Chapter 6
Morrow can see that Nadine is rattled but pretending not to be as she beckons to Blythe, who moves into the spot formerly
occupied by the man who stalked out of the post office. Morrow can’t help but notice that Nadine and Blythe are both younger
than she is, as more and more people seem to be these days. When she was younger she didn’t use to notice people’s ages. But
that was because she was young. At least, she thinks, she isn’t as old as Sylvie, who has returned to her place in line looking
pleased with herself. Morrow, like the others, ignores the woman on the phone entirely.
Morrow watches as thirtysomething (she estimates) Blythe walks up to twentysomething (again, another estimation) Nadine and
lays a box wrapped in kraft paper on the counter in front of her. Morrow can’t be sure, but she thinks she hears the distinct
intake of breath that comes from someone stifling a sob. Morrow looks away from whatever is happening. She does not want to
witness another person’s pain. She has enough of her own, thank you very much.
Morrow smooths her ponytail, gripping the length of it, then looks down into the darkness of her tote bag, which grew too heavy as she waited and is now sitting innocuously at her feet, the small, padded envelope down in there somewhere.
Not big enough to be a threat; at least no one would think so if they saw it.
Morrow will not cry when she presents it to the clerk.
She won’t even need to stifle a sob. She will just put down her envelope and smile like she is any other woman running any other errand.
And that will be good, she thinks. That will be what’s best.
At the counter, Blythe is indeed stifling a sob. She is doing her very best not to break down and cry as she looks at the
box, steeling herself against the threat of tears by thinking of terrible things that happen to other people—identity theft,
extortion, abduction, assault. None of these things are happening to her, she tells herself. She is safe. She is fine. And
though she might not be certain about what she’s about to do, she is making someone else happy, and that’s always a good thing.
Right?
They all wait politely while Blythe gets herself together. Soon Blythe is able to force a smile for Nadine, who was clearly
just threatened by some man. It could be some sort of domestic abuse–type situation, Blythe thinks. That’s another thing that
is not happening to her right now. This, she tells herself, is nothing at all. It might even be the right thing to do in the
end.
She thinks of her mother this morning, sitting at Blythe’s kitchen table, coffee cup in hand as she pronounced, as only her
mother could, “You’ll never know if you don’t try. I’d hate to see you realize later in life that you didn’t do what you could
back when you had the chance.” Her mother had sighed, then added, “I should know.”
Blythe thinks her mother meant for her to inquire about this added comment. But she had not. She’d left for the post office
instead. With any luck, her mother will be on the road back to Raleigh by the time Blythe gets home. Her mother has a big
meeting this afternoon, so there’s a good chance she will. Her mother always has a big meeting looming.
She pushes the box forward. “I would like to mail this,” she manages to say, though the quiver in her voice remains. She brushes her fingertips across the box, a kind of caress.
“Okay,” Nadine says, glancing at the address Blythe has carefully written on the box with a Sharpie, the black letters bold
and blocky. Blythe looks at the address as well, reading the name written above it with something like surprise. She thinks
about the note she tucked inside, thanks to her mother’s prodding. Is it too much? Her eyes run along the line of tape she’d
sealed the box with. Even if it is too much, it’s too late now.
She listens to the clacking of keys as Nadine enters the information. Nadine points at a screen and directs Blythe to approve
what she has entered. Even as she presses the button to designate her approval, Blythe considers yanking the box back and
running out of here. If you go through with this, she thinks, it could start something. It could end something. Which does she want? She doesn’t know for sure.
“Is there anything in here that is liquid, fragile, perishable, or potentially hazardous?” Nadine asks, her voice taking on
that detached tone that says she has done this a hundred times before.
Fragile? Blythe thinks. Yes. Potentially hazardous? Yes. What will happen if she answers yes? Will the clerk tell her she can’t mail the package after all? That would make things
much simpler, the decision made for her.
“No,” Blythe says.
“Okay,” Nadine says as she types something else into her computer. Blythe reads her name tag. She looks like a Nadine, Blythe
decides.
Nadine directs Blythe to punch a button that says that what she is mailing is safe to send through the United States Postal Service.
Blythe presses the green button. Green means go.
She is going ahead with this, for better or for worse.
She twirls her engagement ring around her finger as she watches Nadine sweep the box off the counter and it drops out of sight.
Blythe wants to tell her to be careful with it.
But she has already said there is nothing fragile inside. She has pressed the green button.
For a crazy moment Blythe thinks about diving across the counter and retrieving the box. But before she can act on her impulse,
she hears a rush of air entering the room as the door to the post office opens. Blythe sees Nadine’s eyes cloud with concern
and turns to see what it is Nadine has seen. At the same time she hears Sylvie behind her take in a breath.
Together Blythe, Nadine, Sylvie, and Morrow watch as Tommy comes back into the post office. This time he is carrying a fifth
of bourbon, which he dramatically pauses to swill in the doorway as they all stare, frozen. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows
the liquid he’s poured down his throat. The woman on the phone says, “I gotta go,” and hangs up.
Blythe and the other women in line glance nervously at one another as Nadine says, “Tommy,” in a strangled kind of way. It
is the fear, Blythe thinks, that is choking her.
Tommy lowers the bottle of liquor and moves toward them with menace on his face. He is lanky and tall, able to cross the room
in just a few strides. “Tommy.” Nadine says his name again, and now they all know it, though they don’t all know one another’s
yet. They will in due time, except for the woman who was on the phone.
“You’re going to make me lose my job.” Nadine smiles like she is making a joke, but Sylvie sees her lips give her away, a
quiver that betrays her bravado. Tommy sees it too. He smirks as he lays the same envelope from before back on the counter,
then sets the bottle of liquor right beside it, half gone.
Sylvie wonders if he’s drunk it all today or only just started drinking. She thinks about how he swayed on his feet when he stepped away from the counter earlier and guesses it’s probably, unfortunately, the former. Impaired men are even harder to reason with than sober ones.
He looks to his left at the women in line. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies. This won’t take but a minute.” He turns to face Nadine,
speaking to them as he regards her. “All my wife needs to do is tear up these papers while I watch, and then I’ll be on my
way.” He takes another pull from the bottle, then adds, “Right, Nadine?”
“This isn’t the time or the place for this,” Nadine says, the words thick in her mouth. “We can talk after I get off work.”
Tommy gestures at the four women. “They’ll wait.” He turns to them again. They all stand, mouths agape, seemingly frozen to
the floor with fear or shock or both. “Won’t you?” he asks them.
They all nod even as Sylvie eyes the door and considers fleeing. But she is not as fast as she used to be, and running will
only escalate what is, for now, a potentially resolvable situation. There is no need for alarm yet. Morrow debates running
out too. But she also thinks this will blow over. No sense overreacting. She thinks of Maya, who claims she overreacts all
the time. So she stays.
Blythe doesn’t think of running because she is debating how she can get her package back. With everyone’s eyes on Tommy, maybe
they wouldn’t notice her reaching over the counter? The woman on the phone isn’t on the phone any longer and just stands there
looking puzzled.
Tommy faces Nadine. He jabs at the envelope with his index finger as if he is driving a stake through it. “Tear it up,” he
says through his clenched teeth.
“I can’t,” Nadine says, lifting her chin in a defiant sort of way. “I worked hard for the money to have those papers drawn
up.”
“I don’t care what you did,” he says. “We are husband and wife. And that’s the way it’s gonna stay.”
“You did this to yourself, Tommy,” Nadine says, looking her husband square in the eyes. Sylvie knows Nadine is trying to appear
big and brave, but she suspects that inside she feels small and scared.
Still, Sylvie sees her words hit Tommy, the barely perceptible flinch in his shoulders and head. “We can talk about that,”
he says with less swagger. Then adds with a plea in his voice, “We can fix it.”
“I don’t want to fix it,” Nadine says, but her words sound sad as she says them. Nadine turns suddenly to look to the part
of the post office that is behind the petition, her face hopeful. Sylvie looks too, as if someone has appeared back there,
coming to their rescue. But there is no one.
Sylvie turns back to look at Tommy, and as she does, it takes her a moment to process what changed when her head was turned.
It is hard for her to rectify that there is something in Tommy’s hand that was not there before. And that something is a gun
that is pointed right at Nadine.