Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker

Chapter Four

My new mission,I decided, was to avoid Julian at all costs. Because the ground wouldn’t be so polite as to open up and swallow me whole, my only option was to pretend I didn’t just tell him I thought he was attractive and to avoid him.

I slunk back to Cherry’s desk. She was on the phone to a customer who never received a parcel. Luckily she had a tracking number so I offered to run down to aisle E-F and find it for her. And then I offered to find something else, and then another parcel, and another, anything to not be near Julian’s office should he come out. And running off to find random parcels for a few hours gave me a good excuse to become familiar with the aisles and what went where.

But mostly to avoid Julian.

Because telling your boss on the second day of your employment that you found him attractive was not a good thing. It was a horrifying thing.

I wasn’t lying though. The man was damn fine, despite all the beige. Behind those glasses were pretty eyes, and his lips were a faint pink colour that looked the right amount of soft.

This was going to end in disaster.

I had to get those stupid quiet-but-kinky professor vibes out of my head.

Soon it was lunch though, and I managed to sit and eat my lunch without speaking while Julian came into the breakroom and my ploy to avoid him went out the window, along with my dignity. I could feel his eyes on me a few times, though I pretended not to notice, concentrating on my phone, pretending to read something. I was still involved in conversation, kind of, but there was no way I could make eye contact with him.

Until he sat down beside me. “How are you finding it?” His deep voice rumbled right through me.

“Oh,” I said, almost jumping out of my seat. I turned my phone over so it was screen-down on the table. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m still liking it, which is a surprise. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s kinda cool.”

“I’m glad.”

I wiped my hands on my thighs. “Yeah, though I think my dad was more surprised than me. That I liked my first day, that is. He thought I was joking, naturally. But I said, no, I actually think I like it. He was a bit stunned but I told him we’d see how I get through day two before he got too excited.”

Julian smiled as he sipped his coffee. “And how’s day two working out for you so far?”

“Pretty good. Cherry’s cool, and I’m trying not to talk too much. Though there was the verbiage diarrhoea in your office earlier. That didn’t go too well. Sorry about that.”

He chuckled and sipped his drink. “Don’t apologise. I’m glad you’re liking it here. You seem to fit in well. I hope you decide to stay.”

Oh.

Okay then.

“We’ll see how day two pans out,” I offered lamely, sure my face was on fire.

And day two panned out okay.

Same with day three. True to my word, I brought in a stamp for Elsa’s birthday card and put it back out for circulation. It made me feel good; honestly the best dollar I’d ever spent.

Day four flew by, productive and fun. I spent the day with Theo, and he was nice. His sense of humour was a bit cringe, but he was actually a really nice guy.

Day five passed in a blur. I spent the morning with Denise, and she was totally cool, but I spent the afternoon at my own desk doing my own records and returns. It was kinda fun.

I was looking forward to the weekend though. Just to chill, maybe hit a bar or go out for dinner or something. I’d have to go grocery shopping again, do some laundry like a grown-up, and maybe even go and see my mum.

I was thinking of all the things I needed to do as I was finishing up on Friday evening, until I got to the door and realised it was raining. Bloody hell. Well, nothing like running to the bus stop in the rain . . .

“Malachi,” a deep voice said.

I jumped. Julian was right behind me. “Oh. Hey.”

“Need a lift somewhere?”

“Nah . . .” I checked my phone. I had five minutes before the bus came. “I’ll just wait for the rain to ease up a bit before I run for the bus.”

“It’s really no problem,” he murmured. “Which direction are you?”

“Newtown.”

“It’s on the way. Come on.”

Some of the night shift crew were arriving, running in with their coats above their heads. Julian said hello to them, then stood aside and opened his umbrella. “My car’s this way.”

Shit.

“Oh, okay.”

His car was parked around the side of the building, and funnily enough, it wasn’t beige. It was a blue mid-sized SUV type thing—I wasn’t good with car brands. I hadn’t expected him to have that kind of car though. I thought he’d have a sensible brown sedan, but no. He walked me to the passenger door and opened it for me as the rain got heavier. I slid into the seat and he quickly shut the door and ran around to the driver’s side. Once he was in and had his umbrella folded away, he smiled. “I do love the rain,” he said.

Wow, small talk. Okay.“Same. Except when I need to get to the bus stop. Thank you for doing this. You certainly didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem.”

He started the car and backed out of his spot. “So, whereabouts in Newtown?”

“Campbell Street. But anywhere on the main drag is fine. It’s all narrow one-way streets, and traffic is shit at this time of day.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, super casual. Nothing seemed to faze him at all.

“You really have your shit together, don’t you?” I asked, not really meaning to say that out loud. “I mean, you can’t be that much older than me, and yet you have your own car, you’re the boss at work. How does one become the boss of the Dead Letter Office?”

“The Mail Recovery Centre?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I still thought the Dead Letter Office sounded cooler, but okay.

“I began in the admin centre of head office as an intern straight out of high school.”

Oh god. “So you know my father?”

He nodded. “Not well, obviously. Though certainly by name and reputation. I’ve met him several times.”

I sighed. “I never found anywhere I really fit in,” I admitted. “I get bored easily, and I’d rather chop and change and be happy than stick to one job I hated just for the stability.”

“You fit in with us okay?” He looked at me and then back to the traffic ahead. The windscreen wipers were working overtime, red brake lights in front of us were smeared, and the grey skies were low.

“I think I do. And I do like the work. It’s interesting and rewarding.”

“Like sending off a birthday card with ten dollars in it from a grandma who forgot the stamp?”

“Exactly.” I shrugged. “Though everyone probably thought I was crazy.”

“No. I didn’t think that. I thought it was sweet.” He shifted in his seat. “I think it shows that you’re in the right job. Maybe you found the place where you fit in.”

I studied his side profile for a second. It was just as sexy as his whole face, front-on. “I hope so. I’m even starting to think that maybe Paul isn’t a trucker slash serial killer.”

Julian laughed; his eyes were warm and he had the cutest laugh lines. And it made my heart feel two sizes too big for my ribs.

“Paul?” He said, smiling. “Highly doubt he’s a serial killer, though I can see maybe why you’d think that.”

“Ah, highly doubt is not ruling out the possibility.”

Julian chuckled. “Paul’s a nice guy. A bit out there, but we’re all a little left of mainstream.”

“Is that why you think I fit in?” I was trying to decide if I should be offended, but he was spot on. I’d never been mainstream. I’d never wanted to be.

Julian nodded without any sense of remorse or apology. “Yes.”

He was so confident, so absolutely sure of himself. Not in a conceited way, but in a sexy way, and the only thing I was absolutely sure of was that it was going to land me in trouble.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked.

He kept his eyes on the road but I noticed there was a slight flinch in his eyes. “Sure.”

“What’s the story behind those letters? In your office. The Milton James letters. You said there was a story behind them and they’ve sat in your office for years, so clearly they mean something.”

“They, uh . . .” And for the first time, he seemed unsure. “They do mean something.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t realise it was personal or private. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m always opening my mouth and just shoving my whole foot in.”

Julian shot me a half-smile. “It’s okay. I was going to say it wasn’t personal or private, but they are. Those letters were kept in a pile long before I began working there. They’d been set aside in the early 1970s, I believe, then lost. Found again in the 2010s in the back of the old storage facility when they moved everything from the old warehouse to the new facility where we are today. And Cheryl, the manager before me, thought they were interesting, so she kept them.”

“What’s in them?”

But Julian couldn’t answer. He had to slow down for pedestrians and pulled into my street. “Which one’s yours?”

“The white building, next block.” It was pelting down now. “I really appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled up the best he could, given all the cars parked on the left side, and I was out of time. “You didn’t tell me what was in the letters.”

A car beeped behind us and Julian’s eyes went from the rear-vision mirror to me. “Next time.”

“Yeah, shit, sorry. Thanks again. And . . .” I grabbed the door handle. “Have a great weekend doing whatever it is you do.”

He smiled. “See you Monday.”

“Yes, you will.”

I threw open the door and climbed out into the rain. By the time I got to the stoop of the entrance to my block of flats and turned around, he was gone.

* * *

Monday.Why did everyone hate Mondays? I’d never been so excited for a Monday in all my life. I even arrived early. Well, the bus got in fifteen minutes early and it was either be early or be late, so I opted for early.

Everyone arrived around the same time, and we sat in the breakroom drinking awful coffee and talking about our weekends.

Paul had cooked some stews and gone hiking in the national park. And with that confession, paired with the army-green coat he was sporting, the serial-killer vibe was back.

Denise had gone to a family gatho at the in-laws. Her girlfriend’s mum’s seventieth birthday apparently, and they were too hungover yesterday to do much of anything.

Theo went to his nephew’s soccer game on Saturday morning, took his dad to Bunnings on Saturday arvo, watched the double Stallone feature on Channel 10 on Saturday night, helped his mum at the grocery store on Sunday, and . . .

Oh my word, he gave every conversation he had, every detail of every goddamn minute. I’d finished my first coffee and was onto my second by the time Theo wrapped up all the inadvertent reasons why he was single and still living with his parents.

“What about you, Cherry?” I asked.

Everyone looked stricken for a second, as though it was an unspoken rule that no one asked Cherry how her weekend went.

Cherry studied me for a second, her gothic expression stoic. “Not much,” she replied. “There was a light exhibition at the Paddington gallery. The artist expresses the space of negative light. It was cool.”

“Oh my god,” I said. “Is that the Blue Door Gallery in Paddington? I love that place. My friend took me to see the charcoal exhibition last year. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Moni explained it was charcoal drawings of the nude male form. She really should have led with that. Anyway, I now have a better appreciation of art.”

Cherry gave a small smile. “I saw that one.”

“What about you, Malachi?” Paul asked. “What did you get up to? Can see you changed your hair.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, subconsciously touching the chunk of hair that was now purple amidst the black. “Needed a colour to go over the blue. Plus it gave me an excuse to wear this.”

My shirt was dark purple, my shoes were lilac. I lifted my foot so they could all see.

“Any hot dates?” Denise asked with a wink at the same time that Julian walked in. He went straight to the kitchenette and proceeded to make himself a coffee. I proceeded to pretend not to check him out.

I sipped my coffee. “No. Unfortunately my standards exceed the availability pool. It’s been that way for a while now.”

“Oh, no app hook-ups like everyone else these days?” Denise said, glancing pointedly at Julian’s back.

What the hell kinda game was she playing?

I shook my head. “Oh no, not for me. I tried the online thing once. It was very misleading. I mean, it wasn’t a dating app exactly, but H&M sent a notification to my phone that said two tops for the price of one, and believe me, that was not the case.”

Julian choked on his first sip of coffee. Denise roared laughing. Paul snorted; Cherry smiled. Theo didn’t get it.

I beamed at them. “The lady at H&M was very confused when I explained and requested a raincheck on the real thing and asked me not to call her again. So I’ll be sticking to finding suitable guys at the normal places. Like coffee shops and libraries. Which is where they hang out, apparently. Not that I would know. I met all my exes in nightclubs or bathroom stalls.”

“Classy,” Denise replied.

“Did you get it?” Theo asked.

Lord, that was a loaded question. I baulked. “Get what?”

“The raincheck,” he replied, so innocent. And naïve. And possibly dim. “They have to honour them, you know. You should check their store policy. If they advertised two tops for the price of one . . .”

I took my cup to the sink and leaned against the counter, half facing Julian who had his cup to his mouth to hide his smirk.

“Oh no, Theo. It was fine,” I replied. “Believe me, one top is more than enough.”

Julian pushed off, taking long strides to the door. “Work time,” he said before he disappeared with his coffee into his office.

Denise laughed again, we washed our cups, and we all began our workday. I was on my own now. At my own desk with my own cage trolley of returns and a huge list of inventory to get through. There was a lot to get done, and even though I did miss helping one of the others, I kinda liked being able to do it on my own too.

It was still fun and rewarding.

I got plenty logged and filed, but I found the correct owners for a good portion of them too. And that felt good. Most were incorrect addresses, but a quick google and a phone call later, the parcels were re-addressed and put back into the system.

I got to open a bunch of parcels, which was fun. It was like opening presents all day long except they don’t belong to you and you don’t get to keep them, but it was the opening part that was fun. It was exciting! Most of the time it was just clothing or shoes, homewares, and a surprising amount of electronics. But sometimes it was personal stuff like photos or jewellery.

“Oh, I got another one,” Cherry said, louder than I’d ever heard her speak.

“Another what?” I asked, standing up to get a better view.

Denise and Paul walked over and peered into the box she was holding.

Cherry lifted out an arm.

A lifelike human arm with a hand.

“It’s an old prosthetic arm, like from the 1950s or something,” Paul said. “Cool.”

Okay, we were definitely back at the creepy serial-killer vibes.

“It’s a left,” Denise noted. “What was the other one you got?”

“A right forearm and a left leg below the knee,” Cherry replied.

“Wait,” I said, horrified. “This is not your first?”

Cherry shook her head. “Nope.”

“Is someone mailing a body in pieces?” I asked, my voice slightly higher than normal. “Because that’s horrifying.”

“On the bright side,” Paul mused, “at least it’s not the head.”

Then, of course, Denise had to give us all her impersonation from the movie Seven with Brad Pitt’s ‘what’s in the box’ scene. She actually did a pretty good job . . .

But then Paul had to take the arm and rub it with his finger. “It puts the lotion on the skin,” he said, and I shuddered from the top of my head right down to my lilac fucking boots.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope,” I mumbled, walking backwards, and I bumped right into Julian.

Of course, I screamed.

It was shrill enough to scare the pigeons off the roof, apparently. Or maybe that was Denise’s loud laughter. I couldn’t be sure.

But Julian grabbed my elbow in a way that wasn’t exactly terrible. “Are you okay?” he asked. That deep voice dripped like fucking honey.

“Oh, yeah,” I said with my hand to my forehead. “Just had nightmares for a year about Buffalo Bill after I watched Silence of the Lambs. Well, actually, the nightmares were more about that human skin suit he was sewing, and to be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about working with a serial killer?”

We both looked over at Paul and he was now raking the prosthetic hand through his hair. “Paul, please give the limb back to Cherry,” Julian said, like it wasn’t totally weird.

Paul grinned like Jame Gumb. “You mean, give her a hand.”

Denise laughed. Cherry rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, Malachi, didn’t mean to scare you. It was just a little ’armless joke,” Paul added. But he did give Cherry back the prosthetic arm and went back to his desk. He collected a parcel and whistled as he disappeared down the aisles.

I realised two things at once. One, Julian still had his hand on my arm, and two, something Cherry said.

“Uh, Cherry, did you say you have another one? As in this is not the first arm you’ve found in the mail?”

Cherry wasn’t even fazed. Not one bit. “Nope. I’ve had a foot, a left arm from the shoulder, and a right arm from the elbow.”

Speaking of elbows . . . the mention of the word must have made Julian realise he was still holding my arm and he let go.

“What the hell is wrong with people?” I asked. “Why are they shipping fake body parts?”

Cherry found a piece of paper in the box. “Here’s an order form with a purchase slip. eBay,” she said like that explained everything. “Sometimes it’s mannequin parts.”

I grimaced. “I do not want to know.”

Julian was watching me, somewhat amused. “Body parts freak you out?”

“It’s more fake body parts, like puppets.” I shuddered.

“Puppets?”

I made a gagging sound. “Honestly think I’d prefer a real arm in the box. Except then Paul would probably take it home for the skin suit he’s making.”

Julian pressed his lips together so he didn’t smile. “Uh, I’m almost one hundred per cent certain he’s not a serial killer.”

I nodded slowly. “Almost certain. So you’re basically saying the chances are unlikely but unequivocally can never be zero. Got it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, as if he was trying to figure something out but then like he remembered where he was, and a switch was flipped. He shook his head a little and straightened up. “So, uh, how’s your quota coming along today??”

Oh, work. Right. “Yeah, pretty good.” I went to my desk and held up my clipboard to show him. “Mostly done.”

“Good,” he said, his eyes warm behind his glasses. “If you have any questions, just ask me.”

He disappeared into his office and I got back to work, disappointed that I didn’t have anything I could knock on his office door and ask him. Anything just to speak to him again, to hear that low baritone voice. I could still feel where he’d touched my arm.

I was kinda bummed that I didn’t get to see him again for the rest of the day. But soon it was knock-off time, so we all grabbed our things, said our round of goodbyes, and as I was walking out, that deep honey voice caught me.

“Need a lift home?”

I turned to find Julian smiling, carrying a messenger bag. Christ, how did that make him cuter?

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “The bus is fine. And by fine, I mean it’s crowded and it smells funky. But at least it’s not raining. The rain takes the smell to a whole new level of gross.”

He laughed. “Come on. Your place is on the way,” he said, walking toward his car, just expecting me to follow.

I wanted to tell him no. I was just about to open my mouth and tell him thanks but no thanks—as much as I wanted to go with him . . . and I really did want to—but then he stopped and turned, a confused frown on his face.

“It’s fine if you’d rather not,” he said.

“No, I just don’t want to be an inconvenience,” I said. “I have this aversion to inconveniencing people, where I’d prefer to do literally anything other than that.”

He checked his watch. “Well, you’d best hurry if you want to catch the . . .”

The bus that just drove past the gate.

He watched it go. “Oh.”

I sighed. “Well, shit. Uh, if the offer still stands for the lift . . .”

He laughed. “Get in.”