Priced To Move

Some sentimental new Christmas flash fiction to kick off the holiday season

Priced To Move

The boys had just about aged out of the Foundlings Home. They would be nine in January. And twins were especially hard to move. Twin boys, forget about it. But Father Dominic was adamant they stay together. Adamant so far. For the moment he had bigger problems. His annual silent auction. Kept the place afloat with shrinking funding from the state and the Diocese. Each year he would finagle and cajole local vendors to provide sumptuous gifts to be gathered underneath the Home’s gigantic 200-year-old signature white oak tree, Melchizidek. And though by Christmas its leaves were mostly dead or gone, when rigged up with tinsel and dazzling lighting it fit the bill to a tee.

The boys were as smart as they were sharp and knew quite well the advent calendar was counting down their comfy stay at the Home as well as the Yuletide season. They knew they were looking at an unknown future including either the intimidating Teen Village or the roulette of foster care, and very likely the thing they feared most. Separation.

Father Dominic gathered the sales and events staff for his annual pre-auction pep talk. These speeches were legendary as the padre saw himself as something of a master promoter having taken a few marketing courses at the community college before attending divinity school. This year he was particularly impassioned.

“Remember, these items are sold not bought. Presentation is everything. These are good people in our flock, but they need a nudge. Packaging is important. And you have to give them something to get them to believe they are getting a bargain. A deal. A steal.”

The team dispersed, inspired, to see if they could take the decorations to another level this year.

Outside the meeting room, the boys peeked in the window as they liked to do. Spellbound by the Father’s oratory. They could listen to him talk all day.

The morning of the event, Father Dominic checked in with the night’s various participants. All seemed in order. The art teacher mentioned a few cartons and some wrapping paper that seemed to be missing but they were easily replaced.

The swank event proceeded splendidly. The weather the best in years. The tony crowd circulated and oohed and aahed at the collection of goodies. And bid.

But without doubt the most talked-about item, among the day cruises and meet-the-chef dinners, was a simple large cardboard box. On top of the box were two eight-year-old heads, each encased in its own gift-wrapped box with the face cut out and a big red ribbon on top. The boxes were expertly wrapped in striking silver paper and the big one was marked with simple red block letters. BOGO.

Bidding per se was not permitted on this item but it spawned a blizzard of applications. By night’s end a teary Father Dominic was quite confident that once background checks were completed the twins might be settled in a warm new permanent home in time to ring in the new year. Together.