Jonas

A few didn't have numbers at all.

Some were barely upright.

Then I saw a guy standing just off the shoulder.

I hadn't seen him until I was practically next to him.

He was just there all of a sudden, like he'd stepped out from behind one of the trees.

Tall, thin, maybe late forties.

wore this dirty blue coat and jeans that looked stiff with mud.

He was standing by rusted-out red mailbooks that looked more like scrap metal than anything used for mail.

His hand lifted in this slow, almost lazy wave.

I pulled over and rolled the window down halfway.

"'Hey,' I said, holding up the box.

"'You're waiting on these.'

He didn't speak right away, just gave me a stiff nod and pointed up a gravel path to my left that I swear hadn't been there two seconds earlier.

It wasn't a driveway in the usual sense, more like two muddy ruts that curve sharply uphill between the trees.

Up there, he said.

I hesitated.

You want me to leave him here?

He didn't blink.

Up there, he repeated.

Then he turned, not up the path, but into the woods.