Slices of Life (3 page)

Jenna nodded.

“I’ll cover your phones. Just go.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to clean your puke up off the desk.” Bertie’s grin took any snark out of the comment.

“All right.” Jenna quickly packed up her things. Despite the upset stomach, she’d made a decision and she felt good about it. She may not be the only woman Christine was—or would be—having an affair with, but she could put a stop to her participation in it. She felt she owed Jules a big apology, but it wasn’t her place to reveal Christine’s dalliances. That was between the two partners and Jenna hoped that it wouldn’t be long before all was revealed. It would hurt Jules, that was certain, but in the long run, it would be better for her to know.

Wouldn’t it?

She shook the thought from her head. It was too much for her right now. She just wanted to get out of the office where Christine was. It was suddenly stifling and she had trouble taking in air.

“Go home, drink some fluids, and get some rest,” Bertie was saying as Jenna grabbed her jacket and slung her shoulder bag over her arm.

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks, Bertie.”

“No problem.” The phone rang. “I’ve got it. Go.”

Jenna headed for the door.

“Good afternoon, Davis and Fichter. How may I help you?” Bertie said behind her. “Oh, hello, Mr. Conrad…”

On her way past the chairs in the waiting area, Jenna grabbed a copy of the day’s paper.

The last person who’d read it left the Help Wanted section on top.

Mary Jane Harter wasn’t quite certain of the name of the tune stuck in her head, but she whistled it anyway as she pulled her van around and behind the little strip mall. Four deliveries here, one across the street, business pick-ups, and then she’d start on her residential deliveries, which she always did last.

MJ— nobody called her by her given name other than her mother and then only when she was angry—loved her job. It was hard work, both physically and mentally, especially around the holiday season, but she loved the challenge. It took organization, timing, muscle, and people skills didn’t hurt. She liked that she did her job alone, but got to chat a little bit with dozens of different people a day.

The early fall afternoon was gorgeous. Sunny, not too hot, not too cool. MJ loaded up her wheeled cart, deciding she had the time to walk the deliveries rather than drive from loading dock to loading dock. The strip mall was small enough and her load wasn’t huge; the fresh air felt good as it filled her lungs.

“Hey, MJ.” The young man at the Verizon store was cute, in a nerdy kind of way. His skinny body clothed in dress slacks, an oxford, and a tie, gave him the look of a boy trying on his dad’s work clothes.

“Hi, Danny. How’s school?” MJ handed over her computer board. “Just three for you today.”

Danny took the board and signed his name as he said, “School is…hard.”

“I think that’s the feeling of many a college freshman. You hang in there. It’s good for you. It’ll be worth it.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Take it from somebody who didn’t go to college, but wishes she had. You work hard and keep the faith.”

“I will. Thanks, MJ.”

Still whistling the nameless tune, MJ moved on down the line to the next shop, a General Nutrition Center. GNC always made her pause and wonder at all the powders, pills, supplements, and energy food. It also made her wonder if she should look more carefully at some of it.

She loved her job, it was true, but she was fast approaching middle age and, much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t going to be able to haul fifty-pound packages up and down stairs for all that much longer. She enjoyed it now, but it was becoming a common occurrence to end up icing her knee or soaking in a hot, epsom-salt bath at the end of the day to ease the ache in her back. She worked out regularly with the free weights in her basement, and she considered herself a stronger-than-average woman. Hell, she had to be to compete with the men in her line of work. But age wasn’t something she could fight, and trying not to think about it didn’t change anything.

Of course, once she began thinking about aging, her single status came screeching to the forefront. She’d always been perfectly happy being on her own, hooking up with an occasional woman here and there, having some fun, some recreational sex, but nothing permanent. No, she was too independent, too set in her ways to settle down. Besides, what good was it to have somebody you called family? Hers had taught her how unreliable they could be when they tossed her out at age seventeen because she told them about her sexuality. Her mother had since come around, and they now had occasional visits, lunches or dinners together a couple of times a month, but she had not spoken a word to her father in nearly thirty years. As far as he was concerned, she’d given him the worst possible news she could, and she no longer existed in his eyes.

At first, MJ was totally crushed by her father’s condemnation of her. He was a church-going, African-American man who’d worked hard his whole life, and for him to consider his only daughter a blight on his otherwise spotless record hurt her like nothing MJ could ever imagine. She tried for weeks to redeem herself, going so far as to contemplate recanting, denying her true self in order to win back his love. She even made the mistake of trying to reason with him, telling him she didn’t understand how he could be part of a race that was, and still is, continually discriminated against, but then turn around and discriminate against another group.

That argument only enraged him, and he gave her a twenty-minute-long diatribe about how she could hide her sexuality, but he couldn’t hide his skin color and
how dare she
compare the two. MJ was utterly confused by his logic. So, because she could hide her true self, it was okay for people to discriminate against her, but because he couldn’t hide his, it wasn’t? That made no sense to her and she told him so…which turned out to be a mistake because it earned her nothing from him but a crack in the mouth. Certainly not the first one, but most definitely the last.

It was her mother who brought her back to her senses. She could still hear her words, spoken in hushed tones, but filled with such passion:
Don’t you let him dictate who you are, MJ. You’re a good girl and you’re who God made you to be. Your father doesn’t get to judge what’s right and wrong, he just thinks he does. If he wants to be a fool, you let him be a fool. He’ll regret it one day.

MJ was still waiting for “one day,” but it hadn’t arrived yet.

So she took her mother’s advice and went on with her life, dating women, taking them home, moving on to the next. She carefully—and somewhat unconsciously, she now realized—made sure not to bring anybody else into her life who might end up tossing her aside like old sneakers the way her father had. But now, as she approached fifty, MJ was acutely aware of the problem created by insulating herself from the pain others might cause: an unrelenting loneliness.

It bothered her that she was lonely.

It bothered her a lot.

And that thought brought an image of Jenna Buckner to her mind.

MJ didn’t make it a habit of fantasizing about her clientele. Truth be told, a lot of them looked at her as beneath them. After all, she was a simple UPS delivery person, a necessity, like a janitor or a mailman. She had customers who barely made eye contact with her when she dropped off a package. But Jenna…she was sweet and kind. And friendly. And very,
very
cute. MJ often rolled around in her head the idea of asking her out. She just wasn’t sure how she should go about it. And what if she said no? God, what if she wasn’t even gay? Though she did ping MJ’s gaydar in a pretty significant way. Deliveries to Davis & Fichter would become unendingly awkward. Maybe she was better off just staying single. Maybe.

Shaking off the melancholy that threatened to overtake her thoughts, she tried to focus on the rest of her day and got in and out of GNC without asking the clerk what sorts of products he’d recommend for an aging, physically active person whose job involved lots of lifting.

The weather stayed blissful and MJ was able to relax and do her job. It was a quality she really liked about herself: the ability to compartmentalize her feelings, put the annoying or distracting ones on a shelf for later, and get on with her work. Once she’d delivered all the business packages, she did her business pick-ups and then focused on her residential deliveries.

The customers who received deliveries at home were an entirely different breed than the offices she delivered to between nine and five. Some were people who worked from home. Some were stay-at-home moms or dads who purchased something online or off the television. Some items were gifts. Some were necessities. But regardless, the recipients were almost always friendlier, more relaxed, and less frazzled than the people she saw during business hours. Residential deliveries were MJ’s favorites.

She hit three in a row that were people who “telecommuted.” This was a fairly new prospect to MJ. Sort of like working from home, yet not for yourself. These people worked for actual businesses, got deliveries from the main office, but did whatever they did from the comfort of their own homes, often unshowered and in their pajamas. MJ knew this was incredibly appealing to a lot of people, but she didn’t think she could do it. She liked to get out, to see the world. She needed to commune with people during her day. Sitting home alone for eight hours nonstop would drive her insane.

Kevin Herkle was a big guy, both in height and in girth. He answered the door, as he always did, wearing sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt. Today’s shirt had an Adidas logo so faded it was almost impossible to read. He blinked in the sunlight like a man emerging from a darkened cave.

“Hey, MJ. Sun’s out,” he said needlessly.

“Sure is,” MJ replied, handing over his package.

“Wow. Nice day.”

“You need a window office, Kevin.”

“Too distracting,” he said as he signed. “If I can see outside, I’ll want to
be
outside. Can’t work outside. It’s better not to look.”

“Understood. Hang in there.”

“You too.”

Her knocks going unanswered, she left two packages at two different side doors, and continued to whistle the same unnamable tune as she maneuvered her van through the narrow streets of the neighborhood. People out working in their yards waved to her, and she thought again how much she enjoyed her job. Oh, sure, there were company issues and dumb rules and too much politics involved as far as she was concerned. But in the grand scheme of things, she had a job she didn’t hate, she had good benefits, and she made a good buck. All in all, not a bad deal.

MJ pulled up at the curb in front of 217 Magnolia and cut the ignition. It was a large, classy house with impeccable landscaping and lush green grass. Sometimes, MJ liked to play little guessing games, trying to see if she could figure out the story of the recipient of her deliveries. For example, Sarah Holt received deliveries on a fairly regular basis and was almost always home to sign for them. The shippers covered a wide range of products and subjects: Zappos, Amazon, LL Bean, JC Penney, Gap for Kids. Given the smattering of toys in the driveway and the fact that she tended to answer the door with a child of no more than two on her hip, MJ’s obvious conclusion was that Sarah Holt was a stay-at-home mom.

MJ rang the doorbell and edited her conclusion when the door was opened.

“Hi there, MJ.”

Sarah Holt was a
very hot
, stay-at-home mom.

Blonde curls pulled back into a ponytail, she wore simple cutoff shorts that accentuated legs that were long and shapely and seemed too perfect to even be real. Her long-sleeve T-shirt was femininely cut and gym-class gray, and she had the sleeves pulled up to mid-forearm. MJ had to consciously keep her eyes focused straight ahead so she wouldn’t be tempted to follow the dip in the V-neck. The toddler was perched on her hip like an accessory. She was quiet today with her head on Sarah’s shoulder, her thumb in her mouth, and her big blue eyes that were carbon copies of Sarah’s staring unblinkingly at MJ.

“Got three for you today, Mrs. Holt,” MJ said politely as she handed over the computer for a signature and winked at the baby.

Sarah stopped with the pen in mid-air. “I’m sorry. What did you call me?”

MJ laughed. “Sarah. I meant to say Sarah.”

“That’s what I thought.” Over her shoulder, she called out, “Rebecca, would you grab a bottle of water out of the fridge for MJ?”

“You don’t have to do that,” MJ protested.

“Unless you’d rather have a beer…” Sarah blinked those big blue eyes in mock innocence and MJ couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Much as I’d love to, it’s probably not a good idea.”

A sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Water it is, then.”

“Ask and you shall receive.” Rebecca Martin, tall and willowy with chestnut hair and a dimpled chin, handed a bottle over to MJ. She was slightly taller than Sarah and lived four houses down. MJ had met her on several occasions when she had something to deliver. She seemed to spend a lot of time at Sarah’s, and MJ predicted she was a stay-at-home mom too. MJ wondered if their kids were the same ages, if they were best friends, what their connection might be.

“What’d you get?” Rebecca asked peering over Sarah’s shoulder at the boxes.

“Nothing exciting, I’m afraid. A winter coat for Jeremy—the sleeves on his old one don’t even cover his wrists anymore. God, he’s growing like a weed—some sneakers for Jessie.”

“What’s in the third box?”

“Oh. It’s, um, just some books.” An off-hand shrug.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Bo-ring! Anything livelier on that truck of yours, MJ?”

“It’s a pretty tame load today, sorry to say.”

“Ugh! Damn suburbs.” She waved a hand dismissively and went back into the house and out of sight.

Sarah shook her head with a grin and handed MJ her computer board. “Almost done?”

“Maybe a dozen more stops. Fifteen. Not many.”

“Nice day for it.”