A/N: Still don't own anything, I just get to borrow them for a bit. This is now Saturday, their mandatory overtime, where we see the effects of their Charlie/Kelly case and Shane's card from her dad as well as her decision to stay. This is the last chapter in this story, which saddens me, but it has been SO much fun writing it! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, PM'd, posted, or Tweeted about this story – especially to Dmander4483 for introducing me to the #POstables on Twitter! The first chapter of my next story, which follows the next episode, Time to Start Livin', should be posted in a couple days. Thanks!
Saturday, June 27, 2014
6:00 AM
Oliver picked up the newspaper off his front porch and opened it. There, on the front page, under an excellent photograph of Charlie and Kelly, another of Roger Piperson, and a third of the Post Office, read the headline, "DEAD LETTER OFFICE SOLVES MURDER OF BAKER, REUNITES COUPLE". Intrigued, he read the article, grinning by the end of it. He opened a drawer in his writing secretary, grabbed a pair of scissors and clipped the article to show the others when he went in to work.
He opened his journal to the entry he had begun on Monday but never finished, rereading what he wrote. "'Sometimes I wonder, "Who mailed the first letter? Who was that brave soul that put a stamp on an envelope and released it into the world, trusting a stranger to deliver it across the miles, and across time?" In this new world of instant replies and casual deleting, what I love about my work is I can HOLD a letter – a real letter – in my hand and be THAT stranger, whose sole mission is to carry out that trust. I work for the United States Post Office. There it is, a beacon of hope to those who still put their faith in the power of a piece of paper…and a 46-cent stamp. And behind every letter stands thousands of dedicated heroes who still fight the good fight through rain and snow and fiscal cliffs to deliver every note, every card, every letter. And I am one of them – The Few…The Proud…The Postal. I work for you, whoever you are, or whoever you were.'"
He twisted his pen and began writing, finishing the entry he hadn't looked at once all week. "Aunt Tilly's missing will, the missing registration form of the class reunion, the odd ransom note, the first letter from college, the last letter from Iraq…I have seen it all – dead letters by the thousands, each one a tiny paper vessel laden with good news, or ill, profit or loss, love or pain. Tossed about on the rough seas of Government Protocol, a ship searching for its harbor, each one bearing the power to change something, and yet, each one a destiny postponed…until it comes to us. Yes, the thoughtfully-composed, well-considered, addressed, stamped, professionally postmarked, and personally-delivered letter is still the Gold-Standard of human intercourse. God is in His universe, and all is right with the world."
Smiling, he closed the journal and placed it where it belonged on the secretary before closing that piece of furniture up, grabbing his satchel, trench coat, and hat, and walking out the door to his car. He and his team had planned to arrive to work an hour early and he needed to run if he wanted to get there by 7.
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He actually got there a few minutes before 7, so he hung up his coat, hat, and satchel, grabbed the newspaper clipping, and headed up to Passports.
"Good morning, Eleanor," he greeted as he entered the office where his longtime friend worked.
"Oliver!" the older woman exclaimed. "Good morning! I hear congratulations are in order…your office will be pretty busy from now on!"
"Yes," he agreed.
"I hear, too, that you have a new trainee that isn't working out so well," she broached.
"From whom do you hear that information?" he demanded sternly before realizing who it must have been.
"Andrea," they muttered simultaneously.
"Ms. McInerney has been invaluable in assisting us during the course of our investigation this week," he corrected her. "I never knew what a need my department had for someone with her skill set until the minor miracle happened on Monday that brought her to us."
"Is this really the Oliver O'Toole I have known and admired the last 15 years?" she smiled. "Take care, honey, that you don't become too attached to her – you are still married, after all. Don't get too close to her; I would hate to see your heart break again when it's still healing from the previous one."
"I know," he sighed. "She knows. About Holly, I mean."
"You told her? Already?" He nodded. "I was trying to get her to open up about something; she had been melancholy all week and I couldn't figure out why. So I told her everything in the hope that she would share her troubles, as well."
"And did she?" Eleanor inquired.
He nodded. "She did, and she is doing better now."
Eleanor laughed. "Only you, Oliver, would willingly tell a relative stranger the most painful thing that has ever happened to you so that you could get them to unburden themselves and heal. You are one of a kind, and why your wife does not recognize it, I will never know."
He smiled. "Well, I better get back to my own office," he admitted.
"Take care, honey. See you Sunday." She hugged him and sat at her desk.
"Sunday," he agreed, stepping back into the hallway. He passed Andrea on the way back to the DLO, she looking confused at his happy demeanor.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is an excellent day," Oliver announced, placing his newspaper clipping on the workbench in front of Shane and Rita.
"Good morning, Oliver," Norman greeted his boss.
"Good morning, Norman," Oliver replied, reaching into his refrigerator for a YooHoo.
Rita picked up the clipping. "District Attorney Edwards," she read, "hailed the local Post Office branch at Alameda and Downing for the superlative service and a highly-efficient Dead Letter Division. The branch was originally slated for closure, but will now be expanded to receive all misdirected letters from the Western and Mid-States Regions!" Her excited look fell when she realized that this meant they would be sorting mail for entire Western half of the United States, from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Coast, including Alaska, Hawaii, American Samoa, the Northern Mariana Islands, and Guam.
I think we're gonna need a bigger chute, she thought.
"McInerney!" Andrea bellowed, bursting through the door. "Looks like you rate now. That transfer you put in for came through early, and you report to the Direct Line Operations at the Terminal Annex in…2 hours." She tore the order off her clipboard and handed it to Shane.
"Thanks," the blonde gasped, unsure what to think.
"Do you still want it?" Andrea inquired.
"I think, uh," Shane stuttered. "I think…" she turned her gaze to Oliver, who returned her look, undecided as to her course of action. "I think I need a cup of coffee! Um…good coffee. Excuse me." She grabbed her purse and walked out the door.
Andrea turned to Oliver. "Looks like your loop just got a little bit smaller!" she chortled gleefully, turning to walk out the door.
Oliver sniffed, grabbed his YooHoo bottle, and moved to sit down at his desk, dejected. Well, that's it. Lord, I had so hoped that she would decide to stay. We need her here, especially now that we are expanding so much, and I believe she needs us, too. I know that I don't always understand Your plan…perhaps she was only meant to be with us this week to assist with Charlie and Kelly. But why allow us to become so attached to her during her time with us?
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Shane got into the long line at the Denver Bean Coffee House, still pondering her dilemma. Do I really want to leave? she asked herself. I mean, I liked working Direct Line Operations, don't get me wrong, but I never felt like my work had…purpose and meaning…there like I do at the Dead Letter Office. I certainly never changed lives there the way we changed Charlie's life this week.
"Aspen Chai Tea with foam!" the barista called. "Next?"
Her thoughts turned to Oliver's words to her the previous day. "You're hoping…that when you finally find the courage to trust that your father never stopped loving you, and you tear open that pain you've been carrying around, there's forgiveness inside. And hope like that, my dear Shane…is what faith is about." She ignored the warm feeling she got when she remembered how it felt to hear Oliver call her "my dear Shane," and put her hand into the side pocket of her purse.
She pulled out the card from her dad, tore open the envelope, and slid it out. "For My Daughter," was written across an image of lavender on the front. He remembered! she cried to herself. Lavender had always been her favorite flower and scent because it reminded her of her grandmother, who had passed away when she was eight.
Smiling wryly, she opened the card. There was no standard inscription inside, so it was a blank card, but the right side of the interior was filled by her dad's tiny handwriting.
"April 28, 2013.
"Dearest Shane,
"Do you remember the chess games we used to play? Your mother thought I was crazy for not letting you win, but if I didn't teach you how to lose, you would never be prepared for life. Soon enough, however, you caught on to the game and won every game. Now, I imagine, you can hold your own against the toughest Chess Master.
"When I left, your sister tried to numb her pain through her addictions and your mother – faced with one daughter struggling outwardly and the other inwardly – chose to support the daughter whose problems she could fix. That's what mothers do, but I fear it has given you a poor picture of family life. It is my prayer that you will find comfort, acceptance, and a sense of belonging in a surrogate family that you were missing in your biological one.
"I don't blame you for being angry with me. It was your mother I left, not you. Never you, although I can see where you thought it was. I have always loved you, my Crackers, and I always will.
"Love, Daddy"
She sniffed and fought tears as she finished reading, wondering how he managed to get such a long letter on one half of a standard birthday card. Unable to fight the tears anymore, she swiped them away as she regarded what he had said about family. It is my prayer that you will find comfort, acceptance, and a sense of belonging in a surrogate family that you were missing in your biological one.
What was it Oliver had said? Her mind returned to Wednesday and the words he had spoken to her at the park and, later, at the Mailbox Grille. You don't need to be so self-sufficient all the time. You were placed in my department and in my care for a reason. I don't know what that reason is at the moment; I trust that it will be revealed to me in time. All that matters right now is that you understand that you have a place at the DLO for as long as you want it; you have a home here, Ms. McInerney, and we – Norman, Rita and I – are happy to share your burden if you let us. That's what we do…I just hope you know that I am here for you – without question and without judgment…I am always here for you."
I have found that surrogate family, Dad, she thought.
"Next!"
"Can I get three Aspen Skinny Vanilla Lattes and one Steamboat Americano?" she requested.
Twenty minutes later, she approached Andrea on the floor. She pulled the transfer approval out of her purse, crumpled it up, and placed it on the supervisor's clipboard. "I don't still want it," she informed her proudly, heading to the corridor that would lead her to the DLO.
Shane pushed her way through the doors. "Come and get 'em!" she called brightly, excited to begin this new chapter in her life. "I've got three Skinny Vanilla Lattes and one Steamboat Americano. We've got a lot of mail to sort through today, people, so..."
"That was very nice of you," Oliver acknowledged, holding the drink carrier steady with his left hand while pulling his Americano out with his right. Norman and Rita grabbed their lattes, as well, before he lowered his hand holding the drink carrier. She came back! Thank you, Lord, for always being so faithful.
"Well, I found an extra twenty dollars in my purse," she replied meaningfully, gazing steadily at him.
I'm so glad she's staying! Rita thought. Oliver won't admit it, but he needs her. I don't even think he realizes how important she has become to him in the five days she has been here. To all of us, really. Plus, her computer did make a lot of the work easier!
Shane lifted her cup in salute, and first Oliver, then Rita and Norman, touched their cups to hers before separating and heading to their respective work stations. Oliver and Shane regarded each other for a long moment, then he put down the drink carrier, picked up the newspaper clipping he had brought in, walked over to the refrigerator, and posted it up.
It's nice to have a home, a place to belong finally, Shane mused as she pulled her laptop out of her purse and turned it on.
They worked steadily through the day, even working through lunch so that, by the time four-thirty arrived, they were completely caught up. They walked out to the floor in time to hear Andrea bellowing.
"Seattle!" she screeched. "They transferred me to Seattle?"
Oliver, Norman, and Rita all wore faces of surprise. Shane, however, stifled a secret smile that only Oliver noticed. He leaned over to her. "Does this have something to do with you?" he whispered conspiratorially.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. O'Toole," she replied, lifting her gaze to his and biting her cheek to keep from grinning.
His eyes twinkled at her. "Someday you are going to have to tell me that story."
"Someday I will," she promised.
He laughed, gesturing that she keep walking. "Good. Shall we go to the Mailbox Grille for a drink before we decide where to go for dinner?" he asked.
"Oh!" Shane exclaimed. "We can't, that reminds me!"
She can't go to dinner with us? But I thought she was staying in our department, Lord? "Oh?" he inquired. "Do you have alternate plans, Ms. McInerney?" Disappointment flooded into him; he had begun to enjoy spending time with his three colleagues at mealtimes but had especially enjoyed spending the extra time with Shane.
"What? No!" Shane assured him. "No, that's not what I meant at all! It's just, when I was walking back to the DLO from the park, I noticed a sign on the door to the Mailbox Grille that stated they were under new ownership and would become more of a restaurant than a bar. They closed for remodeling Thursday night after we left and will reopen on Monday morning.
"I looked it up online, and they are planning on being open from 6 AM until 11 PM, and will serve all meals, as well as coffee beverages and alcoholic ones."
"You amaze me," he stated. "You learned all that from your computer?"
"No," she responded truthfully. "I learned all that from my phone on the walk back to the office."
"What about dinner?" Rita returned to the subject, aware that Norman would likely be starving.
"Oh, I have an idea for dinner," Oliver replied. "But it involves going to our homes to change."
"What? Why?" Shane demanded.
"Because I am taking us out to celebrate," Oliver explained, opening the car door for her.
"Celebrate what?" she asked, sliding in. "And isn't it my turn to pay? You paid for dinner last night."
"You bought us coffee today," Rita pointed out from the back seat.
"Precisely," Oliver smirked.
An hour and a half later, Oliver had dropped off and picked up Norman, Rita, and Shane and was parking at a restaurant called Vesta. He held the restaurant door open for the others, then approached the hostess stand. "Reservation for O'Toole," he stated.
A reservation? What is going on here? Shane wondered. From the looks on their faces, she was guessing that Norman and Rita were as clueless as she was.
"Right this way, sir," she replied, turning to lead them to their table.
What, no menus? Shane thought. This is bizarre.
They were shown to a table that was laid with a bottle of red wine already decanted, four settings with appetizer plates, and the largest charcuterie platter Shane had ever seen, with everything from salamis and chicken and salmon, to cheeses, to mustards, walnuts, honey, horseradish cream, and pickles.
Oliver held her chair for her and sat beside her once she had seated herself.
"Oliver O'Toole, what are you up to?" she demanded in a whisper.
"We are celebrating two things tonight," he announced, pouring the wine. "The first, and lesser, of the two, is the transfer of Andrea to the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. May she be find happiness and prosperity in the Emerald City, so that she never feels obligated to visit us," he saluted.
Shane choked on her wine, laughing. "Oliver!" she giggled. "Stop doing that!"
After the laughter died down from all four colleagues, Oliver's expression turned serious again. "The second – and far more superior – thing we are celebrating tonight is the permanent addition of Shane to our little family. Welcome home, Ms. McInerney; we are so delighted you chose to stay with us."
"To Shane," Norman and Rita saluted, the four friends touching glasses.
Oliver slipped Shane his handkerchief and they dug in. He had pre-ordered the entire meal so that, as one dish was completed, it was cleared and after a few minutes, the next course was laid. After the charcuterie, there was a baby green salad, curried goat tagine, and a dessert tasting with French press coffee.
"Oliver, this was a wonderful evening," Shane whispered thickly as they lingered over coffee. "But there was no need to go to such trouble."
"Of course there was, Ms. McInerney," he insisted. He thought back to the last line of his journal entry that morning and smiled in satisfaction:
God is in His universe, and all is right with the world.