The Christmas List (12 page)

“Who is it?”

“It's me, Linda.” She paused. “You sound different. Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I brought some papers you need to sign.”

“Just sign them yourself. You can forge my signature.”

“You know I don't do that.”

There was a long hesitation before he relented. “The door's unlocked. Let yourself in.”

She pushed open the door and stepped inside, stopping in the foyer to remove her coat. “Where are you?”

“In the living room.”

She gasped when she saw him, “Omigosh . . .” Kier was lying on the couch. His nose had been set and bandaged and he had a bag of frozen peas on his forehead. His braced ankle was elevated on a stack of pillows. Both eyes were blackened. She quickly walked to him.

“What happened?”

“Grimes wasn't all that happy to see me. Or maybe he was. I'm not sure.”

“He hit you for apologizing?”

Kier grimaced. “I didn't get that far.”

“What can I do for you?”

“You can get me another cold pack from the refrigerator.”

Linda lay her coat and the documents on the coffee table in front of the couch and went to the refrigerator, returning a moment later holding a blue cold pack and a bag of succotash. “Do you want the ice pack or the vegetables?”

“I'll try the ice pack.”

She sat down next to him, lifted the bag of peas, then gently laid the ice pack on the bridge of his nose. “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.”

“It was a great idea. One of my best.”

She couldn't tell if he was being facetious. “Maybe you could just phone everyone . . . or write a nice note.”

“I destroyed their lives and you think I should write them a note?”

“It would be safer.”

“I can't argue with that.”

“It's a good thing he didn't have a gun.”

“He didn't need one. He had a dog.”

“Exactly. So you'll write notes?”

“No.”

She stood, shaking her head at his stubbornness. “It's your funeral.”

“No, I've been to my funeral. This isn't so bad.”

“The documents are right there—on the table. There's a drywall contract for the Bunten job and Tim Brey needed you to sign off on the development contract for the Allen property.”

“I'll look at that later.” He adjusted the icepack. “How is Brey?”

Linda grinned. “Like a death row inmate with a commuted execution date. I think he's waiting for the old James Kier to return.”

“Good. It will keep him humble. Did he decorate the place?”

“Decorate?”

“Decorate, for Christmas.”

She smiled. “Yes. It looks nice. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“Oh, Robyn at Le Jardin called this morning. Someone wants to rent the Garden Reception area on New Year's Day. But they want a discount.

“Robyn knows we don't do that.”

“She knows. But in this case she thought she should ask.”

“I pay her not to bother me with these details.”

“It's for your son's wedding.”

Kier lifted the cold pack to look at her. “Jimmy? Why didn't he call me?”

“According to Robyn, the bride and her mother chose the place. She was pretty certain that they didn't know you owned it.”

“But Jimmy does . . .” He lay back down. “He doesn't plan to invite me.”

“You don't know that,” Linda said.

Kier sighed. “Yes, I do.” He closed his eyes. After a moment he said, “When I went to the other James Kier's memorial service I met his son. He said his father was his best friend. Mine doesn't even want me to come to his wedding. How could I have gone so wrong?”

Linda didn't say anything.

“Tell Robyn to just give them the place. The catering, flowers, everything they need.”

“I'll call.” She put her coat back on. “So now what?”

“Back to the list.”

“Who's next?”

“The Wysses.”

“The Wysses,” she said thoughtfully. “Estelle's in her eighties. At least you know she can't beat you up.”

“After what I did, she still might try.”

“Well, keep your guard up this time. I think you can take her.”

He smiled in spite of his pain. “Thanks.”

“I'll put the peas back in the freezer. Would you like me to get you something for dinner?”

“No. I've got instant noodles in the cupboard.”

“Noodles. Great. Call if you need anything else. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She stopped at the edge of the room. “Mr. Kier?”

“Yes?”

“I know your first visit didn't exactly go the way you hoped. But I'm proud of you anyway.”

He looked at her. “At least someone is.”

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

She let herself out. Kier held the icepack closely to his nose.
Why didn't you call me, Jimmy?

Lincoln walked past Kier as he meandered through the steak house, looking for him. Kier called out, “Hey, lawyer.”

Lincoln looked directly at Kier but still didn't recognize him, which was not surprising, since Kier wore a Yankees cap and sunglasses perched gingerly above his bandaged nose.

“You're late.”

He looked at Kier quizzically. “Excuse me?”

“Lincoln, it's me, Kier.”

Lincoln stared at him. “Good heavens, man. What happened to you?”

“Accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“An accidental accident. Quit gawking. You look like a trout.”

Lincoln sat down, still staring at him.

“So what's the difference between a lawyer and a bucket of pond scum?” Kier asked.

“What happened to you?”

“You have to answer first.”

“The bucket.”

Kier frowned. “Try this one. You're stranded on an island with Hitler, a lawyer, and Attila the Hun. You have a gun with only two bullets, what do you do?”

“Shoot the lawyer twice. Enough, already. What did you do? What happened?”

“I knew it would happen someday,” Kier said seriously.

“You knew this would happen?”

“I knew I'd run out of jokes.”

Lincoln drew forward. “Kier, give me a straight answer. What are you up to?”

“What makes you think I'm up to something?”

“You mean besides the fact that you look like Mike Tyson's sparring partner? I've known you a long time, Kier. I can hear the cogs turn in that head of yours.”

“All right, I'll tell you. Just don't freak out on me.” He leaned back. “I had Linda compile a list of people I've hurt. I'm going to see them all before Christmas.”

“Is that what happened? You went to see one of them?”

“Yes.”

“Man, have you lost your mind?”

“No, I want to make things right.”

“As your lawyer, I strenuously advise against this.”

Kier lifted his glass. “Strenuously? That sounds serious.”

“Just look in the mirror, man. You never apologize after a car accident; it creates an expectation of guilt. What if these people decide to sue you? Or worse.”

“What's worse?”

“Break your face.”

“Could happen,” Kier said.

Lincoln shook his head. “You
have
lost it. You've finally lost it.”

“I've lost worse,” Kier said. “So, as a human being as opposed to a lawyer, what do you think of what I'm doing?”

“I think you're out of your freaking mind.”

“No really, Lincoln, don't hold back.”

“Listen, Jim, I know what you're doing. You read all those comments about you on the Internet and you've had a sudden flare-up of conscience. Am I right?”

“Maybe.”

“I know I'm right. The same thing happened to me when Pam left me. But you know what I did?”

“Got drunk for a week?”

“Well, after that. I did nothing. And I'm glad I did. Let me tell you, just ride it out. The guilt will go away. I promise.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” Kier rolled his glass between his hands. “What happens when it doesn't bother me anymore?”

“Then you sleep well.”

“I've hurt people, Lincoln.”

“And people have hurt you. It's a big fat give-and-take. It's what makes the world go round.” As he leaned back his eyes narrowed. “You need to tell me who did this. I can have them taken care of. I have friends in low places.”

“You're not going to do anything. This is nothing compared to what I did to him.”

“Good, so you got a few pokes in.”

“That's not what I meant. This is about restitution, not retribution.”

“No, this is now about retribution. Was it Gifford? Park? Shelton? How about Pinnock or Mitchell? Or that Johnson guy over at Plastiform.”

Kier shook his head. “It's pathetic that it took you all of two seconds to come up with your own list of people who hate me and none of them are on
my
list. It just proves my point.”

“What point?”

“That I deserved this.”

“Listen, Kier, if you're going to make omelets you've got to break some eggs. And you, my friend, are a master chef.”

“Enough of the omelet thing.”

At that moment the server walked up to the table. “You gentlemen ready?”

“Get me a raspberry pilsner,” Lincoln said.

“You betcha. Anything else for you?” she asked Kier.

“I'm fine with Coke.”

“Great. I'll be right back with your drinks.” She walked off.

Lincoln reached down into his attaché. “By the way, I brought the divorce papers. Sara's signed them.” He laid them on the table and Kier looked at his wife's signature.

“Not now, Lincoln.”

“It will take just a few seconds. Just sign where I put the Post-its and it's over.”

“I'm not sure that's what I want.”

“What do you mean?” Lincoln looked at him.

“I'm just not so sure about this anymore. Do you know what hurts the most right now?”

“From the looks of it I'd say your nose.”

“What I did to Sara. She's the one I feel the worst about. I can't get her off my mind. I left her when she needed me the most. What kind of a man does that?”

“People grow apart, Jim. It happens.”

“Growing has nothing to do with it. I've fallen, and I don't know how to get back to her. I don't even know where to begin.”

“Well, at least you won't have to worry about it for long.”

Kier glared at him.

“What?” Lincoln said.

Kier stood, pushed back his chair. “I've got to go. He took out a ten-dollar bill and threw it on the table, then walked away.

“Come on, Kier. What'd I say?”

Standing in front of the mirror, Kier slowly pulled off his bandage. His nose was still swollen, his left eye was puffy and black, his other a dull collage of purple, green, and yellow. For a minute he just looked at himself. “How many people have wanted to do that to you?” He put the bandage back on.

He took his phone out of his pocket. He looked at it for a moment, then pushed speed dial. A woman whose voice he didn't recognize answered. “Kier residence.”

“Is Sara there?”

“I'm sorry, she's not available right now. May I take a message?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Beth, Sara's sister. May I take a message?”

Beth was Sara's only sister and Steve's mother. Kier hoped Steve hadn't told her about how he'd treated him through the divorce's legal wrangling but guessed he had. “This is James.”

“Jim,” she said coolly. “You don't sound like Jim.”

“I've got . . . a cold.”

“What do you want?”

“I
want
to talk to Sara.”