He went out onto the porch barefoot, his hair disheveled in all directions.
“Watch out!” I warned. “I dropped my cup. Don’t step on the glass.”
“What is this?” he asked.
“Why is Mrs. Sarah recording us, Mom?”
That woke me up completely.
Several neighbors had gathered near the sidewalk, many of them with their phones held high.
“Sarah!” I yelled. “Hang up the phone! You know I don’t like it when they film Eli.”
She only lowered it halfway. “Carina, it’s beautiful! Didn’t you see Facebook?”
My stomach churned. “What’s on Facebook?”
A man who lived two houses away shouted, “Carina, Eli is famous!”
My son moved behind me.
I stood right in front of him. “Everyone put your phones down! Right now! He’s just a kid.”
Some faces flushed with embarrassment. Others slowly lowered their phones.
I stepped out onto the damp grass, my robe trailing around my ankles. Eli stayed close to me.
The first umbrella was dark blue. Underneath the box was a tag attached.
“For Eli.”
“Stay away, friend,” I told him.
“Mom, it has my name on it.”
“I know. But we don’t know who put it here. So I’m going to open it first.”
He nodded slightly.
I bent down and lifted the lid.
Then I screamed.
Inside was a tightly wrapped bundle in blue cloth.
For one terrifying second, it seemed strange and frightening.
Then I saw the wooden handle, the silver button, and Eli’s name written in my husband’s handwriting.
Eli plopped down next to me. “It’s Dad’s,” she whispered.
“Is.”
“How did it get here?”
He looked at the boxes, then at the neighbors. His face turned pale.
“Mom, we need to call someone. Maybe the police. This is scary.”
“I know. We’re not going to touch anything else until I know who did this.”
—Wait! There’s a note— said Eli.
I looked again. They had slipped a folded sheet of paper under the umbrella strap.
—Read it —she whispered.
My hands were trembling as I unfolded it.
“Or,
I promised I’d return it. I didn’t know I’d be coming home with so many people.
Thank you for protecting me when I felt invisible.
Jenelle.
“That’s the lady,” Eli said. “She said her name was Jenelle.”
Before I could answer, a silver car pulled up beside the curb. A pregnant woman got out slowly, one hand resting on her belly.
“That’s her, Mom.”
I walked towards her with Darren’s umbrella pressed against my chest.
“Are you Jenelle?”
She nodded. “Carina, I’m so sorry.”
I felt a knot in my stomach again. “How do you know my name?”
“Someone commented on my Facebook post. They said they were my neighbor.”
I looked back at Sarah, who suddenly seemed very interested in the sidewalk.
Then I turned to Jenelle. “Did you write about my son?”
Her expression darkened. “I wrote a thank-you post.”
“No. My son is twelve years old,” I said. “He gave you something that was important to both of you. Now people are filming it like it’s a spectacle.”
“I didn’t give you your address,” Jenelle said quickly. “I swear. I only used your first name. No school. No street.”
“So how did they find us?”
“The Route 47 bus stop,” he said. “I mentioned it in the post. Mr. Collins recognized Eli and offered to return the umbrella. I didn’t hear about the boxes until this morning.”
“You started it, and strangers finished it.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “And I should have thought it through better before I started.”
Eli stepped away from behind me. “Is your baby okay?”
Jenelle’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, honey. It’s okay. I just had an ultrasound, and the doctor told me to watch her movements carefully. I was scared.”
He nodded. “Good.”
I swallowed and looked at her again. “Kindness doesn’t mean people can walk into our lives without knocking.”
“I know. Your son told me the umbrella belonged to his father. It caught my attention, Carina.”
“No, that’s not true. Eli still sleeps in Darren’s sweatshirt when there’s a storm. That umbrella wasn’t just an accessory.”
Jenelle wiped her cheek. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Eli. I’m sorry, Carina.”
A teenager picked up his phone again.
Jenelle turned to him. “Stop filming this family. This is their home, not a set.”
CONTINUE READING…>>
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