“Do the back door Thursday,” Rachel told him.

“Same plate, same bolt.”

“I’ve got a route Thursday.”

“Then you’ve got a route Thursday with this house on it.”

He wrote it on the back of his invoice and left with his box under his arm, and across the street a man in a Buckeyes cap stood at his mailbox a little too long, the way neighbors do when they’ve watched a cruiser in your driveway all afternoon.

Rachel came inside with me.