52 The man got quiet. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “Yeah,” I replied. “But now you see why time is of the essence. I could get there too late, and she could die.” “So could I!” he exclaimed. “That’s not my problem.” I started out the door and made my way to my truck. “Come on!” he shouted after me. “I’m going the same way you are. We don’t need to team up forever—just for now. Temporary, that’s it.” I ignored him and hopped into my truck. I shut its door and started it up. I heard one more muffled sentence through the window. “Please, I’m begging you!” I froze and stared out the windshield. That sentence echoed in my head from two different voices. One standing next to me after saving him, and the other handing me a letter after I couldn’t. I sighed and put the vehicle back in park. He walked around the other side of my truck and hopped in. We drove in silence for a few minutes before he broke it: “So, you’re an actual postal worker? Didn’t think the uniform was real until I saw the mail truck.” “Yeah, I was. I guess I still am.”
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