at the interior window of Grandpa’s office so she could watch Grandpa and Utley sort mail and work the counter. When she was in high school, she’d been hired to help during the holiday season, which turned into a full-time job. Back then, everything about the post office was neat and tidy. The outside as well kept as the inside.
And today...
The gray wood siding was warped and peeling and in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. The white flagpole was speckled with rust. The lines of the parking spaces were barely visible on the asphalt. So why did the tire swing Grandpa had hung from the oak tree in back look like it was ready for a good spin?
“I always thought I’d be the next postmaster.” Utley’s expression wavered on the edge of tearful. He cleared his throat and settled a faded blue U.S. Postal Service cap more firmly on his thin white hair. His shoulders were stooped beneath his maroon Hawaiian shirt, as if still weighed down by a mailbag. “Are we going inside or what?”
Mandy forced herself to smile as she shook the key ring, trying to shake off the feeling that her life was being shaped by her past.
Inside, the lobby had the same white walls and scuffed gray linoleum she remembered. Everything else had changed. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunlight. Cobwebs draped like valances over the grimy front windows and connected handles of the post office boxes like modern-day data network servers. Instead of feeling comfortable with its vacant neglect as she had at the house, Mandy felt trepidation. The building and its operations were her responsibility now. There was a lot to be done before it was functional.
Utley rang the bell on the counter, but he didn’t hit it squarely and the sound was off-key, jangling Mandy’s already raw emotions.
After Grandma died, the grain mill in town had burned to the ground, incinerating jobs with it. With people moving away in droves, Harmony Valley’s post office had been shut down as a result of budget cuts. Luckily, Grandpa had been offered a postmaster job in Santa Rosa, and he’d found a position for Mandy there, as well. The three Zapiens had moved into a small apartment and tried to build a new life. And for several years, they’d been happy. Maybe Grandpa was a bit grumpier and a bit more forgetful than when Grandma had been alive, and maybe Olivia’s teenage angst was drama-laden, and maybe Mandy had to sacrifice a social life and take on a bit more to keep their family together, but they had enough money to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.
And then complications from Grandpa’s diabetes forced him to retire. And the forgetfulness Mandy had once thought was endearing intensified until no one could deny he had dementia. It had all been downhill from there.
They’d buried Grandpa eighteen months ago. And during his last few weeks in hospice care, the former Santa Rosa postmaster had received visits from many work colleagues. He’d made it clear—in the moments when dementia allowed him to be clear—that his last wish was for Mandy to be postmaster in Harmony Valley. And every time he expressed the request, Mandy had smiled and patted his hand, certain it wasn’t possible, certain no one would take his request seriously, certain she’d never return to Harmony Valley.
And yet, here she was.
Mandy unlocked the door to the back room, took in the state of things and sagged against the door frame. “I’m supposed to have this running in a week.” It would take at least two.
She’d expected the post office to be outdated, without a single modern feature or machine. She hadn’t expected infestation. The place smelled musty, tinged with the aroma of dead things. The sides of the canvas mail carts had holes eaten through them on the bottom, and would have to be replaced. Animal footprints (possum? raccoon?) ran across the long sorting counter.
Something scuttled in the corner and squeaked. The sound of unwanted visitors had Utley banging against the wall and Mandy shrieking.
“This isn’t my finest hour,” she said when she’d caught her breath.
“Ditto,” Utley replied.
Responsibilities and deadlines loomed over Mandy like stacks of full mailbags the week before Christmas. Too many people had been passed over for this assignment. Mandy had a target on her back wider than a turkey platter.
“It can’t be like this everywhere.” Utley led Mandy to the back with shuffling steps that spoke of two knee surgeries. His leather sandals left footprints in the dust. “Let’s give George’s office a look-see.”
Mandy didn’t want to upset whatever beastie was living in the post office anymore, but Utley left her no choice. She couldn’t let him go it alone.
Grandpa’s office was next to the bathroom. It was impossible not to glance at the lavatory and gasp. Hard water had made dark rings around the toilet bowl. A tiny frog croaked and disappeared into the drain of the sink. The mirror had a jagged crack that split her reflection crosswise.
She’d been torn like that as a child. Heart ripped apart by a divorce that left her estranged from her father and with a mother who disappeared for months, or years, at a time. And those rare occasions when Mom had returned? Mandy had been torn between wanting to earn her mother’s love and wanting to be loyal to her grandparents.
Utley entered Grandpa’s office and pulled the chair from behind the desk. “It was George’s proudest achievement, earning the title of postmaster.” He brushed the dust and cobwebs from the chair, hesitating for a moment as if he was considering sitting there. But then he turned to Mandy. “Have a seat, Madam Postmaster.”
Mandy pictured her grandfather’s round, patient face, remembered him sitting in that chair behind the metal desk with postmarks stamped on top. She recalled his booming laughter and how he’d say she was a big help to him—whether she was changing the date on the postmark stamp when she was ten or changing his adult diapers when she was thirty.
She sat, trying to feel proud for having earned a postmaster position before she turned thirty-five, trying not to think about what failure would mean. A demotion. A pay cut. Angrier debt collectors wanting her to make good on Olivia’s medical bills.
The chair listed to the right, as if missing some ball bearings.
Utley brushed off a metal folding chair opposite her. “When does the cleaning crew arrive?”
“She’s already here.” Mandy would need to add specific repairs to her to-do list. Dave, her superior in Santa Rosa, wasn’t going to be pleased. He’d made it clear that reopening the office wasn’t a priority. She had to prove its profitability.
“You always were a hard worker.” Utley settled in the folding chair with a contented sigh, as if deaf to the creaks and groans of the old metal. “I can’t wait to see how your newfangled equipment works. You know, I have a smartphone.” He produced a flip phone from his blue checked shirt pocket. “Now I understand why people send fewer letters. I can send mail from here.”
Mandy blinked. “You mean texts.”
Utley blinked back. “Aren’t texts and electronic mails the same?” He tucked his phone away, shrugging. “I never thought I’d see portable phones in my lifetime, much less all the fast, fancy stuff I expect you’ll be bringing in here. A lot has changed since I retired.”
“We’re not as far ahead as you might think. Equipment and supplies are coming next week.” A credit card reader. A computer and scale to calculate postage. Stamps, shipping boxes, envelopes. The bare minimum to get the town’s services up and running.
Utley
