He looked down at the letters in his hand and thought of the new mailman. The coincidence of receiving so much good mail in a single day was wonderful, but it was also a little creepy. If Ronda had delivered these letters, Doug would have been ecstatic, although he would probably not even have noticed the coincidence. But knowing what the new mailman looked like, imagining those pale hot hands slipping the envelopes into the mailbox and then carefully closing the door, he could not help feeling that they had been tainted somehow, and though nothing had actually happened to affect his mood, he was not as happy as he had been a moment before. He looked over at Billy. “What time did the mailman come by?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Didn’t notice,” Billy said, not taking his eyes from the TV.

Doug recalled the mailman’s mocking smile, his arrogant attitude. He found himself wondering what type of car the mailman drove. He found himself wondering the mailman’s name.

Doug stopped first at the store for bread, charcoal, tomatoes, lettuce, and peanut butter, then dropped by the post office on his way home. He arrived between the noon and midafternoon rushes and had no trouble finding a parking spot. The tiny lot was virtually empty. There were two old-timers sitting on the bench outside the post office as he walked up the steps, but there were no customers inside. Howard, as usual, was at the counter, wrapping a package. He looked haggard, his face red and blotchy, eyes teary, and Doug guessed that he had probably spent the night before drinking. The sight of the postmaster filled him with an uncomfortable feeling, but he forced himself to smile as he approached the counter. “How goes it, Howard?”

The postmaster looked up distractedly. “Fine,” he said, but there was no conviction in his voice. It was a stock answer, an automatic reply, and meant nothing. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I just came by to drop off a letter, but I thought I’d see how you were doing while I was at it.”

The shadow of a frown crossed the postmaster’s face. “I’m fine. I just wish people’d stop treating me like I just got out of a mental hospital. I’m not that fragile. I’m not going to have a breakdown or nothing. Jesus, you’d think I was a little kid.”

Doug smiled. “People around here care. You know that.”

“Yeah, well, I wish they’d care a little less.” He must have heard the annoyance in his voice, for he suddenly stopped wrapping the package before him and shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I guess I haven’t been myself lately.” He shot Doug a warning glance. “But I don’t want any sympathy.”

Doug laughed. “You won’t get any from me.”

“Good.”

“So who’s the new mailman?”