The Letter in Miller’s Coat

The rain kept the bakery windows silver all morning. I was supposed to be sorting the cooling racks, which I could do sitting down, but I kept counting the steps between the counter and the front door.

Miller had said he would bring the letter himself. He had not said when. I knew that was reasonable. I still listened for his boots every time the bell over the door shifted in the draft.

Clara set a bowl of apple peel beside me. “You’ve put the small racks in with the large ones.”

I looked down. I had. “Sorry.”

“Those are the ones that fit the lower shelf. You can put them back.” She moved away to the oven, leaving me to decide whether I wanted help. The bowl smelled sweet and sharp. I put the racks where they belonged.

By noon, I had started to think the letter might not come today. That thought brought relief, then irritation at myself for feeling relieved. I washed my hands at the sink and dried them slowly, with the towel folded over my fingers so the rough edge wouldn’t catch the cracked skin near my knuckles.

The bell rang. I flinched hard enough to knock the towel into the basin.

“Just me,” Miller called from the doorway.

He waited there while I picked up the towel. His coat was wet along the shoulders, and he held a folded envelope in one broad paw. He didn’t come closer until I looked at him.

“Brindle delivered it to the office this morning,” he said. “I read the outside. Nothing else.”

The envelope had my name on it. The handwriting was plain and heavy, with the letters pressed deep enough to mark the paper underneath. I didn’t take it.

Miller glanced toward Clara. She had stopped kneading, but she didn’t speak for me.

“Do you want me to set it on the table?” he asked.

I nodded. “Over there. By the sugar tin.”

He put it where I’d asked, then stepped back. Clara finished covering the dough before she came to sit at the far end of the table. Neither of them asked if I was going to read it.

The envelope stayed beside the sugar tin while I ate half a piece of toast. I could feel it without looking at it. It seemed possible that the paper inside could tell me things I wanted to know and still leave me worse off for knowing them.

“I don’t have to read it now,” I said.

“No,” Clara said. “You don’t.”

Miller pulled out the chair nearest the back door. “I can stay. Or I can wait outside.”

“Stay there.” My voice came out thin. I cleared my throat. “Don’t come over unless I ask.”