The postmaster smiled wanly. “Thank you. And thank you for the card and the call the other day. Thank you for listening to a crazy sentimental old man.”

“You’re not crazy, and you’re not that old,” Tritia told him. “And what’s wrong with being sentimental?”

Howard looked at Doug. “Keep her,” he said. “She’s a good one.”

Doug nodded, smiling. “I know.”

“We want you to come over one night this week,” Tritia told the postmaster. She looked him in the eye and there was something in her voice that forbade argument. “I’ll make you a good home-cooked meal, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, then. We’ll see you later. And if you don’t call us, we’ll call you. Don’t think you’re going to get out of this.”

Howard nodded good-bye as they began to move off. He had not introduced the man next to him, but Doug knew without being told that he was Ronda’s replacement. The man held out a pale hand, which Doug reluctantly shook. The man’s skin was warm, almost hot, and completely dry. He smiled, revealing white even teeth. “Nice day,” he said. His voice was low and modulated, almost melodious, but there was an undercurrent of mockery in his tone, an attitude that only amplified the casual callousness of his words.

Doug said nothing but put his arm around Trish, ignoring the man and moving down the hill toward the parking lot with the other townspeople. As he turned around to unlock the car door, he happened to see the new mailman standing tall among the mourners. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked as though the man was watching them. And it looked as though he was still smiling.

Billy told Mrs. Harte he was going to go out and play, and she said that was all right as long as he stayed within calling distance of the house. His parents could come back anytime, and she didn’t want them to think she had lost him.

Billy said he was just going to The Fort; it was right behind the house, and as soon as he heard his parents’ car, he’d run immediately back.

Mrs. Harte said it was okay.