The Museum of Jeremy’s Summer

And see, there’s Christabel in that big old truck Mrs. Hewitt used to drive, bumping around the curve down that gravel road, pulling up next to the mailbox, and that’s her boy Jeremy hopping out the passenger side door. The kid needs a haircut and his jeans aren’t long enough. Maybe that’s okay where he goes to school, but Barry reckons his class would have shown no mercy if anyone showed up here looking like that. (Who’s he kidding? This is no hypothetical. Barry did show up here looking exactly like that, twenty-whatever years ago.)

Now Jeremy’s standing up on his toes, tugging the mailbox open. Looks like he’s concentrating fiercely. Barry can’t hear the soft metallic chunk as the latch pulls free, but he can imagine it. Jeremy hauls out a sheaf of papers. He slips a long white envelope into the box and flips the flap shut. Then he hops back up into the truck.