Dan is reasonable. He’s always on time and never forgets to bring up the paper when he delivers old Mrs. Hanley’s milk. The last delivery on his route, she invites him in each week to test out each new batch. Dan looks forward to the rest and Mrs. Hanley looks forward to the company.
“We need to make sure it’s not poisoned,” she always says with a wink. She doesn’t care about his skin color or that he’s just the milk man.
They sit at Mrs. Hanley’s shimmering Formica kitchen table, dunking chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, into a tall glass of milk. She entertains him with stories about the grandkids she never sees, but sends crisp five dollars to in a card on their birthdays. He listens, a constant smile across his gentle face. A realistic man, Dan never overstays his welcome, always standing once his glass is empty, only tiny cookie crumbs and white film left behind.
“Thanks for the hospitality, ma’am.” Dan thanks her every time.
“Oh, pooh.” Mrs. Hanley grabs his hand the same way each week, patting it and slipping him the milk payment. Of course, she could never reimburse him for his time.
But today is different. Dan’s wife just ran out him last night, taking their son with her. He stares down a long day of deliveries through a veil of tears. Drying his eye, he throws on his uniform and sets out to please one problem free all-American home after the next. He walks down the streets where he has worked as a milkman for eight years, straining to keep his chin parallel to the ground.
Tears return when he passes Mr. Johnson playing catch in the front yard with his son, Mrs. Johnson planting some geraniums behind them. He wants to quit. He only has one house left and he would quit, if the final delivery weren’t to Mrs. Hanley. So he marches on. He doesn’t have time to complain about life not being fair, he has a responsibility.
After five minutes of knocking, he sees Mrs. Hanley slowly shuffle towards the screen door.
“Mrs. Hanley,” he says, pulling down his cap. “You alright?”
She pulls back the screen door and grabs for his collar, pushing him backwards. The crate of milk slips from his hands and shatters under Mrs. Hanley as she falls to the ground. Dan looks up from rose bed where he landed and sees Mrs. Hanley. Her eyes are open. He crawls toward her but she does not blink. He rushes to check her pulse. This time he lets the tears surge and looks up at the clear blue sky. He has nothing left to do but cry over spilt milk.
