The Good Deed

Peering out of the living room window, Quinn spots the postman approaching our house. She barks deep and loud. I abandon my iPad, tossing it on the sofa, push my noisy dog into another room and open the front door.

The postman hands me a parcel. A new dress! I smile as I scratch an untidy fingernail signature on the electronic receipt machine.

I’m about to say, “Enjoy the rest of your day!” and head inside, back to my iPad, when the postman asks, “Could I please have a glass of water?” Beads of sweat glisten on the man’s brow. He licks his dry lips. His hopeful eyes meet mine. Will I accept his critical mission?

“Of course!”

With light superhero feet, I fly across the cool tiles to the kitchen, turn the tap, and wait for the sun-boiled water in the pipe to run cold. Then, after filling a large glass almost to the brim, I add a few clinking ice cubes before carrying the life-saving liquid back to the wilting postman.

“It’s far too hot to be without water while you’re delivering the post,” I say as the man drains the glass. “Don’t you have a water bottle?”

The postman tells me he lost his bottle somewhere on his travels, so I ask him if he’d like one of ours. We have hundreds of them. They often tumble out when I open the cupboard door.

“Yes, please.”

With those words, the postman completes the gift. He does another good deed.

In his time of need, on a scorching hot day, the postman accepts my help.