"Oh." They drank in silence. "Guess I'll be going," Oliver said.
"Thanks. I'll put a key under the mat when I leave on Friday."
"You're welcome, Oliver. Don't worry about Verdi." Oliver went upstairs
glad to have solved the problem but feeling sorry for Arlen. He was a
decent guy. Usually alone. You'd think he could find someone to be with.
"Arlen will take care of you," he said to Verdi.
Early Friday morning, Oliver retrieved his stash and placed the walnut
box back on the mantel. "So long, Verdi. Don't give Arlen a hard time."
He slid a spare key under the mat and took a last look around. He
hesitated. The box. The box bothered him. What if I don't come back? he
thought. Get hit by a truck, or something.
It seemed stupid, but Oliver was used to following his intuition. He
wrote a note: "Francesca, I made these for you. Oliver." He put the
note, the bronze heart, the lock, and one key inside the box. He put
the other key on his key ring. There was only one Malloy listed in the
telephone book. He wrapped the box with paper cut from two grocery bags
and addressed it to: Francesca Malloy, Cape Elizabeth, Maine. He put
all the stamps he had in a double row across the top.
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