I’d dried it off with a dish towel and set it on top of the refrigerator, out of reach, while I figured out what to do.
Ezoic
The smart thing—the practical thing—would have been to just keep it. Or sell it. Nobody would have known. Nobody would have blamed me. Single dad, three kids, barely making it—of course you’d keep found money. Of course you would.
But Nora’s voice kept echoing in my head: Then we can’t keep it.
I pulled up the number for Thrift Barn and dialed before I could talk myself out of it.
Ezoic
Three rings. Then: “Thrift Barn, this is Ron.”
“Hey, it’s Graham. I bought a washing machine from you guys today. Sixty bucks, as-is, the white top-loader.”
He snorted. “It die already?”
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “But I found something inside it. A wedding ring. Gold, diamond, engraved. I’m trying to get it back to whoever donated the washer.”
Silence on the other end.
Ezoic
“You serious?” Ron finally asked.
“Pretty sure,” I said.
“Most people would just keep that.”
“I know.”
More silence. Then: “We don’t usually give out donor information. Privacy policy and all that.”
Ezoic
“I understand,” I said. “But my kid called it a forever ring and I can’t get that out of my head. I just—I have to try to get it back to the right person.”
I heard papers shuffling on his end.
“Hang on,” Ron said. “I remember that pickup. Older lady, maybe late seventies. Her son called to have us haul it away. She didn’t even want to charge us for it, said she was just happy someone would take it. Let me check the sheet.”
He set the phone down. I could hear drawers opening, papers rustling, Ron muttering to himself.
Ezoic
