Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [15]
“You know,” Tillie said wistfully, “I always wanted a girl, but the good Lord didn’t see fit to bless me with one. He gave me three boys instead. But that’s all right. I’m not complaining. Johnny, Paul, and Lyle – they’re three fine boys.”
“Not Johnny,” I reminded her. “He’s awful. He put you in the old folks home.”
Tillie laughed quietly. “No, even Johnny is a good man in his own way. I do get frustrated with him, I admit, but no, I’m proud of and thankful for all my sons. These walls . . .” She nodded her head toward the house behind us. “These walls know. They saw it all. All the years I spent raising my boys – it’s all in there.”
I was just about to ask her what she meant when she raised a hand and waved toward the street. “Hello, Leonard! About time you showed up. Where have you been the last week or more?”
Footsteps hurried up the walkway, and I gasped when a man leapt up to the porch, his shiny black shoes landing hard on the wooden boards. He lifted his mailman’s cap off his balding head and nodded. “Afternoon, Mrs. Monroe. I’ve been gone on a little vacation. Took the family to Niagara Falls and on up into Canada. Just got back yesterday.”
“Well that explains the young fool who’s been delivering our mail. He’s been leaving half the neighbors’ bills here, as if I’m expected to pay them.”
Leonard blinked several times at that, his eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings behind his glasses. “I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Monroe,” he said. “That’s Bill Kardashian. He’s new to the post office, and they had him filling in for me while I was gone. I’m sorry for the mix-ups, but he’s just now learning the ropes.”
“Well then, that’s all right. You can be sure those bills found their way to the right houses, though I think the post office owes me some wages for the work I’ve done.”
Leonard’s eyes stopped blinking as they grew impossibly wide, each pupil becoming a dark island in a white sea. He decided to change the subject. “Well, Mrs. Monroe,” he said, clearing his throat with a quick cough. “What are you doing here at the old homestead? You back for a visit?”
“Visiting? No, Leonard. I live here, remember?”
“But I thought – ”
“Doesn’t matter what you thought. What matters is what is. This is my house, and I intend to die here.”
Leonard’s jaw dropped, and from where I lay on the porch swing I could see the fillings in his upper teeth. A long moment passed before he finally said, “Well, all right. Then I ought to be leaving your mail here, same as always.”
“Yes, sir. That’s right. Same as always.”
He momentarily rummaged around in the mailbag slung over his right shoulder and came up with several envelopes. “These are all addressed to a Janis Anthony. I don’t believe I have anything for you today, Mrs. Monroe.”
“That’s all right, Leonard. You tried your best.”
“But now, what do I do with Mrs. Anthony’s mail?”
“You can leave that here too.”
“She lives here with you, then?”
“That’s right. She lives here with me. These are her daughters, Rosalind and Valerie.”
Leonard nodded in my direction. I peeked at him over the rim of the blanket. “How do you do?” he asked.
I didn’t respond. All I could think about was my frilly pajamas and the silk scarf and how Tillie had said no one would see me and how, not ten minutes out on the porch, a strange man was staring at me and asking questions.
“Well, okay,” our mailman said, giving up on me and looking back at Tillie. “So any mail that comes for you or Mrs. Anthony, I leave it all here?”
“That’s right, Leonard. Except if anything comes from Mister Anthony, send it right back to where it came from. I don’t believe Mrs. Anthony would want it.”
Leonard took off his cap and scratched the center of his bald spot. “Well now, I’m not sure I can do that, Mrs. Monroe. Tampering with the mail’s a federal offense, you know.”
“And failing to protect a lady is a moral offense, Leonard, so take your pick.”
Settling his cap back on his head,