Gossip might be reviled in certain quarters for being unreliable -- a children's party game of pass-the-message had been designed precisely to support that argument -- but Doug knew from past experience that word-of-mouth was not nearly as faulty a means of learning news as it was made out to be.
He looked up to see Giselle Brennan walk into the store.
She saw him at the same time and waved. "Hi, Mr.Albin ." She walked through the turnstile and around the cash register to meet him.
She was wearing no bra, he noticed immediately, and the hard points of her nipples were visible through the thin material of her tight T-shirt. Her large breasts jiggled as she walked toward him. She was grown now, he knew. An adult, a woman, but in his mind he still thought of her as a young teenager, and he felt strange seeing her in such an obviously sexual light. It disturbed him somehow, bothered him. He smiled warily as she approached. "Hi," he said. "How's it going?" He moved up in line.
"I got a job."
"Really?" he said. He placed his items on the moving black top of the register counter, automatically inserting a rubber divider behind it. "Where at?" She grinned widely. "The post office. Can you believe it?"
The smile of congratulation froze on his face. Yes, he could believe it.
"I didn't know they were hiring," he said carefully.
"Yeah, well, it's just temporary. I guess their sorting machine broke down and they were looking for someone to do it manually."
Doug moved forward. "Who hired you? Howard?"
"No, Mr. Crowell was sick. I guess that's one of the reasons they need an extra person. Mr. Smith hired me."
Doug forced himself to smile. "What do you think of Mr. Smith?"
Giselle's face clouded over for a second and he thought she was going to say something about the mailman, but instead she just shrugged. "I don't know."
The man in front of Doug paid for his groceries. Doug put a hand on Giselle's shoulder. She did not move away. "I don't know if you should work there," he said seriously.
She laughed. "My mom said the same thing. Don't worry. I'll be all right."
"Be careful," Doug warned her.
She smiled and pulled away. "Of course." She wiggled her fingers at him as she headed toward the frozen foods. "See you."
He watched her walk away, saw the outline of her tight ass beneath her jeans, the material pulled provocatively in at the crack.
"Two-eighty-five."
"What?" Doug turned around to face the cashier.
The young man smiled knowingly. "Two-eighty-five."
Doug took out his wallet.
In bed that night, Tritia snuggled next to him, laying an arm across his chest, holding him close in a way that she hadn't for quite some time. The dinner had been good and, more important, healthy. Trout and rice and asparagus stalks. She was back to her old nutrition-conscious self, and for some reason that made him feel more optimistic, less worried. Everything else might be going to hell, but at least they were going to be all right.
Her head shifted under the crook of his arm as she looked up at his face.
"Do you still love me?" she asked.
"What kind of question is that?"
"Do you still love me?" Her voice was quiet and there was a seriousness in it he did not quite know how to take.
"Of course I love you."
"You never say it anymore."
"I didn't think I had to." He smiled. "God, we've been married for fifteen years. Why else would I put myself through this hell?"
"Be serious."
"Look, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't be with you."
"It's not that simple. Besides, I like to hear it sometimes."
"Michelle," he said. "That letter. That's what this is all about, isn't it?"
She said nothing but held him tighter. He kissed the top of her head.
"I'm afraid," she said finally.
"So am I."
"But I'm afraid for us. Our relationship. I mean, I get the feeling that you're keeping things from me, that you're afraid to talk to me. Or that you don't want to talk to me."
"That's not true," he protested.
"You know it is."
They were silent for a moment. "You're right," Doug said. "We have been drifting apart. I don't know why. I'd like to blame it all on the mailman, but I
know that doesn't account for everything. It's my fault too."
"It's our fault," Tritia said.
And they held each other, and they snuggled closer, and Doug had the feeling that they had averted the disaster toward which they'd been heading, that they had bucked the trend that had been developing between them, and that they had successfully screwed up the mailman's plans.
29
Tritia awoke feeling jittery and out of sorts, the emotional residue of an unfortunately remembered nightmare that had, of course, been about mail. She'd been young, a child, but had been living here in this house, and she'd walked down the drive to the mailbox. It was a gorgeous day, the sky blue, the sun shining, and she was wearing her favorite pink dress with the little pinafores.
She opened the mailbox and drew out a stack of brightly colored envelopes, the top one decorated with dancing teddy bears. Careful not to rip the beautiful paper, she pried open the sealed flap . . .
And a white hand shot out of the envelope and grabbed her neck.
She screamed, dropping the other envelopes, and they flopped open, hands shooting out from each of them. One hand shot immediately up her dress, grabbing her crotch. Two more stretched up to knead and fondle her fledgling breasts.
Another shot up between the crack of her buttocks. Others grabbed her arms and legs. She screamed, but a final hand covered her mouth and she was pulled to the ground.
And then she woke up.
Not a good way to start the day.
It was her turn to fix breakfast, and she made bran muffins and squeezed the last of the oranges before going outside to check her garden. She felt tired and more than a little unpleasant, but she remembered her vow of yesterday, her promises to Doug, and she tried to push aside her negative feelings. She picked up the hose arid turned on the faucet. Her plants had really gone to seed. She had continued to water them, but she. had not weeded the garden for quite a while, had not taken the time to fight off bugs or prune leaves, and as a result, the vegetables this year were the worst she'd ever raised.
That too was going to change, she decided. She would spend this morning taking care of her garden, putting it back in shape. It was time for her to take control of her own life and not let herself be manipulated by the mailman.
She thought of Irene. She would give her friend a call today, make sure she was okay.
Doug awoke soon after, and when she heard the shower water running through the pipes, she went back inside and woke up Billy. They were all going to eat breakfast together this morning. Like they were supposed to.
Following breakfast Doug washed the dishes, with Billy drying, and when they were finished, she enlisted the aid of both of them to help with the garden and the yard. Billy tried to get out of it, tried to explain why it was more important for him to watch television, but she and Doug forced him to rake the drive, and for the first time in recent memory he actually did the work without complaining. He even seemed to be enjoying himself a little, and shewhisperedly pointed this out to Doug, who said there was nothing like a short stint in hell to make a person long for even the non-pleasures of everyday living.
They ate lunch on the porch together -- bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches -- and afterward Doug and Billy decided to go hiking out toward the oldSutpen ranch. She filled up two canteens with water and ice, packed a sandwich apiece just in case, and told them to be back by five or she was calling the ranger station. They drove off in the Bronco, waving.
When they were gone, Tritia called Irene.