Loss, a paranormal thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

of embarrassment when he caught her looking.  Could this situation get any more awkward?  "Not tons, but I'd have to put it in the pound category."
    "Oh, I bet it was just junk mail, right?  If it were bills, you would've been here much sooner," he said with a false sense of grave understanding.  She found his amiable nature instantly likeable.
    "I'm glad you understand."
    He was staring into her and it was hard for her to look away.  It was several silent seconds before she realized neither had spoken.
    He spoke to break the silence.  "You're younger than I imagined.  I expected a dowdy grandmotherly-type."
    "Really?"  She wondered what he was talking about, but felt comfortable enough with him to go along for the ride.
    "And your name, Angeline, it sounds like from an earlier time."
    "Actually, it's Angie."
    "Nice to meet you, Angie.  I'm Paul Chandler."
    He extended his hand and as she accepted it, she said, "Yeah, I know.  You're thirty one, live in Grand View, and you like to race up mountains in your free time.  And since you know my name, I'm guessing you're either a stalker, which would make this a very uncomfortable meeting, or the mailman is careless all over town."
    He released her hand and held up an index finger.  "Wait right there."  He stepped inside, still talking, "Angie, I like that name by the way."  He came out with a box in hand he'd taken from a nearby shelf.  "Makes me think of Angels." 
    "Aren't you the corny one?"
    "Guilty as charged.  Here's your mail.  I figured, with the Cat Fancy and the quilting magazines, you'd be pushing a walker if you ever came over.  You know, sometimes reality paints a better picture than the imagination."
    She felt herself blush.
    "If you felt guilty about not coming over sooner, imagine me.  I was going to wait on some aging shut-in to come to my place."
    "Is that really what you think of me?"Her blush washed over her cheeks and higher, until her scalp itself tingled.  She was embarrassed, not only because this stranger had seen into her personal life and labeled her bland and boring, but also that he had kept her mail in a box, unopened, waiting to hand it over to her.
    "I... I threw out your other mail."
    "Think of all the time you saved me."  He patted his pockets as if making sure he had his wallet.  "Listen, can I buy you a coffee?"
    "No."
    "No?"  His smile vanished.
    "No, I'm going to buy you one to pay you back for all your mail I tossed out."
    The day of their whimsical meeting, they also had their first date.  Their bond had been so strong from the beginning that Angie felt like she had always known him.  Even before she started receiving his mail.
    A year later, after Angie accepted Paul's proposal, the first wedding invitation she sent out was to their mailman. 
     
    5.
    "That's a true story?"  Angie pulled away from Paul.  They'd made love once passionately, then dozed for a timeless respite, before Angie crawled on top of him and started again, this time with painstaking slowness.  The sun was beginning to dip below the trees.  She must have dozed again.  It was so easy being in Paul's arms. 
    Paul cleared his throat and wiped sleep drool from his cheek.  She didn't care if he drooled in his sleep.  He was Paul Chandler, and she would soon be his wife.  Nothing else mattered.  "What, Harvey and Betty?  Well, I'm not sure if Harvey drove a Studebaker, but it seems like the kind of car he would've owned.  They were married for fifty-one years before Harvey died three years ago.  Two weeks later, Betty died in her sleep."
    "Did it happen here?"  She felt a sudden chill as she scanned the gutted home, as if the Winchells could see their nakedness and castoff clothes strewn about their former dining room floor.
    "Oh, no, nothing like that.  They retired to live near one of their daughters in Arizona."
    "How did you learn about them?"
    "It was a big story in the Grand View Gazette when the property came on the market.  That