The Christmas List: A Novel

What was once a daily occurrence now felt remarkably unnatural. Kier hadn’t been home, to Sara’s home, for seven months. The last time he’d been there they hadn’t even spoken. He had grabbed the last few boxes of his belongings and walked out as she silently watched him go. He remembered seeing her furtively brush a tear from her cheek. Now he wished they had said something to each other, even if she had only yelled at him. It would have been better than nothing.

It was twilight and the old neighborhood was lit by Victorian-style street lamps, wrapped with strands of twinkling white lights. The bases of many of the lamps were covered in snowbanks as tall as picket fences. In an unspoken annual competition, homes on the street were brightly lit with elaborately designed Christmas decorations.

He was glad to see that there was no car in the driveway; Beth would certainly try to keep him away. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door. He was about to let himself in but stopped; he felt like a door-to-door salesman approaching a house with a No Solicitors sign. Instead he rang the doorbell. It was a few minutes before Sara opened the door; it was dark inside but he could still see her clearly enough to read the surprise on her face, as well as her weariness. She just stared at him. Kier was the first to speak. “Can we talk?”

“No.” She began to shut the door but he put his hand out and stopped it.

“Sara, please.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

“There is no us, Jim. Please let go of my door.” She tried to push the door closed but wasn’t strong enough.

“I need to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Why, because I’m dying? So you can divorce me with a clear conscience?”

“No. Because I love you.”

Sara began crying. “Don’t say that. You can’t say that now.”

“It’s true.”

“Why did you go to my doctor? My life is none of your business.”

“I had to know how you really were.”

“My death isn’t any of your business either.”

Kier couldn’t answer.

“So now you know,” she said, her voice trembling. “Please let go of my door.” He took his hand away. She pushed the door shut and dead-bolted it.

He shouted through the door. “Sara, I know you love me.”

“No, I don’t,” she shouted back.

“I saw what you wrote next to my obituary.”

Sara didn’t reply.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’re the only woman who has ever loved me. I was a fool to leave you.”

Suddenly, the deadbolt slid and the door opened. Sara’s expression was fierce. “I loved you, Jim. I loved you with all my heart. And you left me. You left me when I needed you the most. It’s too late; it’s too late. You can’t come back.”

She pushed the door shut again and the deadbolt locked. A door across the street opened; someone looked out, then shut the door again. Kier began to cry. “I want to come home, Sara. I know I don’t deserve you. I know I can’t fix things. But I would if I could. I would give anything to have you back.” He pressed his forehead against the door. “I’m so sorry, Sara. I’m so sorry.”

Kier fell to his knees. “I’m so sorry.” After a few minutes he stood and walked back to his car. Inside the house Sara slumped down against the door and cried.