Other People's Stories: Volume Two

By Katharine Tonti

In this collection of 16 short stories, everyday moments become the canvas for life's profound truths.

Each tale unveils the beauty and complexity of ordinary individuals as they navigate love and loss, and discover the mysteries hidden within the moments of their extraordinary lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 14, 2025
• ISBN: 9798350985412

Katharine Tonti

Katharine Tonti was born in Molise, Italy, and raised in Cleveland, Ohio. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in English from John Carroll University and a Master of Arts in Theatre from Michigan State University. Katharine is the author of Other People's Stories, Volume One, and Other People's Stories, Volume Two, each of which is a collection of stories for adult readers. She also is the author of the following illustrated children's picture books: Lionel Lincoln Lawrence LePet, The Loudest Child Anyone's Ever Met, and One Rhyme at a Time.

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Cover of Other People's Stories by Katharine Tonti

Other People’s Stories

Volume Two

Katharine Tonti

© 2025 Katharine Tonti

All rights reserved.

While the stories in this book were inspired by real people, this is a book of fiction and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover Design by BookBaby.com

ISBN 979-8-35098-540-5

ISBN eBook 979-8-35098-541-2

Dedication

My grandparents:

Maria Andreano and Lorenzo Fisco

Concetta Fioritto and Eduardo Tonti,

and those who came before them.

***

My third-grade teacher, Ms. Margaret Jones.

***

Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements:

Kristen Manes, for her philanthropic efforts.

Friend and Editor extraordinaire, Heather Gaynor

Draft Reviewers:

Cindy Carty

Doug Johnson

Mary Johnson

Kaeth Shaughnessy

Joanne Suttie

A special note of gratitude to Julia Sharpe who referred to me as an author long before I felt worthy of the title.

Introduction

The past is never dead. It’s not even past.

William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun

***

Each time someone dies, a library burns.

Jandy Nelson, The Sky is Everywhere

***

Table of Contents

1. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

2. Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries

3. Daydream Believer

4. Final Countdown

5. When Robin Comes Bobbin’ Along

6. Thanks For The Memories

7. Footloose

8. Burning Down The House

9. Everything Is A-Okaye

10. Over The River And Through The Woods

11. Hold ‘Em, Fold ‘Em, Walk Away, Run

12. All That And A Bag Of Chips

13. Forever And Ever, Amen

14. Sister/Sister: Part One—WWJD

15. Sister/Sister: Part Two—Mother Knows Best

16. All Hail, Sweet Potato!

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I used to work for the post office.

I drove around collecting mail from those blue metal boxes that sat on the corner of almost every street in town. That’s what it was like back then. If you wanted to wish somebody a happy birthday, or tell them Sorry you’re sick, you had to buy a card, write their address on the envelope, put a stamp on it, then walk to the end of the street and put the letter in the box. It could take a week or more for your mail to get to wherever it was supposed to go.

Those were the days, huh?

Anyway, some higher-up in management decided to get rid of all those mailboxes because no one used them anymore. Not for sending letters, anyway. And if they didn’t need the boxes, they sure didn’t need me driving around town because there was nothing to collect. So, they laid me off. Can you imagine being laid off from the post office? Like they couldn’t have assigned me to some other job. Hell, I would’ve loved working at the front desk. I’d get a real kick out of making people step out of line to fill out forms for their packages and registered mail.

The thing that really pissed me off is that they gave me my layoff notice while I was still on my route. They didn’t even wait for me to get back to the distribution center. I’m filling up a mail pouch on the corner of Hamlen Avenue and East Boulevard, and the next thing I know, my supervisor shows up out of nowhere, hands me a piece of paper, grabs the mailbag, jumps back into his truck, and drives away.

So, I stole the mailbox.

I was so mad, I rammed the damn thing right off its concrete stand. Then I hauled it into the van, drove home, and shoved it in my garage. Well, I didn’t exactly shove it because those things are even heavier than they look. I gotta tell you, I hurt my back so bad doing that stupid stunt, I couldn’t stand straight for a week. Yeah, I tend to do stupid shit when I’m mad.

I drove to the service lot to return the vehicle. It was in bad shape after what I did to it. I told the guy I got hit by a semi while I was on my route. I don’t think he believed me, but I didn’t care. It was their problem now.

No one ever came after me for liberating the box or wrecking that van. They could’ve, you know, but they never did. Just in case, I stashed the mailbox behind this old ‘64 Ford Mustang I bought when I was going through one of my midlife crises. I was going to restore it during the weekends when the weather got nice.

That was a long time ago.

Six months back, I decided it was time for a change. I found a one-bedroom apartment across town. It was just the excuse I needed to get rid of all those projects I started but never finished. That included the Mustang.

It was time to get rid of the mailbox, too.

I didn’t want to put it on the curb on trash day. I thought I could still get arrested for stealing the thing, and I wasn’t sure the trash collectors would take it. I had to find a way to get rid of it myself.

I decided to take it to my old neighborhood where I grew up. There was a church on the corner of the main street with an elementary school next door. Both buildings had been closed and abandoned for years, so what better place to ditch it?

I put the mailbox next to the side door of the church vestibule. And just for the hell of it, I made up a sign and taped it to the front of the box. It said, Better Late Than Never.

Then I drove away.

I never gave that mailbox a second thought.

Last week my buddy, Nick, asked me to help him move some stuff out of his mother’s house. She still lives in that neighborhood, right across the street from the old church. I drove by, and would you believe it, the mailbox was still there. The corners of the sign were torn, it was faded from the sun and warped by the rain, but you could still make out the words.

I had a master key on my keychain. For some reason, I had never gotten rid of it, and now here I was and there it was. I stopped my truck and sat there for a few minutes. Then I got out, walked to the box, put in the key — it took a couple of twists for it to turn — and the door creaked open. I couldn’t believe what I found. There had to be at least a hundred letters sitting in the bottom of that box.

I bent down and picked them up. There were envelopes of every size and color - pink, blue, white, beige…some had flowers printed on the flap…one even had a lipstick smudge on the corner. A few of them were blank. Others only had a name scribbled on the envelope: Lauren…Bill Jr…Jesse…Mom… One was for Michael, wherever you are.

I had a decision to make. Should I leave the letters in the box and pretend I had never seen them, or should I take them with me?

Well, hell, if I didn’t pick them up, who would? Yeah, I know I haven’t worked for the post office in years, but I couldn’t let those letters just sit there. Besides, I’ve never been one to mind my own business. I had to find out who wrote those letters. Did they think somebody would come around and pick up this batch of mail? How did they expect the post office — or anyone else for that