17 NoraNora drove ten miles under the speed limit as she moved the Buick along the two-lane road. She studied the big black numbers on each battered silver mailbox.
At least the highway department had cleared the pavement of snow. No chance it would’ve melted today. Late on this Monday afternoon, the temperature had reached only seven degrees below freezing.
Her heater was running full blast, filling the car with the smell of burned dust. Her torso was warm enough under her red wool sweater and matching parka, but her cheeks and fingers felt like they were icing up.
The next mailbox displayed a number that began with fifty-three hundred.
Nora sighed with relief. She was closing in on the day’s fourth and final interview, only a few minutes late for her three-thirty appointment.
On thi
