The Delivery

Twenty thousand dollars. It wasn’t life-changing money, but it was life-easing money. Wilson had debts to pay. Not college loans or credit card bills, but the kind of debt that can get a man killed.

Twenty thousand dollars and all he had to do was deliver a black leather notebook. Well, he was told it was a black leather notebook. It was wrapped tightly in green and red striped Christmas paper with a decorative silver bow. An odd choice, to be sure, considering it was the middle of February but he imagined the client had his reasons.

Monica told him not to get involved. “Whatever’s inside that book, it can’t be legal,” she warned. “No one pays that kind of money to deliver a plain old notebook.” He shrugged off her fears, but secretly suspected she was right.

*****

Wilson sat in his car, the wrapped notebook in his lap. Monica's concerns lingered, gnawing at his common sense and his conscience. Yes, he was in trouble and the money would help. He was lying when he told himself it wasn't life-changing money; in fact, it was probably life-saving money. Still, he didn't want to do anything else illegal; that was what got him in this position in the first place.

"What if I take a look inside?" he wondered. He studied the package, looking at where the tape had been placed and how the paper had been folded. "Can I possibly unwrap it without damaging it?"

He turned the bundle this way and that, examining it from different angles before setting it back down in his lap. He sighed and started the engine.

"It's too risky."

*****

Wilson put the takeout coffee cup on the convenience store counter. "I'll take one of those hot pretzels from the case too," he told the clerk.

As he handed the wax paper wrapped pretzel to Wilson, he smirked. "A little late for Christmas, no?... Or a lot early."

Wilson forgot he had the notebook under his arm. It was worth too much money to leave on the seat of his car, even if no one else knew that. He could only imagine stepping out of the store to find someone had lifted the package while he was grabbing a snack. That would totally be his kind of luck.

He fumbled for a quick cover story. "It's for my girl. I wasn't able to give her something at the time, but I just got a new job. Figured I'd surprise her."

"Good for you, man... Amazing that you were able to find some wrapping paper now, at this time of year."

"I stopped by my mom's. You can always count on mom to have what you need." The lie was easy and convincing. Wilson's mother was always well stocked for the holidays.

"I hear you, bro... You know what? The coffee and pretzel are on me tonight. Go bring that gift to your lady."

Wilson raised his eyebrow. "Really? I can't…"

"Seriously. Just say thanks, bro." The clerk laughed. "And come back when you've cashed a few more paychecks."

Wilson grabbed the coffee cup from the counter and offered a sincere thanks. He felt bad about the deception but silently promised he’d soon return the kindness. As he walked toward his car, he couldn't help but think that maybe his luck was changing.

*****

“What have I done?”

Wilson held the unwrapped black leather book in his right hand with his thumb supporting the back cover, his fingers on the front and the spine resting in his palm. Angrily, he snapped the book shut. Sweat was already beginning to bead on his forehead.

“What have I done?”

The Christmas paper and silver bow had been placed neatly on the passenger seat beside him. Wilson had taken great care to preserve the paper when he removed it from the notebook. Only the most discerning eye would notice a slight crease near one edge of the paper. And it would take the person who had wrapped the package to know that the crease had not been there earlier.

Still Wilson was concerned that the recipient of the package would know. Even if he could rewrap it perfectly, somehow, some way, the person would know. All the same, he had to try.

“What have I done?”

*****

“Not bad, if I do say so myself.”

Wilson was confident that the package would pass inspection, even if the person who wrapped it examined it with a magnifying glass in hand. Now he had to convince himself that he could deliver the notebook without betraying that his curiosity got the better of him.

Wilson looked at his reflection in his rearview mirror. “How am I going to do that?”

*****

"Twenty thousand dollars," Wilson told himself, "You can do this."

Wilson rang the bell at the address he'd been given by his contact and waited. He was surprised to find that his delivery point was a relatively small but charming Craftsman-style bungalow. The lawn was well manicured and the porch was fronted by some boxwood hedges. A loveseat swing hung from the ceiling occupied the far end of the porch. Looking around as he waited, Wilson felt as if he'd stepped into the past.

"Monica would get a kick out of this place," he thought aloud as the door swung open.

"Well, we'll have to invite Monica over some time," said the man at the door. His smile was warm and genuine. "You must be Wilson. Please come in."

The man stepped aside to allow Wilson to pass through the doorway. "Go through the first door on the left. I'll join you in a moment." He then stepped from the entry room into a hallway that led toward the back of the house.

Wilson entered the first room on the left as directed. A fireplace with a large wooden mantle occupied the back wall. A large sofa consisting of plush cushions in a gray, black and brown herringbone was situated opposite the fireplace. Two similarly patterned throw pillows and a carefully placed copper-colored leopard blanket completed the sofa. Two leather wingback chairs flanked the couch and a simple, dark-stained coffee table centered the room. It was all very cozy.

Wilson was comforted, but still uneasy. He couldn't quite piece together the polite man who answered the door and lived in this house with the kind of people he was used to dealing or the task of delivering a notebook for twenty thousand dollars. A notebook with...

"Wilson, please, take a seat." The man entered the room and motioned toward the sofa. "Make yourself at home. Please."

The two men sat, Wilson on the couch and his host in the wingback chair closer to the door. Wilson placed the Christmas wrapped notebook on the coffee table.

The man in the wingback chair cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Walter Evans and I believe the package you brought is mine." He smiled the same warm smile that Wilson noticed earlier.

A silence hung in the air between them for a few moments. Although they had never met, something about this man was distantly familiar. He was searching for an image, a scent, a sound from memory that might explain this feeling but he was at a loss.

"I understand you've had a bit of a rough time," Walter said plainly. It wasn't a judgment but a statement of fact. "Tell me, what will you do with the money?"

The straightforwardness of the question was surprising, but Wilson found it refreshing. He started to answer, then paused. He decided not to sugarcoat his answer and go with the truth. "Well, I've got some debts to pay. I made some bad choices, fell in with some bad folks... But I've got reasons to turn things around. Only thing is, I can't do that until I get out from under what I owe."

"Is one of those reasons the woman you mentioned earlier? Monica?"

Without hesitation, Wilson said, "Yes." His eyes met Walter's and he felt a rush of comfort and understanding that he couldn't quite name. He also felt a compulsion to confess. "I opened the package. I looked inside the notebook."

Walter's smile faded, but warmth and kindness were still in his eyes. "What did you see?"

"Just drawings. A child's drawings." Wilson exhaled, the weight of deception lifted from his shoulders. "Why would you pay so much money to have me deliver them?"

Walter answered the question with one of his own. "Did you see anything else?"

Wilson looked away, feeling unexpected embarrassment, as if he had disappointed this man he'd just met. "No."

"That's a shame. Unwrap the package."

Wilson picked up the notebook and tore off the paper without the consideration of having to rewrap it this time.

"Turn to the back inside cover." The smile returned to Walter's face.

With a mix of excitement and trepidation, Wilson opened the back cover of the notebook. In cursive, elegant but faded, was an inscription:

Dearest Monica,

For all your hopes, dreams, and flights of fancy.

Love,

Grandpa W.

Wilson looked from those words up to the man sitting across from him. He was speechless.

"Your debts have been paid. I'll transfer the twenty thousand dollars to an account of your choice. That money is yours to build a life with my granddaughter. Now, you have a chance to be true to the words you said to me a few moments ago. Make the most of it."

The two men stood up, silence hanging in the air between them once again. This time, Wilson broke that silence. Not with words, but a hug for this familiar stranger.