By December 16, Ryan was broke. Payday wasn't until Christmas Eve, and Jaimie already had plans for that money: last-minute shopping, stocking stuffers, the dozen small things a holiday always demanded that never showed up on any budget until the week they arrived. He had put a hundred and twenty-five dollars down on the microwave since November and still owed three hundred, and driving down 28th Street, turning the numbers over in his head, he could not find any honest arrangement of them that paid the balance by the twenty-ninth.
The manager's cool about it, Doug had said, back on the factory floor, two weeks and what felt now like a different lifetime ago. Told me if I run into trouble before the due date, just come talk to him.
So Ryan went to talk to him.
"Can I help you, sir?" Jose asked through the glass.
"I was hoping to talk to Henry."
Henry appeared a few minutes later with the same easy warmth as before. "Mr. Mendoza! How's everything? Microwave working out all right?"
"Still in the box, actually. Figured I'd save it for Christmas morning. For the wife."
"A very thoughtful gift, I'm sure." Henry's smile didn't waver. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm worried I won't make the due date. I wanted to ask about an extension."
"The holidays can be a challenge." Henry pulled Ryan's folder from somewhere behind the counter and studied it with an attention that seemed, to Ryan, out of proportion to the modest balance it represented. "So you're short on cash."
"Yeah. I could pay some on the seventh, maybe finish it off by the twenty-first ."
"The twenty-first is three weeks past your due date."
"I know. I was hoping maybe a late fee instead? Something I could work into the extra time?"
Henry closed the folder slowly. "If you don't have the cash now, Mr. Mendoza, it won't materialize by the twenty-first either, not without something changing. Tell you what. I have a few tasks I need help with around the store. Small things. They won't take much of your time. You help me out, and I'll waive the rest of your balance entirely."
"Really?" Something in Ryan sat up straighter, grateful and relieved. Underneath the relief, so faint he barely registered it, was something else, small and wary, the part that notices a door opening too easily and wonders, for half a second, what is standing on the other side. "What kind of tasks?"
"You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Mendoza." Henry's smile hadn't moved, but something behind it had, a shift in the quality of the warmth, like a cloud passing over a sun that kept shining regardless. "Do you want the help or not?"
"Yes. Of course. Just tell me what you need."
"Good man." Henry closed the folder entirely. "Come back tonight. Nine-thirty. Park in the rear and we'll have the door open for you."