Snow Globes and Hand Grenades by Kevin Killeen Page A

bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.”
    The whole family said the “amen” part together, then did the sign of the cross again and looked up at the food. Mimi wasn’t hungry. She had eaten three Twinkies during the failed letter search and had downed a big glass of milk to calm her nerves.
    â€œNow, what’s all this about the mailman?” Mimi’s dad said, serving himself some apricot chicken and rice. He passed it to Mimi, who wrinkled her nose and took just a little bit.
    â€œI told you, he was robbed,” Mimi’s mom said from her end of the table.
    â€œI never heard of such a thing.”
    â€œDid they have guns, Mom?” Mimi’s little brother asked.
    â€œNo, the mailman said they were boys in underwear and masks.”
    Everyone laughed. Mimi noticed she wasn’t laughing, so she worked up a fake one to blend in.
    â€œWe shouldn’t laugh,” Mimi’s mom said, scolding herself. “The mailman was quite upset. I can’t understand why this would happen on our front lawn.”
    â€œProbably a coincidence,” Mimi said. “Please, pass the rolls.”
    â€œI’m expecting an important piece of mail from work,” Mimi’s dad said chewing away on string beans.
    â€œDon’t worry, our mail got through,” Mimi’s mom said, “I just can’t remember where I put it in all the excitement.”
    Mimi’s sister slugged back some milk and put down her glass with a gasp and a thump. “It’s on the piano. I just saw it.”
    â€œI’ll get it for you,” Mimi said, shooting out of her chair.
    â€œMimi, sit down,” her mom said before Mimi had a chance to get to the living room. “You haven’t touched your dinner. Look at your sister’s plate. She knows how to eat. I’ll get the mail.”
    Mimi sat back down and pushed around her chicken and rice with her fork. She sensed her dad eyeing her, so she put some in her mouth and started chewing.
    â€œHere it is,” Mimi’s mom said, sitting back down. “Let’s see, bills, bills, bills, I don’t see anything from your work, dear.”
    Mimi’s dad put down his fork. “Let me see … please pass me the mail.”
    The mail crossed the table from Mimi’s mom to Mimi’s sister and then to Mimi. Before she handed it to her dad, she could see the edge of the first fake letter from Holy Footsteps—the one saying they had no room for her—sticking out from the bottom of the stack.
    â€œThank you, Mimi,” her dad said, taking the letters. He breathed through his nose and the table was quiet as he rifled through the mail. “That’s what’s wrong with the mail,” he said. “A man works all day downtown, expecting some bit of good news to arrive, maybe a letter from an old friend, and there’s nothing here but intrusions into my wallet.”
    â€œWhat letter are you looking for?” Mimi’s brother asked.
    â€œIt’s my parking decal to go with my promotion. It’s just a little orange sticker, but it represents years of hard work. It means I can park in the front row with the other executives near the door instead of having to hunt all over the parking lot on cold, snowy days trying to find a spot with hundreds of other people.”
    â€œAre you the Number One guy now?” Mimi’s brother asked.
    â€œNo, not the Number One guy, but one of the top guys.” He shook his head and looked at the mail. “You wouldn’t know it from all this blood sucking mail besieging me. Look at this.” He started to open some bills.
    â€œHoney, let’s not open any bills at dinner,” Mimi’s mom said. “It’s unsettling.”
    â€œAll right, no bills, but let me see, let me show you what other kind of bothersome mail descends upon a man after he’s fought downtown all day to come home for some peace with his family.