“Got it,” Jessica said, already scrolling through TikTok.
Ezoic
I drove across Tacoma to the address Ron had given me. The neighborhood was older—houses from the 1950s and 60s, small and tidy, most of them well-maintained despite their age. Mature trees lined the streets. Cars in driveways were practical, older models. This was working-class Tacoma, people who’d bought houses when they were affordable and held onto them.
Claire Henderson’s house was a small brick ranch with chipped white paint around the windows and a perfect little strip of flowers along the front walk—marigolds and petunias, bright against the weathered brick.
I sat in my car for a minute, the ring in my pocket, trying to figure out what I was going to say.
Ezoic
Hi, I’m a stranger who bought your old washing machine and found your wedding ring inside it. Want it back?
That sounded insane.
But there was no good way to do this, so I got out of the car and walked up to the front door.
I knocked.
Ezoic
Within seconds, the door opened a few inches. An older woman peered out—probably late seventies, white hair in a short practical cut, wearing a cardigan despite it being relatively warm outside. Her eyes were sharp, assessing.
“Yes?” she said warily.
“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?”
Ezoic
“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.”
