Third Saturday Fiction

Portrait of the author
by Susan C. Price

It doesn’t hurt to ask (a short story)

By W.M. Dean

The letter said they’d shipped it to her three weeks ago. Their records showed it had been delivered. Had she checked with her neighbors? UPS would leave an item next door if you weren’t home.
    She went to the Collinses next door on the left. Young Mrs. Collins worked in an office, but she was home now on maternity leave. It would be her first. She’d learn soon enough what it was like.
    The Collinses’ lawn was deep, deep green. Look at it – you’d never think there was a water shortage. The Collinses were college graduates; they thought they were better than you.
    Her fist trembled knocking on the door. She felt eyes observing her through the peephole.
    Mrs. Collins opened the door. She was really getting big – won’t look so pleased with herself after her third. That smile, so quick and easy. She doesn’t mean it.
    “Mrs. Collins, did you see the UPS come by a couple weeks ago or so?”
    “The UPS? Come by here?”
    Act like you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, why don’t you? “They delivered a package, but I wasn’t home. They probably left it next door.”
    “What was in the package?”
    Boy, you’re nosey. It’s none of your business. “It was…an electric shaver. The package would have been about this big.”
    “I didn’t see a package that size.”
    “Well, did you see one any size, then?”
    “Hey, you don’t have to get huffy.”
    “Sorry. Did you see a package for me at all?”
    “No, I didn’t see your package.”
    “What do you mean, you didn’t see it?” Why do you look so high and mighty?
    “I didn’t see your package. What makes you think it was delivered here?”
    Oh, a little friendlier, huh? “They’ve got the receipt.”
    “Who’s got the receipt?”
    “The company that sent me…the shaver.”
    “Someone signed for it?”
    “No one signed, but someone received it.”
    “It wasn’t me.”
    Yeah, you said so. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Collins.”
    She turned to go.
    “Why don’t you call me Joyce?”
    Sure, and why don’t you invite me to come in? I guess you think that one time, right after you moved in, is enough.
    “Maybe they delivered it somewhere else,” Mrs. Collins said.
    “Yeah, I’ll check around.” Sure as hell hope they didn’t deliver it at the Murkses. Jesus, wouldn’t that be something?
    She went back to her own driveway and stood there for a moment. Even with all the oil spots on it where Ben parked his old pickup, the concrete reflected so much sunlight it hurt her eyes. Lawn’s dying of thirst. Have to get Ben to water it.
    She set her jaw and went on, but passed the Murkses. Boy, their yard is a real mess. When’s Joe Murks going to finish laying that walkway?
    The Murkses’ smaller dog barked once and came toward her, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
    “Git, you!” Ought to be inside the back yard where you belong.
    She knocked at the Garcias, next door to the Murkses. She knew the Garcias. They were okay, even if they were Mexicans.
    “Hi, Maria. You busy?”
    “No, please enter. How does it go with you?”
    Talks funny. But she believed Maria really was glad to see her. It was nice to be genuinely welcome.
    “I’m making café. Would you please to have a cup?”
    “Oh, thank you.” Probably that goddamned instant they drink. How can they drink that stuff? The whole house looks instant. Don’t have anything nice.
    “Uh, Maria, did you see a UPS truck stop by at my place a couple weeks ago?”
    “U-P-S?”
    “United Parcel Service. Squarish, dark brown.” Like a Mexican.
    “No, I did not see it. I am not outside so often.”
    It was stupid to ask Maria. Of course, she would have brought the package over, if it was delivered here. “Oh, Maria, I just remembered. I left a burner on. I’ve got to go.”
    “Oh, you cannot finish your café?”
    “No. I’m sorry, but thanks a lot. See you later.”
    She passed the Murkses again. What a junk pile their front yard was. Joe Murks was always working overtime as a plumber, but he was as lazy as they come. Never saw him doing a thing around home, but drink beer and yell at his kids. The little monsters. Always throwing their ball in your back yard so they’ll have an excuse to ring your doorbell. And going out of their way to make a ruckus. You’d think they knew every time you lay down to take a nap.
    That’s what she felt like now, a nap. Sure enough the package had been delivered to the Murkses. Why didn’t they bring it over? Even the Murkses ought to have the decency.
    She went home and lay down on the couch in the TV room. It smelled like stale popcorn.
    Her kids would get home soon. The Murkses’ kids would get home soon too. Maybe it would be better to go over there now, before the kids got home.
    When Ben got home, he could go over there—
    No, she didn’t want him to find out about the order. Damn! She’d have to do it herself.
    God, those damn Murkses.
    The package couldn’t have been delivered. Even the Murkses would have brought it over, if it had been delivered to them. What reason could they have had not to?
    She rolled over and got up slowly – she wasn’t feeling so hot – and went to look at the letter again.
    No, they said it had been delivered.
    Maybe they were lying. She remembered the consumer show on TV. You couldn’t trust these companies. They tell you it was delivered to get you off their backs. They’ve got your money – what do they care?
    She could call the TV station. But wouldn’t they tell her to go see the Murkses?
    Jesus. Everywhere she turned it was the Murkses.
    The Murkses’ kids, the Murkses’ outdoor parties that went on to all hours, the loud noise they thought was music, the Murkses’ dogs that snuck into your yard to shit.
    Those damn dogs. Once she enticed the smaller dog into her garage – he came right up to her, his tail wagging, panting. He would have let her pet him. She had removed his collar and called the pound. “Stray dog, don’t know whose, the worthless pest.”
    But three days later the dog was back, although it didn’t pee on her lawn again for over a week.
    The trouble was, she was in a box. If the Murkses did receive the package, how could they admit it and hand it over now, two weeks later? They would say they hadn’t seen it, whether they had or hadn’t.
    Might as well forget about it.
    She put on some water to make coffee. Real coffee. Not that stuff Maria drinks. “Café”…Boy, coffee was expensive nowadays. Who could afford to drink it?
    Who was that? Somebody passing out front. She ran to the living room window, which was visible down the hall from the kitchen. Betty Murks. In her tight pants.
    Well, going into the Collinses’. That’s unusual. The Murkses aren’t the Collinses’ type. Too low-class.
    That Betty Murks. Ben was attracted to her. He denied it, but it was true. He never missed the chance to go in the back yard on weekends when she was swimming. He’d stand up on his tiptoes to get a look at her. Even saw him peeking through a knothole once. Has no interest in his own wife. Wouldn’t do any good to ask him…he wouldn’t want to with her. She had to order a vibrator.
    She brought her coffee into the living room and continued to watch the sidewalk. She pulled the curtains almost to so she herself couldn’t be seen.
    Strange for Betty Murks to be visiting Joyce Collins just now. Something very strange going on.
    Children were starting to pass on their way home from school. Walking right through the ivy. The little bastards. She resisted the urge to go out and yell at them. The school ought to do something about these kids. Tramping through your plants. Throwing their school papers and candy wrappers in your yard. She shook her head.
    Betty Murks was coming out of the Collinses’ driveway. Didn’t stay long. Ah – looking this way.
    Now, look at that. Talking to that kid who’s standing in the middle of the ivy. Patting the little bastard on the head. Jesus.
    There she is, looking in here again. Can she see me? She ducked down. When she looked up again, Betty Murks was gone.
    So, Betty Murks did get the package. But she’d deny it. No use asking her about it.
    Wasn’t it against the law? She’d heard that stealing mail was a federal crime. Was this the same thing?
    But getting the police wouldn’t do any good. Just like the time she called them to do something about the Murkses’ loud swimming party. Absolutely nothing. By the time they showed up the party was over anyway. Police didn’t give a damn.
    Her husband wouldn’t do anything about it either. “Oh, let ’em have their fun. They’re not hurting anything.”
    “Not hurting anything? I can’t go to sleep.”
    “It would help if you’d come to bed.”
    He always took their side.
    She finally figured out, about the dog, that he must have tipped the Murkses off. But he denied it. He would never admit it when he knew he was wrong.
    The kids were home. She heard them going around to the side. They weren’t supposed to come in the front door. Just track dirt in.
    Have to forget about the package.
    Had they opened it? My God! Everybody on the street might know—
    She lay down, right there on the living room sofa, which they never used except on occasions.
    She realized how tired she was. Not able to sleep. Didn’t feel like eating half the time. And now this. You oughtn’t to have to endure things like this.
    She heard one of the children step into the room.
    “What’s wrong, Mommy? Are you crying?”
    No, I’m not crying. “Get me a Kleenex, will you?”
    Her daughter was in kindergarten. Children never knew the hell you suffered.
    She sat up and wiped her eyes with the fold of her dress.
    “Here, Mommy.”
    She blew her nose.
    “Jimmy’s mommy is having a party.”
    Betty Murks was always throwing parties. Throwing her money away. No wonder her husband had to work so much overtime.
    “Are you going, Mommy?”
    She felt a cold stone insider her chest. In her ears she could hear the squeak of her pulse. She’d have another migraine tonight.
    She lay back down and closed her eyes. Have to rest. Have to think. Women’s parties. They get together and they’re as cruel as children.
    “Here’s your bed pillow, Mommy.”
    “What?...Oh.” That’s nice. Got my pillow – think of that. “Thank you, Dear.”
    “Can I go to the park, Mommy?”
    Ha! So, that’s it. Trying to soften me up. “No. You know I don’t like you going to the park. It’s not safe. Play in the yard. Or watch television. No, don’t watch television. I don’t want to hear the noise. Go outside. What are your brothers doing?”
    Her daughter left the room.
    They don’t answer. I don’t feel like talking to you now anyway. If only you knew…Wait till you grow up—
    The doorbell rang.
    Damn it. Who can that be? Go away. I don’t want to see anybody.
    She rolled over and stood up and went to the gap in the curtains. Whoever it was was standing too close to the door for her to see.
    She went to the door. “Who is it?”
    “Betty.”
    Betty?...Betty Murks! “What do you—” What does she want?
    She opened the door. Betty Murks held out a brown package.
    “What—” Her cheeks reddened.
    “I’m sorry about this. It was delivered to my house a couple of weeks ago and I simply forgot all about it. Everything’s been so hectic lately. The day this arrived, in fact, Jimmy fell off his bike and hit his head.”
    She’s such a talker. You get her started and you can’t shut her up. She’s so busy, but look how nice she looks. Spends half her time at the beauty parlor.
    “I was afraid he might have a concussion, so I rushed him to the hospital. And I almost got in an accident on the way, I was driving so fast— Oh, well, you don’t care about any of this.”
    “Oh, I do. Uh, do you want to come in?...I have coffee.”
    “Well, if it’s already made. Thanks.”
    “Come on in. And thanks for bringing this over…How— How did you happen to think of it?”
    “I just went over to Joyce’s and she mentioned that you’d been asking about it…It’s kind of long for a shaver, isn’t it?”
    She looked at Betty sharply. Is she making fun of me?
    She turned the package around. Doesn’t look like it’s been opened. “Yes, it is long…How do you like your coffee?”
    “Just black, thanks. Oh, your home looks so clean. Mine is just a mess. Everything in an uproar. Last weekend my kids stuffed up the toilet and flooded the bathroom. It ruined the floor.”
    The Murkses just let their kids run wild. But they don’t seem to mind. Look at her— It’s just a laugh as far as she’s concerned.
    “Was your husband’s birthday lately? Ben’s?”
    “Birthday?”
    “The shaver. It wasn’t a birthday present for Ben?”
    “Oh— No.”
    “Speaking of that…Uh, the reason I was over to Joyce’s…some of us are getting together to give her a shower. Would you like to join us?...Uh, it’s tonight. Pretty short notice. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before.”
    Sure. You never intended to ask me. You don’t care anything about me. You’re just feeling sorry about keeping my package. “…You were just so busy, you—”
    “Well, not exactly. I wasn’t going to ask you. You never seem to— How should I say it? You seem to…want to be left alone. I didn’t think you’d be interested. But there’s no harm in asking, is there? I mean, we are neighbors— Are you okay?”
    “It’s—It’s nothing.” But she took the hankie Betty held out to her.

Copyright © 2014 by W.M. Dean