Chapter 25
Lady, Are You Coming Off That Slide?
“Jane? Patrick? Do either of you want to go to the post office with me?”
“Walking?” Jane asked, looking up.
“Yes.”
“No,” they both answered at once, completely unified.
“I might be gone for a bit,” I told them. “If you aren’t going, I’m turning it into a run. Your dad will be home soon. If he asks, just let him know where I am.”
“Okay,” Jane answered.
“Love you both,” I threw over my shoulder on my way out the door.
I sat down on the bottom step of the front stairs to retie my shoelaces, carefully tucking the loose strings into my sneakers. Honestly, I called it a run, but it was really more like a slow, heavy jog. There were times during the wet season when running through the Panama park felt less like jogging and more like swimming through the humid air.
I left the porch a little quicker than normal. I had been looking forward to getting a specific package from my father for four days straight. He had told me on Tuesday that he’d mailed it on Monday. Even though I knew there was absolutely no way a package could arrive from the States by Wednesday, I had been running to the post office every single day just to check. Today, Friday, was the first real day it might actually be there.
After my parents’ divorce, my dad and I had grown distant. But when I started traveling overseas with my husband and the military, we began writing letters back and forth. Over time, those letters bloomed into books. Today, I was expecting the final first copy of a psycho murder mystery manuscript that he had written. I couldn’t wait to sit down and absorb every single word. The Military Post Office looked exactly like any other institutional base building. We had a small box, and I had a key. Most days, looking into that empty little square hole was a disappointment, so I tried not to go there unless I knew for sure there would be mail waiting for me.
I turned the key, opened the door, and gasped. “Yes!”
It wasn’t the package itself, but a yellow slip stating that a large item was being held for me behind the counter. I approached the counter, practically beaming, and handed the slip over to the young soldier on duty.
“It finally got here?” he questioned, smiling as he brought it out.
“Yes, thank you!”
“It’s always nice to get packages from home.”
“You’ve got that right!”
“Cookies?” he asked curiously.
“A book.”
“Ah, well, not as tasty,” he laughed, “but it lasts a whole lot longer!”
I laughed along with him on my way out the door.
Once outside, I just stared at the large brown envelope.
I wanted to rip it open right away, but there were no benches anywhere in sight. I knew there were no benches because I had specifically looked for them before when I had a letter in my hand. There really should be benches outside of post offices.
I could read it in the park, I thought. But that’s a thick book. It’s not one to be read and finished quickly, and…
And I really, really needed to find a restroom.
That sudden thought sealed it.
I hesitated before I entered the bar.
What am I so scared of? It’s not like it’s a random front door in a residential neighborhood with an illegal distribution center behind it. This distribution center is totally legal. This will not wait for the long jog home.
I’m not making a major moral choice here. I am just using the restroom. It isn’t going to change who I am.
I headed inside.
The restroom was clearly marked.
I walked down the main aisle straight toward the back of the building.
As I hurried along, I passed a table filled with people.
I recognized my husband, Tansy Dave, and another man and woman I had never met before.
None of them gave any sign that they noticed me.
Good, I can’t stop to explain anyway.
Inside, while washing my hands, I played with the idea of reading the personal letter I knew my father would have enclosed with the manuscript. No, I told myself. Just wait until you can actually sit down and enjoy yourself.
As the tap ran, I suddenly remembered all the strict water warnings I had received since arriving in Panama. What on earth was the point of washing your hands with water that was possibly contaminated? I washed them anyway.
I finished up, adjusted my dad’s package under my arm, and started to leave the bar. As I approached the table on my way out, a voice inside told me I should at least be polite. “Hey, Robert,” I said, waving toward the plates. “Does this mean you won’t be eating dinner at home tonight?”
Robert practically jumped. He instantly wore a defensive, hand-in-the-cookie-jar look that I didn’t fully understand.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Why are you spying on me?”
I blinked, totally thrown off. “What? I just walked in to use the bathroom.”
“Then why were you coming from the back part of the restaurant?”
“Umm… because I used the restroom.”
“There’s no way you walked past this table and we didn’t see you,” he snapped, doubling down.
“Of course not…” I said clearly, staring at him.
Before we married, he told me he was going to be a minister.
I thought he meant Billy Graham.
I felt like I was staring at Jimmy Swaggart.
The silence stretched out between us. It was a total crickets chirping moment. In my head, I told him: Hmmm… you just totally overexplained yourself.
Without another word, I reached right past Robert, stole Tansy’s unopened fortune cookie off the table, and walked out the door into the fresh air.
I cracked the cookie open on the sidewalk and pulled out the little slip of paper: You have a captivating style all your own.
“I’ll take that for a win,” I muttered.
Taking a deep breath and brushing off whatever on earth that bizarre interaction had just been, I took back up my jog. I focused back on my plan for my dad’s package and ran straight to the park.
I climbed all the way up the steps of a big slide meant only for children, sat myself down right at the top platform, and tore open the brown envelope.
Occasionally, a young kid would run up to the bottom of the steps, looking up to claim authority over the playground.
“Who are you? Why are you up there?” one demanded.
“You’re not a kid!” another yelled.
I looked down at them with a completely straight face. “I’m the federal slide inspector. I have a lot of paperwork to do on this one. I might have it back open for you in a couple of hours.”
The kids stared, totally bewildered, and wandered off.
Sitting up there in the open air, I checked the status of my soul.
I looked down at my dad’s manuscript in my lap.
Right there, in that moment, I was happy.
A psycho murder mystery was exactly what I needed.
So, I stayed.
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