. Doug looked away, toward the trees. He heard the muted clicking of the emergency brake being put on, the slam of the car door, followed by the sound of Trish’s steps on the wooden porch. “I’m back,” she announced.

When he did not respond, she walked over to him. “I said I’m back.”

He looked up at her. “You want a medal?”

Her expression went from anger to hurt to a calm neutrality. He felt guilty and looked away. He didn’t know why he was being so mean to her. She was only trying to be friendly. But there was something about her Pollyanna attitude, her pretending that everything was okay, that grated on him and made him mad. Made him want to hurt her.

He had been mad at her a lot lately, though he didn’t really understand why.

“We’re having fish tonight,” she said. “Barbecued trout. I’ll let you set up the barbecue.”

“Did you buy any charcoal or lighter fluid? We’re all out.”

She shook her head. “Forget it. I’ll broil it, then.”

He stood up. “No. I’ll go buy some. I want to get away from the house for a while anyway.”

Tritia put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

He stared at the hand, surprised. It had been days since they’d touched each other. He looked into her eyes and his voice softened. He felt some of his hostility, some of his tenseness, dissipate. He knew she was trying hard not to fight with him. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”