“Hi,” I started, suddenly aware of how strange this was going to sound. “Does Claire live here?”
Suspicion flickered across her face. “Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Graham,” I said quickly. “I think I bought your old washing machine. From Thrift Barn? About a week ago?”
Her expression softened slightly. “That old thing?” she said. “My son said it was going to flood the house and drown me in my sleep. Might’ve been right, too. It made terrible noises.”
“I can confirm the noise situation,” I said, which got a small smile.
“What can I do for you, Graham?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the ring. Held it up so she could see it clearly.
“Does this look familiar?”
Claire Henderson went completely rigid.
All the color drained from her face. She stared at the ring, then at me, then back at the ring, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.
“That’s my wedding ring,” she finally whispered. “That’s—oh my God, that’s my ring.”
Her hand shook when she reached out, her fingers trembling so badly I was worried she’d drop it.
I placed it carefully in her palm.
She closed her fingers around it and pressed it against her chest, right over her heart, her eyes filling with tears.
“I thought it was gone forever,” she said, her voice breaking. “We tore this house apart looking for it. I lost it years ago—maybe five or six years now. I looked everywhere. Everywhere. I thought someone had stolen it, or I’d lost it at the store, or—I don’t know. I just knew it was gone.”
She sank into a chair that sat just inside her entryway, still clutching the ring.
“My son bought me a new washing machine last month,” she continued. “Had the old one hauled off because it was leaking. I didn’t even think—I never imagined—”
Leave a Comment