The Post Card

That morning Helen had had a donut for breakfast instead of her usual black coffee and grapefruit. So, that day ideals of impulsivity and spontaneous women behaving wildly swirled in her mind. She walked with an extra pep in her step as the elevator doors closed behind her. 

"Mrs. Terrence?" A small voice called. Helen whipped her head. The receptionist was looking directly at her. The mousy girl at the front desk had never looked her directly in the eyes before let alone called her over. Helen pursed her lips and turned her hips walking back toward the clean marble desk. 

"Yes?" 

"Well you see, the postman came earlier. You know the postman with the blue eyes, he always comes on Saturdays. And there was the usual mail. All in manilla envelopes because you know how mail always comes in manilla envelopes. Well, I suppose they come in regular envelopes too. But most important-"

"And?" Helen interrupted. She had a reputation for being blunt, which she was glad for.

She wore her directness like a badge of honor. But today she felt particularly short-tempered. The girl blushed, bringing her hand to her cheek. "Oh dear, I've run away with the sentence again, my wife always tells me I run away with my sentences. Here," She said. The girl held a postcard in her hand. "It's addressed to a Helen Pennel so I wasn't quite sure if it was you, otherwise I would've put it in your mailbox." 

Helen nodded. She hadn’t heard her name followed by Pennel since she’d married Richard. The old combination sent a pang of uncomfortable nostalgia through her chest. "Thank you, er." she paused realizing she'd never learned the receptionist's name. 

"Melly," She replied. 

"Yes, Thank You, Melly."

On the front of the postcard, a picture of a smiling couple, wrapped in leis with a picturesque beach background, embraced. Hellen flipped the card over in her perfectly manicured hand. The first thing Hellen noticed was the handwriting. She frowned at what could only be considered chicken scratch. The handwriting looked familiar although she couldn't quite place it.

She squinted her eyes, still unable to make out the words. "Can you read this?" Helen handed the postcard back to Melly. Melly pushed her glasses back over her head. "My dearest Helen, I have loved you from the moment I crossed your path, and I will love you forevermore. There’s a coffee stain here." Melly said she squinted holding the postcard up to the light. The ink of the pen had been spread with the liquid.

“Something, something, Meet me somewhere at 4.” 

Helen frowned.

“Meet who?” Helen asked.

Melly handed the card back to Helen and shrugged. 

“Who did you say handed this to you?” Helen asked.

Melly shrugged. “The postman with the blue eyes.” 

Helen was sure there was more than one postman with blue eyes. That tidbit of information was entirely unhelpful. And maybe it was the donut she had for breakfast but Helen decided at that moment to behave in a way that was very un-helenlike. “What are you doing right now, Melly?” She asked.

“Oh you know, not much, just the job I am getting paid to do,” Melly said light and teasing.

“Funny,” Helen smiled, “How would you feel about a little paid excursion?” 

Melly’s eyebrows raised. “I would be delighted.” She replied.

“Alright let’s go.”

“Now?”

“No, time is better.” 

Melly clasped her hands. “Can I drive?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” Helen replied. Melly shrugged and grabbed her coat. She fell into step behind Helen barely keeping pace with her. They walked to Helen’s pristine black car, then drove all the way to the post office.

Helen strutted with Melly scampering behind her straight to the Help Desk. “Hello,” Helen said to the man sitting behind the counter. He looked up over the thin frames of his eyeglasses. “Yes?” He said his tone was laced with pre-loaded annoyance. Helen frowned at the man’s rudeness. 

“We’re looking for a postman,” she said.

The man rolled his eyes. “We have multiple postmen who work here ma’am you’re going to have to be more specific than that.” 

“Yes,” Helen agreed, “The man had- Melly why don’t you describe him.” 

Melly stepped forward “Well yes, the man had blue eyes and brown hair. Yes, blue yes and.. and.. He looked like a smoker, no not a smoker… he looked like someone who used e-cigarettes. Yes, and he looked like he might read, yes… he looked like a reader maybe even a poet… He had quite emotional eyes. Likely a pisces…. No, not a pisces, a cancer. His voice was deep but not in a scary way, no not like yours, yours is a bit gruff whereas his was more sharp, sort of like a businessman-”

“Ma’am,” the worker interrupted, “unfortunately I do not know of a postman with the eyes of a poet and the voice of a businessman.” 

“Yes, well-” The man shut the plastic window between him and the two women before Melly could finish. She turned toward Helen, her eyes wide.

“Oh my, I’ve run away with my sentences again. I’ve ruined everything haven’t I?”

In the short time she’d known Melly, Helen had developed a keen liking toward her and an odd protectiveness over her. She knocked on the plastic window.

The rude store worker pulled the window open. “Yes?” he ground out.

“I’m looking for whoever might have delivered this,” Helen pulled the postcard from her bag sliding it towards the man in one fluid motion. 

“Clearly my mail has been damaged and I would hate to have to contact the higher-ups to get this sorted out, but, I will.” She looked at the name tag pinned to the man’s shirt “And I would hate to be forced to tell them how Greg refused to service my associate.” Melly folded her arms over her chest and nodded along as Helen spoke.

The man sighed and grabbed the postcard. He looked over it for less than a second then slid it back.

“Unfortunately ma’am, I have no way of knowing who delivered this. However, I can offer you a refund for your damaged mail.” Helen tapped her shoes. The click of her heels filled the silence. She sighed.

“I don’t need a refund. I need to know what was written on that postcard.” She scowled. Melly chimed in, her friendly and light demeanor a sharp contrast to Helen’s assertive one. 

“Yes, we would like to know what was on that postcard, please. You wouldn’t happen to have a record of it, now would you?” 

“I’m sorry ladies but we do not. I can tell you that this postcard is from Big Pete’s. It’s right across the street.” The worker pointed through the windows of the office to the building across the street.

“Thank you, kindly,” Helen said. The man simply grumbled and reclosed the window.  

“This is exciting,” Melly said, “I love a good mystery.” 

Helen smiled. “Yes, me too.” 

The two ladies crossed the busy street. When they entered Big Pete’s they were greeted by a clearly frazzled-looking hostess, whose eyes were unnaturally wide with barely contained emotion. Two families sat on the plastic cushions. The restaurant was packed with people. And the frazzled young lady seemed to be the only person who donned the red-aproned uniform.

A bell rang from the kitchen “Order up!” 

The young lady flinched at the sound. 

“How can I help you, ladies, today?” Her customer service voice cracked on certain words showing her panic. 

“Yes, I’m wondering who bought this.” Helen held up the postcard. Then flipped it around to show the couple smiling. The hostesses' smile dropped. 

“Look, I have a full restaurant. I truly wish I could spare a second but I can’t.” 

Helen had spent time as a waitress and she knew how much pressure the lunch rush could be. She sympathized with the poor girl. “Yes, I’m sure.” She agreed. 

“Could we be of any help?” Melly asked. 

“I wish. The time it would take to train you alone would-”

“I have waitressing experience,” Helen said.

“You know, I used to work at my Aunt’s restaurant when I was a kid. So I’m no newbie either. It was the cutest little diner. Unfortunately, she had to close it. Not many people-”

“You’re hired!” The frazzled woman said. “Red aprons are in the back!” 

Helen and Melly nodded and made their way to the kitchen. Among the mess of employee bags, they were able to find two red aprons. They donned the aprons like armor and went into the battle zone. With the two women added to the mix the food was given to the proper tables and a lull had been reached in no time.

Helen found the young woman who’d been previously hosting collapsed in one of the empty booths. She tapped her shoulder and the woman jolted awake.

“Well, we’ve got some time now. What can you tell me about this postcard?” The lady sat up. She smiled sheepishly. 

“Quite frankly, I don’t think I was working that day. I would have remembered a man buying a postcard given, no one ever buys the postcards, sorry,” she said.

Helen hated liars. She also hated the smell of pork that clung to her hair and clothes. She gave the lady a scathing look that the young woman would later describe to her roommate as “Hellish”. Silently, Helen removed her red apron and threw it on the table. She grabbed Melly who barely had time to remove the red apron before they were out the front doors. 

“What happened?” Melly exclaimed, clearly reading the fury that was written across Helen’s face. 

“The woman doesn't know anything about the postcard.” She plopped down on the edge of the sidewalk ignoring the fact that her work pants would be dirtied. Melly sat next to her, placing a gentle hand on the square of her back. “At least we had fun right?”

“It’s not enough,” Helen said.

Melly frowned.

“You know Helen, you just spent an hour bussing tables. You’ve survived a rude postman and put up with my rambling. My only question is; What could possibly be so important about this postcard. I mean no offense and I absolutely do not mean to imply anything, it’s just that, you are married and-”

“Richard and I are separating.” Helen blurted. She sniffled. Her eyes stung with tears. 

“Oh dear,” Melly said. She wrapped her arms around Helen who leaned into the touch resting her head against Melly’s shoulder. Her body shook with the silent tears. 

“There, there,” Melly comforted. 

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

“Can’t you see that we’re busy here?” Melly chided.

The directness of Melly's tone was enough to shock Helen into realizing she was crying in the middle of a busy sidewalk. The embarrassment of being seen as anything less than perfect was enough to dry her tears. 

“Sorry, it’s only that my coworker said you were looking for the person who wrote that.” She pointed to the postcard still clasped in Helen’s hand. Helen wiped the tears from her eyes and cleared her throat. 

“Yes?” Helen said. 

“Well I couldn’t tell you who wrote it but I do know that he’s going to be at, what was it the Destellar, no that wasn’t it, DeVella?” 

Helen’s eyes widened “The De Nella?” she asked. The restaurant where she had waitressed while in college. That must be where their paths had crossed.

“Yes!” The stranger chirped “That was it! The De Nella at 4. I remember because he wrote it on the postcard. Strange that you hadn’t known about it.” 

“Yes, well, long story!” She said standing up with a renewed vigor. “Come on, Melly! We know exactly where my secret admirer is.” 

Melly grimaced as she looked at the time. “Can we be there in ten minutes because 4 o'clock is just around the corner?”

“We can if we use our walking legs instead of our talking mouths! Now come, hop to it!” Melly hopped up, infected by Helen’s sudden renewed hope. They jogged to the car.

“Let me drive.” Melly said, “I may know a shortcut.”

Helen didn’t think twice; she tossed her keys in Melly’s direction. As soon as they were seated Melly pulled from the spot like a madman. She shifted between lanes and turned down streets that Helen was not even aware of. Then the car came to the main road where it stood unmoving bumper to bumper against the next car. Horns honked and drivers shifted gears to park, knowing they would be there for a while.

“It looks like there was an accident up ahead. Sorry, Helen. Oh wait, can I call you Helen?” 

“Yes, I think we’ve gotten to the point where you can call me Helen,” Helen said.

Melly smiled. 

The red numbers on the dash read 4:05.

“Shit!” Helen shouted. Melly jumped. She hadn’t known Helen was capable of swearing. 

“I’m gonna run for it!” Helen proclaimed

“What?!” Melly spluttered. Helen unbuckled and unlocked her door.

“Yes, I’m going to run.” She popped off her high heels figuring bare feet would take her there faster. 

“Are you sure?”

“It’s only a 20-minute walk from here. I should be able to get there in half the time if I run.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, Helen.”

“Careful, Melly, I may just revoke your first name privilege,” Helen teased.

“Alright then, boss. Run for it!”

“Oh and Melly,” Helen said, her body halfway out of the car. “Thank you for everything.”

Melly nodded. 

And Helen ran. She ignored the small rocks that scraped at her feet, she ignored the eyes of the passersbys that clung to her unusual display. She allowed the wind to pull strands of coily hair from her bun. She allowed the expensive fabric to cling to her sweating body. Even as raindrops began to fall from the sky,

Helen Terrence ran.

And when Helen stood outside the tall windows of De Nella she stopped. The rain poured. It drenched her hair. The dense mess of curls absorbed the water like a sponge. The city was busy but all she could hear were the heaving breaths as she took in air and the bruised heart that pounded in her ribcage.

She missed Richard. She missed how he would hold her. She missed his cologne which smelled like coffee and whiskey. She missed how kind he was. She missed the way he’d make coffee for her in the morning. She’d missed it so badly that this morning when she awoke in their king-sized bed and had to come to terms with the idea of his side being empty she couldn’t bear the thought of having coffee for breakfast and suddenly found herself craving a donut. She missed Richard so bad that she couldn't bring herself to step through the doors and meet her secret admirer.

She turned away from the large windows coming face to face with a drenched Richard who held battered tulips in his hand.

“You’re late.” He said but he smiled and it was glorious.

The realization dawned on Helen like sunshine peeking through storm clouds.

“You…” she let it sink in. He was her secret admirer. “You bastard!” she heaved, her breath still stolen from the run.

She pulled out the postcard jabbing her finger toward the wrecked piece of paper. “You couldn’t have given me a call? You know I had to go back to waitressing to get here! I thought you were some past fling. And then I wasn’t going to go in because..” She paused, catching her breath, her eyes brimmed with tears “I didn’t drink coffee today and I ran all the way here and I wasn't going to go in to meet some stranger because Richard, I am madly in love with you. And I know I don’t always show it. I know you left me because you couldn’t always feel how much I love you. But I want to be a better wife. I love you more than anything in this world and if that stupid spill hadn’t obscured the writing of the letter and I had known it was you who wrote that for me. I would have run a million miles! I would do all of this again if it would mean you would take me back.” She sniffled.

Richard stepped toward her, closing the gap between them. He enveloped her in his arms and dipped her, kissing her passionately and fervently. Their gazes found each other when they parted. The matching crow's feet that lined each person's eyes were so familiar, so inviting, and so filled with love.

“I’m so sorry Helen, I love you more than life itself and I never should have left. I want to work on us. I want to be a better husband for you.” He kissed her again, softly. She laughed as he tried to wipe the tears from her face.

“You look a mess,” he said.

She laughed again. “Seriously though, Richard, Next time just call my office,” She added.

“I thought it would be more romantic. And did you say you took up waitressing again?” 

“Yes, Richard. It’s a long story.” 

She grabbed his face and kissed him again.