“I didn’t want to miss the mail delivery today. I’ve got a good feeling…” The song—this must be why it has been playing in my head over and over.
“Gee, Arina, I’m not sure I saw anything made out to you today. Let me check, though.”
I rub my hands together for warmth, telling myself that he could have easily overlooked any piece of mail among the dozens of envelopes. The shuffling of envelopes is crisp and clear from within his satchel, coarse paper against coarse paper, one after another, without pause. “I’m so sorry, dear. There isn’t anything here for you today. Perhaps tomorrow?”
“No, no, please, could you check once more? I know there must be something in there addressed to me. Maybe it fell to the bottom of your bag beneath all the other mail? Please, sir, please. There just must be something.”
I’ve asked this of the mailman several times before. He remains patient with me, which I appreciate. After another search through his bag, he shakes his head, then looks up at me with sympathy. “I am sorry, Arina. I’m sure you’ll hear soon.”
“I’m never going to hear anything,” I say. “They’re dead. All of them. I wrote to the Red Cross to ask about my dead family, just so they could respond and tell me they’re dead. Because if they weren’t dead, they would have come looking for me already. They wouldn’t let me live in this awful place alone for over a year. So, no, they won’t be sending me mail. Why bother wasting time on those who have nothing to gain? Isn’t that the way life goes?” I know my voice is growing louder and my anger is being directed at the innocent mailman, but why can’t something good happen to me? I watch others find their happy endings, get their good-news letters, find a permanent home, but not me. It’s never me.
“I can’t imagine what you must be feeling,” the man says. I don’t even know his name.
Not that an explanation will help find my mail faster, but sometimes I can’t keep my thoughts to myself. “The German soldiers, a doctor working for Hitler, he tortured me. They tortured me and over a million others for an entire year, longer for most, and then after that, I ended up in one of the refugee centers for displaced people. After that, the Red Cross sent me away from Europe and forced me to move here to make room for others who needed space in the European orphanages. I’ve been nothing but a number for over three years. Three years!”
The front doors of the building fly open and I expect Mrs. Vallentine to be on her way out to interrupt my fit, as she would call it, but it isn’t her this time.
“Arina, come inside,” Dale says. He’s wearing work gloves and has a rag draped over his shoulder.
“No, I want my mail,” I shout, fisting my coat collar up to my chin.
“There is no mail for her, I’m afraid,” the mailman says again.
Dale places his hands around my shoulders and moves me to the side. “I apologize,” he says to the mailman.
“I feel terrible,” he says.
“No, you don’t!” I yell.
“Sorry again, miss,” the mailman says as he darts away from the wrath of my shouts and pleas.
“Arina, stop,” Dale says in a sharp whisper.
“I’ll go to the post office. I’ll tell them I’m missing mail and they need to find it,” I say, pushing my way out of Dale’s grip. I glance in each direction, forgetting where the post office is. My mind is in such a haze.
Just before I step off the curb, Dale takes my wrist and pulls me back. “You’re going to end up in a solitary room again. Please listen to me.”
“I need that letter,” I bark.
“What letter are you talking about?”
“The Red Cross. I asked them for records regarding my family. They could be alive, even just one of them. I need to know—I can’t wait any longer. I’ve sent several letters and the replies must get lost in the mail. It happens all the time.”
“I want you to take a breath, please,” Dale says, sounding nervous in the face of my anger.
“Breathing won’t help find my mail.”
“Arina, stop,” he says again.
He pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly, offering warmth to my numb limbs. “I wish I could say I understood what you’re feeling. I know I never will, but I can be a friend—I can stand beside you. You don’t have to feel so alone right now.”
I can’t argue when he’s saying everything I need to hear, and I lean into the embrace. “I’ve been alone for so long that I don’t know how to let anyone stand next to me.”
He grips his hands around my arms and leans back to look down at my face. “You’re doing it right now. I’m right here.”
His words bring me to tears and a quiet laugh, both at the same time. “You’re going to get in trouble because of me.”
“So what?” he says.
“I’m not worth the trouble,” I tell him, not understanding how he doesn’t already know this.
“That’s up to me to decide, isn’t it?” He smiles a touch while saying this. If I had to guess, it seems he’s already considered the good and bad of what my presence could cause him.
My gaze drops between us. “You’re good at distractions,” I say. “For a minute, I forgot why I was so upset.”
“If a distraction is what you need…I can think of plenty. There’s a reason I work more hours than I should—distractions, especially the beautiful one I keep stumbling upon.” He slips his gloved finger beneath my chin, forcing me to glance back up at him. “I’m not afraid of going after what I want, kind of like you. I like that we have that in common.” His smirk makes my stomach feel like it’s filling with bubbling fizz.
“I can’t give up,” I say, my words coming out in hardly a whisper.
“Neither will I.” He brushes his lips against my cold cheek, leaving me with a faint whiff of mint. “But first, I need you to get back inside before you end up with frostbite.”
In a trance of mint and the lingering of warm lips on my cheek, I follow in his footsteps back to the building. “I better go in alone, so Mrs. Vallentine doesn’t chew your ear off,” I say.
“Good thinking. I have an errand to run, anyway. But…tomorrow night, there’s something I want to show you. Will you meet me out front just after dinner?”
My frozen cheeks thaw with a sudden wave of heat. “I will.”
“Until then, stay out of trouble,” he says, leaving me with a wink that ignites my pulse.
I saunter back inside, finding Mrs. Vallentine with a cross look on her face and her arms folded over her chest. “Is it true? Did you yell at the mailman? He said you were very upset, and he wished he could help you, and after some questioning, I understood what he meant by ‘very upset.’ Arina, it is against every one of our policies to lash out at anyone, never mind a government employee,” she hisses, along with an eye roll. “I would bring you to talk to Miss Blum right now, but she’s on temporary leave, which means I’m left with no choice but to place you in a solitary room again. I can’t risk your erratic behavior around the other children. You know this, and yet, it doesn’t seem to stop you.”