Delivery

By Fallton Havenstonne

Mills wiped his mouth with the napkin, satisfied with the homecooked meal. His eye caught the painting on the wall of the elk—the one he gave to his grandfather a few years back.

“That was great, Grandpa.”

“The chicken pot pie is Linda’s special recipe,” his grandfather remarked. “She baked it this morning before she left to help set up today’s service at church.”

Mills nodded. He adjusted his tie and then glanced at the grandfather clock. It was half past noon. It took him two hours this morning to drive to his grandparents’ house in Richmond. Soon, he’d leave to visit his parents in Charlottesville. They were expecting him at 1:30 PM.

After Charlottesville, it would take him at least two hours to drive back to his apartment in Arlington. He had no intention of staying at his parents’ house overnight.

Besides, he had to work tomorrow. Mills would have to leave his parents’ house by seven or eight if he wanted a good night’s sleep. But even if he got some rest, he knew that he’d be exhausted by tomorrow.

Mills finished his sparkling grape juice. “Thank you for the wonderful meal,” Mills said. He rose from the chair.

“You aren’t going to wait for Linda?” His grandfather asked.

“I really need to head out. It’s going to be a long drive to Charlottesville if there’s traffic.”

“But you haven’t seen your grandmother yet. She’ll be here as soon as she—”

“I wish I could stay, but—”

“She’ll be back any minute now,” his grandfather pleaded.

“I really have to go, Grandpa.” Mills grabbed his wool coat from the back of the chair.

“But you haven’t had any dessert.”

“I’m really full.”

His grandfather sighed. “All right. But before you go, can you do me a favor?”

Mills’ jaws tightened. “Is it the computer again? Did you need me to fix it?”

“No. No. It’s not that. You know my eyesight ain’t good anymore. In fact, I’m legally blind. Linda drives me around whenever I need to go somewhere.”

“So you need a ride?” Mills said impatiently.

His grandfather chuckled. “Not exactly. I was hoping that you can drop off some gifts for me.”

Mills kept checking the time on the grandfather clock—the one that his grandfather said he had built. Mills had reservations about that claim. His grandfather was secretive about his woodshop, and didn’t share details about what he was working on. Mills knew he was a handyman, but his grandfather never bragged or showed off anything he had made.

“Drop off some gifts?” Mills repeated.

“Yes. They’re for my neighbors.”

“Uh huh. So you want me to drop the packages off at the post office?” Mills said.

“Post office? It’s Christmas for crying out loud! No. I need you to drop them off at their homes.”

“At their homes?” Mills said in surprise.

“Of course. It’s Christmas. They need their gifts today.”

His grandfather grabbed three giftwrapped boxes from under the Christmas tree in the living room. He handed them to Mills, then turned around and crossed off three names from a list that was pinned to the corkboard on the wall. There were at least a hundred names on that list—the majority of them crossed off.

Mills was stunned by how light the gifts were, given their size. He shuffled them in his arms, could hear something small shaking inside of them like a doll or a toy.

His grandfather said, “I would wait until Linda got home to take me, but I was hoping you could save us the trip.”

Mills stared at him for a second before feigning an agreeable smile. “Sure. I can drop them off.” He thought about chucking the gifts at the doorsteps like newspapers. “Where do they live?”

“Thanks a bunch, Mills! Give me a minute to write the addresses for you.”

His grandfather wore on his reading glasses, then grabbed the address book from the drawer. He started copying the addresses down on a small notepad. All of the neighbors lived on the same street.

“They live about five minutes from here,” his grandfather said as he handed him the sheet. “Shouldn’t take you too long to drop them off.”

“Right,” Mills said through a grin. He glanced at the grandfather clock once more. It was 12:41 PM.

“I got to get going,” Mills said. “Merry Christmas, Grandpa.”

His grandfather patted him on the back. “Merry Christmas, Mills. Drive safely.”

***

It took Mills fifteen minutes, not five, to get to the street where the neighbors lived. He got lost on the way, then made an illegal U-turn and waited at a light that took about five minutes to turn green. Mills’ plan was to drop the gifts off at the front doors, then run back to his car and leave without being noticed.

At the first house he stopped at, he drove up the driveway until he parked behind the neighbor’s SUV. He walked up to the front door and left the gift on the doormat. Just as he turned on his heel, a woman in her fifties opened the door.

“Excuse me. Is this package from Mr. Buckle?” she said.

Mills stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Yes. My grandfather wanted me to give it to you.”

“Oh! I’ve been expecting it for a long time.”

Mills started to backpedal to his car. “Well. Merry Christmas.”

“So you must be Willis’ grandson? Wow! It’s great to finally meet you. He’s told everyone so much about you. He said you’re an amazing artist.”

Mills flushed red. An artist? he thought. I haven’t made a single painting since college. I changed my major to business after a year of art school. Grandpa was at my graduation. He knows that.

“Right. Well . . . Merry Christmas,” Mills repeated.

“Wait. Don’t leave yet. Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

“I really have to go.”

“Stay just for a minute. Your grandfather makes incredible works of art. You should see what’s inside.”

“Works of art?” Mills repeated, surprised to hear those words in connection with his grandfather. He never saw him as an artist. His grandfather had been a farmer and a handyman for as long as he could remember.

The woman started unwrapping the gift, leaving shredding’s of wrapping paper on the doormat. When she finally opened the box, she held in her hands an intricate wood carving of the nativity scene. It was meticulously painted with animals, a manger, and much more. It was about the size of a birdhouse.

“This is wonderful!” the woman said with a bright warm smile. She examined it up close. “I always wanted one ever since I was a kid. Your grandfather is a master craftsman.”

“Grandpa made that?” Mills said in shock.

“Of course, he did! He makes sculptures using all sorts of material. Rocks. Wood. Metals. You name it. He’s been making sculptures for everyone in town. He’ll only deliver a handful a year, though. Says it takes him months to make each one.”

“Oh,” Mills said, completely at a loss for words.

When Mills was a kid, his grandfather had given him a wooden chess set for Christmas. He thought his grandfather was joking when he said he made it. Now it occurred to him that he wasn’t kidding. For all the years he had it, he took poor care of it. He lost several of the pawns, and a handful of the other pieces broke when he threw them at the wall for target practice. He wondered where the chess set was now. Maybe in the closet of his old bedroom at his parents’ house?

“So he’s like the town Santa Claus?” Mills said.

“You can say that,” the woman said with a broad smile. “Except he doesn’t come down the chimney.”

“Right,” Mills chuckled.

The woman laughed. “Thank you so much for bringing this. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Mills drove to the next house to deliver his grandfather’s gift. It was just down the street—within walking distance, in fact. This time, he knocked on the door and waited, but no one answered it. He left the gift on the porch, and then returned to his car. It wasn’t until after he left when the neighbor opened the door to bring it inside.

The third neighbor greeted him at the doorway just as the first one did. The man was in his sixties, and he asked Mills if he was Mr. Buckle’s grandson. Mills said he was. The man began telling him stories about his grandfather, including all the handywork he had done in his house, and the gifts he had delivered to people on Christmas day. Time passed slowly during this time, and Mills didn’t notice at all.

After several minutes, the man finally opened his gift.

Their eyes beheld a miniaturized wooden trainset—the kind that the man had wanted ever since he was a kid.

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