Silva

Chapter Five

•  Irisa  •

—

"I didn't order anything."

Morning sunlight melts into the deliverywoman's hair. She strains her smile as I refuse to accept the package. It's a delicately wrapped box, and the indentation on the sides means two layers.

"It has your address on it," she declares stiffly.

She says it like it means anything to me. On many occasions where my neighbors would put down the wrong apartment unit to ship their packages to me, and I can only hazard a guess that it's something embarrassing.

"You're Miss Irisa, right?" the woman asks while reading the label.

My fingers clench around the doorknob, skepticism seeping into my joints as the metal creaks.

"It's from Mr. Silva."

The pressure elevates, and the handle outline imprints into my clammy palm as I let go.

"Oh!" I quip with a smile. "I'll take it."

The woman nods firmly and offers me a pen to sign on a sheet. She takes the pen when I'm done and bids me a farewell with a hasty breath.

As she scurries off, the elevator opens to a man pushing a giant box out. They try to maneuver around each other, but the box is too big to avoid contact.

I take the handle and close the door when the man's voice shouts my name. I hope it isn't my package because I did not order anything, and I sure hope it's not another gift from Silva.

"One order for Miss Irisa," he says as the cart smacks onto the ground.

I don't want to go through the same thing again, so I ask: "Is it from Mr. Silva?"

He blinks harshly, stuttering and glancing down at the shipping label. "Yeah. Can you sign here?"

He thrusts a chunky machine to me, and the screen flashes to a page for my signature.

There is no way I can push this massive package into my home without destroying something on the way. The man offers his assistance, and I allow him inside.

The package is taller than me, and the weight makes me wonder what it could be. I read the label and find the category with a quirk of my lips.

"Can you help me assemble it?" I ask the kneeling man while he snaps the restraints off.

His shoulders jerk and dart his eyes to the box. He hesitates, but he relents with a small nod. It didn't take long to get rid of the cardboard, and he offers to take it with him to recycle.

What a nice man.

"Thank you," I say. "Would you like something to drink before you go?"

He waves his hand and scratches the back of his head. "No, thanks. I need to get back."

I don't stop him as he hurries to the door, frantically shoving his foot into his shoe and balancing with a hand on the wall.

"Hey, I hear about what happened," he begins hesitantly, but he decides not to say anything else.

I keep my smile, easing the man's apprehension. He takes his cart and practically lunges down the hall without looking back.

Did he think my home is haunted?

I lock my door and walk to the kitchen table. The other package needs to be opened, and the delicateness isn't going to stop my curiosity. I unravel the gift and cock my head with quietened confusion.