Chapter One: Invitations

Busy – that was word for the POstables, especially nearing Christmas. Impossibly ripped and mangled, NIFTS – mail not intended for the system, and the hopelessly misdirected were secondary to those all-important letters to Santa. As busy as things were, the foursome would readily admit that it was their favorite time of year at the DLO.

The increase in packages, Christmas cards, and letters aside, every tired mail carrier admitted that while exhausting, the season was also encouraging and invigorating. Workers had a sense of purpose, an awareness that what they were doing mattered more than usual. They weren't distributers of junk mail and bills due, but carriers of words of hope and affirmation, of tangible objects of love and affection.

This flurry of postal activity culminated each year with the annual postal ball. Maintaining what had now become a tradition, Rita and Shane would wrap the last present from Santa, go to the salon to get their hair and nails done, get dressed in their latest festive fashions, and join Oliver and Norman at the ball. Ever since Norman and Rita had "declared their intentions" for each other, they left the ball together. Oliver and Shane had continued to go their separate ways at the end of the event. Shane hoped that, this year, things would be different.

The first day of December, Oliver carefully crafted his activities so that, when Shane left the DLO, he would leave also. His timing was perfect. At the exact right moment he walked Shane to her car. After some small talk about the day and a few comments about how cold the weather had turned, he popped the question.

"I know that you and Rita have your pre-ball tradition, and we know I respect tradition, but afterward I would be honored to take you home. I mean, I would be honored to take you to your home," he said looking somewhat embarrassed by his case of nerves.

"Oliver, I would be delighted to leave the ball with you."

"Would you also be delighted to dance with me?" he said reaching for her hand.

"I would be especially glad to dance with you," she answered with a smile. The cold wind had gotten the best of her and she shivered.

"Then we have a date," he said, drawing her into his arms.

Taking a quick glance around the parking garage, he brought his hand to her face to seal the agreement with a kiss. Just as he did, the moment was shattered by a too familiar voice.

"Oliver! Oliver O'Toole. You, postal investigator. You extrapolator."

Oliver dropped his hands and looked down. The voice was unmistakable.

"Lester Kimsicle," Oliver said with a note of dread.

Before he could turn around, Lester was standing behind him, patting Oliver on the back.

"My good buddy, you are a hard man to track down. I've looked everywhere for you."

"Lester, it is after 5. The DLO is closed. I was going home," replied Oliver.

"I bet you were," Lester said, with a no subtle amount of innuendo, while looking at Shane with a Kimsicle-grin.

"Lester," Oliver said raising his voice.

Just as he did, Shane put her hand on Oliver's arm and interrupted.

"Lester, what can we do for you?" Shane asked, in her attempt to make short of this conversation.

"I have news, big news. You want to guess what it is?"

"No, we do not," replied Oliver curtly. Oliver was still miffed, not only by the implication of Lester's earlier comment, but truth be told, of Lester's bad timing in interrupting the moment with Shane that he had waited for all day.

"Well, alright then. I'll just tell you. I got a call today from D.C. They invited me to come make a presentation of my handling of The Dudley Curly Case. But don't you worry. I told them of your part in solving the case and I insisted that you come too. You and I are going to D.C. together – for five whole days. Isn't that great?"

Oliver wanted to shout, "No, this is horrible." Instead he offered a carefully measured reply, "Lester, I have no idea of what you speak; however, whatever it is, you really don't need me to go."

"Oh, but you do have to go. This is a symposium on dealing with hostile situations involving postal employees and no one symposiums better than you do."

Oliver was both dumbfounded and downcast at the news.

"When is this trip and what are my responsibilities?" Oliver asked, trying to mask his utter disgust at the idea.

"We're leaving on a jet plane, get it – leaving on a jet plane – that song – from the 60's," quipped Lester.

Oliver did not respond.

"Oh well. You don't know much about music do you?" Lester said, eyeing Oliver over the top of his dark sunglasses.

"Lester, the details please."

"We leave Monday, December 19 and return on Friday, December 23. I will get you the information. I don't really know…I mean they just ask. I have to go now. I actually have work to do," answered Lester as he left in a huff.

Neither Shane nor Oliver tried to get him to stay.

Slipping his hands into his overcoat pockets, Oliver said, "This wasn't how I anticipated this day ending. It looks like I will be gone the entire week of the ball. I will see what my responsibilities actually involve. We should be back in plenty of time for the ball. I will take the first flight out on Friday. I can't imagine any one in Washington wanting to stay for meetings late on a Friday, especially that near to Christmas.

"Me either," said Shane. "And we were off to such a good ending." Shane gently put her hand Oliver's arm. "Oliver, I'm sorry you have to spend a week with Lester anywhere, especially at Christmas. But if you have to go, then you and I will just have to come up with a way to – to make up for that week. We make up for lost letters, we can make up for a lost five days, even at Christmas. But I'm still counting on you to take me home from that dance."

"Ms. McInerny, I suddenly remember where we were." Oliver hands went from his coat pockets to her waist and he ended his workday as previously planned.