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back but did not stop. She got into her car, and pulled out of the driveway with a feeling of relief. She stopped at the local P.O. where they had done business for the seventeen years they had lived at the same address. Hannah waited in a short line for a postal clerk whom she did not recognize.

Hannah showed him the key. ‘This is the key to my daughter’s P.O. box. She’s . . . not able to pick up her mail, so I thought I would pick it up for her. But I’ve forgotten the number. Could you just find that out for me?’

The clerk frowned at Hannah. ‘Are you authorized to use the box? Is your name on it?’

‘No,’ said Hannah airily. ‘But I thought since I was here . . .’

‘No, I’m sorry, ma’am,’ he said. ‘You have to be an authorized user to access the box.’

Hannah realized that this was more complicated than it seemed. ‘Is the postmaster here?’ she asked.

The clerk nodded. ‘I think he’s in the back.’

‘Could you get him for me, please,’ said Hannah.

The clerk pushed an intercom button and called for Darren Billings. Then he said politely, ‘Would you mind stepping to one side so I can serve the next customer.’

‘Certainly,’ said Hannah, stiffly moving over to stand by the door which led to the inner workings of the branch. She felt embarrassed, as if the clerk had caught her trying to do something illegal. At least she knew that she would not be treated that way by Darren Billings. In a few moments the door opened, and a bald, middle-aged black man with a gray goatee and half-glasses looked out and scanned the lobby. He smiled broadly when he saw Hannah. ‘Hey, Hannah, how are ya?’

They shook hands warmly, and Hannah hoped that the postal clerk had noticed her personal greeting from the postmaster. Busy with the next customer, he did not seem to be paying attention. ‘Hi, Darren,’ Hannah said. Darren had been their letter carrier when they first moved to the house in Nashville, and he and Adam had bonded over many conversations about the Tennessee Titans in the mornings when he delivered the mail. Darren had since moved up to become the postmaster of this local branch, but they had always maintained their friendly relationship. When Darren’s oldest son applied for a job at Verizon, Adam introduced him at the office and gave him a recommendation.

‘What can I do for you, dearie?’ Darren asked.

Hannah took a deep breath and held up the key. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard about Lisa. The trial and all . . .’

Darren grimaced. ‘I do know about it,’ he said kindly. ‘I’m so sorry . . .’

‘It’s all right,’ said Hannah. ‘But she needs for me to collect her mail while she is . . . incarcerated. I brought this key but I don’t have her box number. And, obviously, I can’t just call her up whenever I please at the jail, so I thought I’d just come down and get the number from you.’

Darren took the key from Hannah, and frowned at it. ‘Well, actually, if you’re not an authorized user . . .’

‘That’s what the clerk said. But you know me, Darren . . .’

‘Hannah, I’d love to help you but I couldn’t even if I wanted to.’

‘Oh, come on, Darren. Can’t you bend the rules? We’ve known each other for how long?’

‘It’s not that. You see, this key is not for a box in this branch.’

‘It’s not?’ said Hannah, taken aback.

Darren shook his head. ‘Nope. This serial number here on the key is the code for another branch.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The branch by Vanderbilt, actually.’

Hannah felt her hopes sinking. ‘I guess she forgot to mention that,’ she said, trying to cover her embarrassment.

Darren peered at her. ‘The fact is no one’s going to give you the box number if you’re not an authorized user. Can you ask Lisa to add you? I have a form you could bring to her to fill out.’

Hannah avoided his gaze. ‘No. I’m afraid . . . Darren, I have to be honest with you. No. There are reasons why that would not be . . . likely to happen.’

‘I see,’ he said.

Hannah glanced at him, her face flaming, expecting to see disapprobation in his eyes. Instead, he was frowning at the key.

‘The only way . . .’ he said slowly.

Hannah watched him warily.

‘Well, legally, we’re not allowed to disclose that number. So the only way that you can get it, if you don’t already have it, is, for example, if you are serving legal papers on someone, you can fill out a form at the branch, and they will give you the box number so you can mail them, and thereby serve them those legal papers. Do you understand?’

Hannah’s eyes widened. He knows, she thought. He understands that I need to get into the box without asking Lisa for the number. And he is trying to help me do just that. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Rather than, say, showing somebody the key . . .’

‘Nobody can give you that number so that you can use the key on the box. The only way a person can get that number . . .’

Hannah nodded. ‘Is if a person can demonstrate that they have something which needs to go into the box. Legal papers to serve, for example.’

‘That’s right,’ said Darren.

‘I understand,’ said Hannah.

‘I hope that might help.’

Hannah squeezed his forearm. ‘Thank you, Darren.’

Darren put his hand over hers and patted it. ‘I wish I could do more.’

Hannah nodded, and had to fight back tears. ‘Give my best to your family.’

She rushed from the post office, and went back to her car. She sat behind the wheel, clutching the key, trying to decide what to do next.

TWENTY-TWO

Hannah left the post office, rushed to buy the cupcakes

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