The Christmas List: A Novel

A few minutes after Brey left his office, Linda’s voice came over the speaker. “Mr. Kier, Mr. Allen is here.”

“Thank you, Linda. Send him in,” he said, then added, “and go on home, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I will. I’ve just a few things to finish up before the very generous holiday you just gave us.”

The door opened and Vance Allen stepped hesitatingly into the office, still wearing his overcoat and holding his felt Stetson in his hands.

Kier looked coolly at him from his chair. “Have a seat.”

Vance sat down, growing more anxious by the moment.

“So you have my money?”

Vance grimaced. “I have this.” He set a check on the desk. “Thirty-seven thousand. It’s all I could raise. You can keep it as a bonus. Please, just give me a little more time.”

Kier picked up the check. “Where did you get this?”

“I cashed out our 401K, our IRA, everything we had in savings.”

“That wasn’t wise. The IRS is going to penalize you.”

“I know.”

He set the check on the desk and pushed it forward. “I’m sorry, I can’t take it.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Mr. Kier can’t you show just a little . . .”

“A little what?”

“Compassion.”

Kier took a deep breath. “Compassion, huh. The thing is, if I cut you a break, then what happens? Word gets out that Kier’s gone soft. People stop honoring their commitments. Bedlam.”

“No one needs to know. It’s just between us. I promise.” He leaned forward and pushed the check back. “Please, take the money. I just need a little more time. It’s only a month.”

Kier took the check and tore it up. “I’m sorry, I’d like to take your money. Really I would. Taking money is one of my favorite things in the world. But I can’t.”

Vance dropped his head in his hands.

“. . . but I can give you more time.”

Vance’s head rose. “What?”

“I can give you more time.”

Vance looked at him incredulously. “How much time?”

“How much do you need?”

“Three weeks. Five tops.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?”

“Just like that. Of course, we’ll have to change the terms of our agreement. Adjust the rates a bit.”

“How much is a bit?”

“Well, prime is currently 5.7 percent. I’m thinking, say, 6 percent.”

“But I’m already paying double that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve overcharged you. How about we just let it ride for the next three weeks. Or five.”

Vance’s expression changed from wonder to embarrassment. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

Kier stood, walked around his desk and sat back against its edge. “No, sir. I’m not. Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart.”

Vance looked at him quizzically. Then he asked, “Are you dying?”

Kier laughed. “We’re all dying, aren’t we? But hopefully not soon.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘Merry Christmas.’ Now get home to your family.” He handed him the pieces of the torn check. “Take this with you. The IRS allows you a fourteen-day window to return the money to your accounts without a penalty. I suggest you do so.”

Vance’s eyes watered. “God Bless you, Mr. Kier.”

“He already has. Merry Christmas.”

Vance wiped his eyes, then stood. “It is now.” He thrust out his large hand. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Kier looked at his hand and took it, shaking it firmly. “You’re welcome, my friend. I’m sorry for the worry I put you through.”

“Forgiven.”

After Allen left, Kier shook his head and smiled. He unconsciously reached for his hand sanitizer, then caught himself and put it back without using it. He took the music box Brey had given him and lifted its lid. The sweet, gentle sound of its tines rang through his office. Kier spoke softly the words of the hymn, “Then pealed the bells more loud and sweet, God is not dead nor doth he sleep. The wrong shall fail the right prevail, so peace on earth good will to men.”

Forgiven. Just like that.