It had been pouring all evening. The skies had beautiful bursts of grey clouds and occasional bolts of thunder.
"How long do you think it'll be like this?"
I had been staring out the large glass window of my grandmother's apartment.
"Oh I'm sure it'll blow over soon." My mother said from the kitchen.
She had been preparing my Grandma's favorite pastries. Tarte tropézienne. My grandmother had acquired her extravagant taste from her time living in Marseilles, France.
Another jolt of lighting struck the earth.
"You know, I was really hoping grandmother could come home today. It really is unfair."
"I know sweetheart but the nurses made it very clear that it's too high a risk. Imagine what could happen in this weather."
My hand rested just beneath my chin. I turned my head to the side and my light brown curls fell off my shoulder.
My attention was fixed on the mail truck that sat outside the front of the building. It had been there for quite a while. The tail lights had been blinking red and the windshield wipers scraped away the continuous downpour.
I let out a deep sigh, catching my mother's attention once again.
"Charlotte, I know you were excited to see your grandmother today. I was too. Sometimes these things just happen dear."
"She's been in the hospital for over two months mom."
YOU ARE READING
The Mailman
Short StoryCharlotte and her mother traveled from North Dakota to Oregon upon distraught news. Charlotte's grandmother has become ill and she must find a way to pull through not only this difficult time, but a bloody strong rainy day.
