Howard placed the package on the scale, putting on his steel-framed glasses and squinting through the thick lenses to read the weight. “His name’s John Smith.”

John Smith?

“Got here pretty quick, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, that surprised me, too. I’d never had to go through this before, but I heard it took four or five weeks for them to transfer someone. I put in a request down to the main office on Monday, though, and he was here on Wednesday.”

“He’s from Phoenix?”

“I’m not sure. He don’t talk much. But I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. I told him he could stay with me until he found a place of his own. Murial’s room is vacant while she’s gone, and I told him he could sleep there so long as he makes the bed and picks up after himself. It’s cheaper than a hotel, and it’ll give him some time to pick out a place. Usually, postmen end up taking the first place that comes along because they can’t afford to stay in a hotel any longer. The Postal Service don’t give you no moving allowance, and God knows they don’t pay carriers enough to stay holed up in a hotel for weeks at a time.” He wrote down a number on a small slip of paper, stamped it with a red seal, and took the package off the scale. He stamped FIRST CLASS on the top of the package.

“So what’s he like? What do you think of him?”

Howard shrugged. “Too early to tell. He seems nice enough.”

Doug looked suspiciously at the postmaster as he dropped the package into a large cart. It wasn’t like Howard to be so circumspect. He was usually quick and bold in his judgments; this cautiousness and taciturnity seemed out of character for him. Either he liked someone or he didn’t, and he did not hesitate to make his opinions known.

But Doug said nothing. The man had just lost his best friend. Who was he to judge behavior in such a situation? “Trish was serious,” he said. “We want you to come over.”

Howard nodded. “I’d like that,” he said honestly.

“How about the weekend, then? Friday or Saturday?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll tell Trish. She’ll probably call you about it. She doesn’t trust me to handle these things.” He opened the post-office door. “See you.”

“Later,” the postmaster said.

John Smith, Doug thought as he walked down the steps, taking his keys from his pocket. A likely story.