Packing Heat

by Zuri Day

  He walked over to her. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, no complaints.” She cleared the machine before looking at him, her expression not quite angry but not quite welcoming either. “While it’s slow, I was going through a couple different postage scenarios. My last customer used media mail. I’d never done that before.”

  “Pat get you through it all right?”

  “Yes, she’s a great instructor.”

  “Pat is good people, period.”

  “What’d you say about my mama?” Said with mock attitude as Pat winked at her customer and gave her a receipt.

  “No one would dream of talking about your mama,” Doug said with a laugh. “Or you either.”

  “That’s because you know better.” She placed the customer’s Priority Mail package into a bin, walked to Doug, and slung an arm around his waist. “How are you today?”

  “Always better after seeing you, Miss Pat.”

  “I’ve told you about that ‘Miss’ crap. Don’t matter that I’m old enough to be your mama. I’m not your mama. Okay?”

  “Okay, Miss Pat.”

  He dodged her swatting hands and walked over to straighten the Express and Priority mailers on display in disarray.

  “I was going to do that, Doug,” Pat said.

  “No worries. They’re always like this before the day is over.”

  “How are Willie and Liz doing? I haven’t seen them since the block party.”

  “They’re good.”

  “Seems like that 4th of July celebration was just yesterday and here it is October. Is there a block party for Halloween, too?”

  “Anytime someone fires up a grill on the block there’s likely to be a party. But a big one like what you attended only happens once a year.”

  “The people in that neighborhood sure know how to party. I had so much fun. Jan, you’ll have to join us next year.”

  “Is this a post office event?”

  Pat shook her head. “It’s over in Inglewood, where Doug’s parents live. They close off the streets, bring out the bands, and have every type of food and drink you can imagine.”

  “I’m not much of a partier, but it sounds fun.”

  “Not a partier?” Pat looked from Jan to Doug and back. “What person your age doesn’t enjoy a good party or two?”

  “None that I know personally,” Doug answered. “But there are other activities to enjoy: cards, dominoes, board games, or rolling with my crew.” Doug simulated being on a motorcycle and gunning the engine. He didn’t miss the frown that flitted across Jan’s face, or how she turned away and disengaged from the conversation.

  Pat seemed not to notice. “I’m still waiting on my ride.”

  “I rode her in today.”

  “You did? Well, I’m going home at seven, so that won’t work.”

  “What are you doing this weekend? I’ll come over and let you ride with me and the gang. We’re going to San Diego.”

  “I’m not going to have all your girlfriends mad at me. Just take me around the block tomorrow on my lunch break.”

  “You got it.”

  “Don’t forget and drive your SUV.”

  Doug headed toward the back as he answered, “I won’t.”

  Pat watched him leave, then spoke. “Jan.”

  “Yes, Pat?”

  “Are you married?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Do you want to be?”

  “Sure, eventually, if I find the right man.”

  “Then look no further than Douglas Carter. Not only is he easy on the eyes, but he’s hardworking, respectful, comes from a good family. If I were twenty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money. Because that’s a good man right there.”

  4

  Jan unlocked the door to the home she shared with her mom and brother and quietly stepped inside. The house was dark. This was not unusual. Her mother’s workday began early and ran late. The two of them often passed like ships in the night. But her brother was usually there and still awake. She crossed the living room to the hallway, stopped, and knocked on his bedroom door.

  “Who is it?”

  Jan made a face. “Who are you expecting?”

  “Beyoncé.”

  Her frown disappeared and a laugh escaped. “Are you decent?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a boring way to live.”

  She opened the door to go inside but came to a halt after just one step. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I bought a TV instead of the computer you suggested. But it was my money. So don’t start.”

  “But I thought we’d . . . never mind.” She continued into the room and over to a newly mounted flat-screen TV, tamping down her annoyance with the half-brother twelve years her junior. Having left home by the time he was seven, they’d never gotten close. Being two totally different personalities didn’t help either. But he was family and she loved him to life. Over the past two years, their relationship had strengthened. Wanting to keep it that way, she kept the irritation she was feeling to herself. Playing video games was one of the few pleasures her brother enjoyed. So what she felt an irresponsible purchase may for him have been a necessity. She wouldn’t judge. Much.

  “It’s big.”

  “Just forty-two inches. I started to get the fifty but decided that for this room this one would do.”

  “High-def, too, huh? It does make the picture pop.” She continued to look around. “DVD player, Xbox . . . coming in here is probably the only way I’ll see you from now on.”

  Lionel focused on the controller he held, his whole body engaged in defeating the enemy in the video game. “You’re probably right.”

  “Did Mom take you to get it on her lunch break?”

  He shook his head. “Naw, Bernard drove me over. Then helped me hook everything up.”

  Again Jan kept her mouth shut. Bernard was the one peer who’d stayed close to Lionel after what happened. The two had grown up together. He wasn’t a bad kid, just lazy, unmotivated, and, like her brother, spent too many hours watching television and playing video games. She’d seen and read about many people who became confined to a wheelchair and still lived active, fulfilling, successful lives. She wanted Lionel to be one of them. That was unlikely to happen with Bernard around.

  History had shown that it wouldn’t happen with her nagging either. More than once Lionel had reminded her that he already had a mother and her name wasn’t Janice but Rochelle. He was right. People had tried to discourage her dream of a singing career. She’d not listened either. The closer they became, the more Jan realized that she and her baby brother were more alike than not.

  She sat on his bed. “What are you playing?”

  Lionel’s whole body bobbed and weaved as he directed shooters to take out the designated enemy. “Why? You wouldn’t know anyway.” His thumbs pushed red and blue buttons in rapid succession, which led to shots, explosions, and advancement to a new level. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  In the few seconds where the score and next level were shown, Lionel offered, “It’s called Battlefield Hardline. Has several modes. I’m in Heist, where criminals are trying to blow up this vault. No, sucker!” Lionel screamed at the screen and used his whole upper body to help the police officer catch the thief. “See what just almost happened? The police figure out whose thieving and prevent their escape.”

  Requiring the use of analytical skills, quick judgment, and decisions. Maybe there’s a career path in video gaming. Jan told her mind to shut up.

  “Are you any good?” Lionel gave her a snort and a side eye. Jan’s phone rang. She stood and squeezed her brother’s shoulder as she passed him. “Good night, Lionel.”

  “Night, sis.”

  After a shower and bite to eat, Jan fired up her Kindle. Aside from singing, reading had been her only other passion. When Terry McMillan’s Waiting to Exhale came out, she entertained the thought of becoming a writer. But after several abysmal short stories and one try at an outline, she decid
ed to stay in her lane and keep music at the forefront of her dreams.

  She’d heard Destiny’s Captive was a good book, as was anything written by historical romance writer Beverly Jenkins. She’d downloaded it months ago, along with several other novels, but work had put a serious crimp in her reading schedule. She settled back against the pillows but try as she might, Jan just couldn’t get into the story. The hero was her kind of man—successful, take-charge, good-looking—but her mind kept drifting back to her supervisor from the post office. Doug Carter, the good man, according to Pat.

  Why am I thinking of him? Aside from their morning encounter and his visit to the front midafternoon, she hadn’t much seen him. That was probably a good thing. After calming down she’d realized that her reaction to his motorcycle antics may have been over the top. What he did was stupid, immature, and irresponsible. He’d frightened her and made her angry. But she hadn’t been harmed. Unless one counted the way her stomach and a few lower muscles clenched when he pulled off his helmet and looked at her the way he did, his big brown eyes full of apology save for a glint of mischief that still remained even after “I’m sorry.” Hadn’t she heard he was thirty years old? Too grown to be playing like that.

  After going over the same page three times, she gave up reading and turned out the light. If she got up in time, she could put on something in the slow cooker and save her mom from having to prepare a meal later. From early morning till late at night, Rochelle Baker went nonstop. Jan worried about her. There’d been no insurance money, so to handle Lionel’s steep medical bill and ongoing treatment her mother had added an evening part-time data entry job to her full-time work as a secretary. Jan had moved back home and taken a steady job to help lighten the load. To Jan, family was everything, so she did what she had to do without complaint. But the change in lifestyle meant she hadn’t been able to pursue her singing career the way she once had—staying up till dawn and sleeping in the next day. Getting by on Ramen noodles and beans if the pennies got low. That’s why the contest meant so much. Hers wasn’t the only life that needed changing.

  On Monday night, she’d seen Starr paying special attention to a young girl with a nice enough voice, but one that was no match for Jan’s four-octave pipes. What she lacked in talent she made up in looks: long weave, pretty face, store-bought boobs, five-inch heels, skintight mini, and maybe weighing a buck-o-five soaking wet. Society’s version of beautiful to a T. Jan didn’t look like that. She was thick and curvy and au natural. And could sing all of them youngins under the table. At the open mike she’d gotten the bigger applause and a pass through to the next week. But buck-o-five had gotten selected for the TV show. This forced Jan to acknowledge a painful truth. A shot at the reality TV show was the closest she’d been to a breakout career moment in a decade, and maybe a last chance to grab the brass ring. Time, and slots, were running out.

  The next afternoon she arrived to work early, checking e-mails as she sat in her car. Her plan was to catch Doug somewhere away from the nosy crew, especially Melissa, and apologize. There was a very good reason for the way she’d reacted. But he didn’t know that. Plus, he was her supervisor and she needed this job. He was owed an apology.

  Ten minutes until time for them to clock in, Doug arrived. She heard him first, or his motorcycle rather, revving at high throttle before taking the curb off Normandie Avenue at an unsafe speed, his bike becoming airborne and fairly sailing into the lot. As soon as it landed, he turned into an open space, effortlessly guiding the sleek motorcycle between two cars. She shook her head, his fool moves making her angry again and second-guessing whether it was an apology that he needed or a whack of common sense upside his head.

  Quickly gathering her things, she got out of her car and locked it. Long, angry strides quickly lessened the distance between them. Particles of dust were still flying as she neared him. She stopped, waving them away from her face and pushing up her sunglasses to further shield her eyes.

  He took off his helmet, smiling as he approached her, his expression one she imagined saved him from whoopings as a child. “You don’t even have to say it. Going too fast. Am I in trouble again?”

  She tried to remain angry, but his look of feigned contrition quickly dissipated that feeling, being quickly replaced by an emotion she’d rather not feel. “I was waiting on you,” she said without answering his question. “I needed to have a chance to talk before going inside.”

  “Oh? About what?”

  “Before watching your reckless entry into this parking lot, it was to apologize for yesterday’s outburst. But what I just saw underscores everything I said. Driving the way you do is dangerous and irresponsible. To do so is jeopardizing more lives than your own.”

  “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I know how to handle a bike.”

  “There are probably plenty of graves filled with men who said the same. Or the victims of such foolishness who didn’t survive.” Jan didn’t want to get angry. Too late. She already was. “You know what? Forget I said anything. I’ll just search the nearby area and find a safer place to park.”

  She turned to hurriedly put distance between them. But, once again, her legs were no match for his long, sure strides. He caught up quickly and stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Jan. Wait.” She stopped but didn’t look at him. “Look, I’m not trying to upset you. But I’ve done that curb trick a hundred times, maybe a thousand. I know it looks scary, but it’s really easy.”

  “My br—” She caught herself, clenched her jaw against a rising tide of emotions. “There’s a reason why I feel as I do. But that’s no reason to have overreacted, as I did yesterday, or be disrespectful as I was just now. You’re my supervisor, and a grown man. I don’t want to create a hostile work environment. So . . .” The sentence hung unfinished as she battled between what else to say or whether to say more at all. “So for those reasons, I apologize.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away.

  Doug stood unmoving, absorbing what she’d said, pondering what she hadn’t. He watched her walk toward the employee entrance, adjusting her sunglasses and appearing to wipe her eyes against the dust he’d stirred up with his bike. At least he hoped that’s what it was. She couldn’t be crying. Could she? He’d been known to bring a woman to tears before, but not for being unhappy. His strides were slow as he walked to the door, trying to figure out the woman beneath Jan’s cool, calm exterior. And just like that, it became his mission. To unlock the mystery of Jan Baker. For professional reasons, he told himself, and for the Carter name. Not to become involved romantically or anything, her being a coworker and all. But he couldn’t have a woman thinking he was a jerk, especially one who looked the way she did—expression sexy even in anger; nice, round booty filling out those slacks. No, he’d have to make sure Jan knew the truth. That he was the perfect gentleman who Willie Carter raised.

  5

  Turns out the schedule provided the perfect opportunity for Doug’s “good man glow” to shine. Since it continued to be a slow week at the counter and Joey was home with a sick kid, he pulled Jan to the back to train on sorting mail. After watching him run through the process a few times, she felt ready to go on her own.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so. I can always come find you if I have a question.”

  “I’m going to be here working, too, so you won’t have far to look.”

  “Oh, okay. Then I’m definitely ready for my first solo batch.”

  He placed a container in front of her, took another two for himself, and they both got to work. For the first few minutes both focused on sorting the mail in front of them. Occasionally, Doug would stop what he was doing and check Jan’s progress.

  “You’re a fast learner.”

  Jan’s attention remained focused on work. “This isn’t that complicated.”

  “True, but you’d be surprised how long it takes some people to get the hang of it. But you picked it right up. Your administrative background ma
y be a reason.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Doug reached for another large batch of mail. “What made you want to work here, or rather, for the post office?”

  She shrugged and continued processing mail. “Different reasons,” she finally answered, reaching for a bottle of water she’d brought in earlier and opening it to take a sip. “Money, mainly. And benefits. Although my last job ran indefinitely it was classified as a temp job, which meant no health insurance or holiday pay.”

  Doug nodded. There were other questions he wanted to ask, but Joey had taken the day off and the room had gotten quiet, which meant the others, especially Melissa, were listening to every word. He got the feeling that Jan was a private person who’d come in and do a job, not make friends. This was her first week here. He thought time might prove otherwise. Of course, he’d also thought Melissa a woman who wouldn’t put their personal business in the workplace and ended up being as wrong as O. J. Simpson selling knives at the mall. So he’d wait for time to tell.

  They continued working, quietly, side by side. The subtle floral fragrance that wafted his way when she moved was a constant reminder of Jan’s nearness, and of her serious nature that was somehow sexy as hell. He made a few more attempts at small talk. It was awkward, stilted, her answers courteous but painfully brief. With Joey absent, Pat up front, and Melissa trying to eavesdrop, the back room was unusually quiet. Since Doug couldn’t remember the last time Joey had taken a day off, his friend’s absence made one thing clear. For as much as his talking got on everyone’s nerves at one time or another, the constant jibber jabber made the time fly. Finishing the mail from the bin seemed to take four hours. But when he looked at the clock, only two and a half had gone by.

  “How are you coming with that stack?”

  Jan rubbed her neck as she looked over. “Almost done with what’s here. But there’s more, right?”

  “Oh, yes. There’s something else I need to show you first.” He turned and motioned for Jan to follow him. Her expression turned questioning, but she followed him in silence. They kept walking, past the lockers, the offices, break room, all the way to the door that led outside. He turned just as Jan’s mouth began to open, and quieted what he assumed an oncoming protest or question with a finger to his lips.