can get the mailman. We have no proof to back up any of our allegations.' She gestured toward the hallway and the den beyond. 'Now we have proof.'
'We have nothing. Do you know what will happen? He will say that he only delivers the mail and is not responsible for its contents, and he'll deny any knowledge of this. You know that as well as I do.'
Tritia stared into her friend's eyes. She was right. Much as she hated to admit it, she was right. Irene knew exactly what the mailman would do.
'At least let me call Doug, tell him. He'll get rid of it for you. You don't want a --'
'No,' Irene said. 'I don't want anyone to touch it. And no one but you will ever see it.' She lowered her voice and Tritia felt a chill creep down her spine. 'It's evil.'
Tritia nodded, feigning for her friend's sake an understanding she did not feel. Irene was slipping, she thought. This had pushed her dangerously close to the edge, and if something else occurred, it might push her all the way over.
Of course, that was exactly what the mailman wanted.
Tritia stood. 'I have to go,' she said.
'You can't go to the police,' Irene said.
'I really think you should tell someone. This isn't right.'
'No.'
Tritia met her friend's gaze, then sighed. 'Okay,' she said. 'It's up to you.' She walked to the door, turning around before opening the screen. 'Call me if you need anything,' she said. 'Anything. Doug and I can be right over, if there's an emergency.'
'Thanks,' Irene said. 'But I'll be fine.' She smiled. 'Maybe I just won't open my mailbox.'
'That's probably not a bad idea.'
The old woman laughed, and for a moment she sounded almost normal. 'Good bye,hon ,' she said. 'I'll see you.'
Tritia walked slowly down the porch steps. ' 'Bye.'
She heard the sound of the door being locked behind her as she walked out to the car, the deadbolt being thrown.
Tritia waved as she drove off, not checking to see if her wave was returned. She turned onto the street, heading toward home. She'd known that the mailman was responsible for the deteriorating state of affairs in town, for the unpaid bills, the misdirected mail, the hate letters, and yes, probably for the deaths. But the extent to which he was willing to go in order to get someone, the extent to which he was _able_ to go in order to get someone, had never been brought home more forcefully than when she had looked in that box and seen the toe. Such random but well-thought-out malevolence was impossible for her to comprehend.
What frightened her even more was the realization that a mailman was the only person who had access to everyone in town, who dealt daily with each household, each individual. She had never been a religious woman, had not even been sure if she believed in such nebulous and culturally variable concepts as 'good' and 'evil.' But she believed now. And she thought that evil had chosen a perfect form in which to do its work. If John Smith had been a preacher or a teacher or a politician, he would not have had access to nearly the number of people he did now and would not have been able to insinuate himself so subtly, so easily, so effortlessly into people's lives.
That bothered her, too. The passiveness of the town. The unwillingness of the people of Willis to face what was happening and do something about it. She and Doug themselves, for all their talk, had done very little to try to block the mailman, to put a stop to his plans. It was as if they were waiting for someone else to take on the responsibility, someone else to solve the problem.
But, then, what could they do? Even though they were aware of what was going on, had tried to effectively gird themselves against it, the mailman had made unwanted inroads into their lives. They had resisted the siren song of the mail, had turned deaf ears and blind eyes to the obvious psychological assaults on themselves, yet the ordeal had still subtly changed the dynamics of their family life. They had not drawn closer in the face of adversity but had, in a sense, retreated into themselves. There were no obvious walls or barriers, relationships were not tense or strained, but the comfortable spirit of joking camaraderie Doug and Billy had always shared was gone, replaced by a friendly but slightly more formal and less intimate set of roles. Her own relationships with Doug and Billy had gone through similar changes. She and Doug were more distant with each other; even their lovemaking seemed less a giving form of loving expression than the gratification of selfish needs, although the outward techniques had changed not at all. And lately she had taken to lecturing Billy in an authoritarian manner she had sworn she would never adopt.
She knew Doug had noticed these differences too, although neither of them had spoken of it to the other. She could see it in his eyes, read it in his attitude. It was expressed more by what he did not say than by what he did. They still talked of current events, household affairs, even, tentatively, of the mailman, but there was a superficiality to their conversations, a superficiality that extended even to subjects and thoughts that were not superficial, a failure to meet and communicate on the deep and important level so necessary to lasting relationships. More than once she'd felt as though they were talking at each other rather than to each other.
And it was the mailman's fault.
But she would not let him win. She refused to let him tear apart her family. It would be easy to succumb, to allow the breach between her and Doug to widen. But she vowed that she would not let things deteriorate any further. She was going to reach out to her husband and son, to put an end to this emotional lethargy, and she was going to force them to do likewise.
Part of her wanted to stop by the post office, to let the mailman know that she was no longer going to put up with his attempts to break her, that she was going to take a stand against him, but she remembered the last time she had tried to confront him, and the emotional clarity of the encounter remained horrifyingly undimmed. A field of goose bumps arose on her bare arms, the peach fuzz hair at the back of her neck pricked. She was angry now, she was determined, but she was not stupid.
_You're nice_.
Never again would she go to the post office alone.
Tritia was nearly to thetumoff that led toward home when she realized she had forgotten to pick up food for dinner. She had come to town this afternoon not merely to see Irene, but also to pick up groceries. They hadn't been shopping in days and were in desperate need of milk and butter and other essentials as well as something for tonight's meal.
She made a U-turn, turning back toward the store. Usually, she planned out the family's meals a day in advance, but for the past week or so she'd been too tired and distraught to do anything but throw something together at the last minute, an attitude so entirely out of character for her that she wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. This craziness had affected not only the emotional life of her family but its culinary life as well.
She decided to stop by the delicatessen to see if they had any fresh fish.
She was in the mood for trout, and if there'd been a good catch, she'd pick some up for dinner. Barbecued fish sounded wonderful right now.
She pulled into the parking lot of the shopping center. Although the spaces in front ofBayless were filled with cars, she was surprised to see that the area in front of the delicatessen was nearly empty. That was weird. Todd had the finest selection of cheeses and the best fresh fish in town, and usually whenBayless was busy, his store was even more crowded.
She parked in an empty space directly in front of the small store and walked inside.
She noticed the difference immediately. It was nothing she saw, more like something she felt. A tension. A strange uncomfortable feeling in the air that was entirely uncharacteristic of the store's usual atmosphere. She looked around. The deli was empty save for her and Todd behind the counter. She moved forward, examining the meats in the meat counter. She smiled at the shopkeeper, but he did not smile back, and she decided to quickly buy her food and get out of the store.
She pointed toward a selection offileted trout on ice behind the counter.
'Fresh catch?' she asked.
Todd nodded silently.
