This time, everyone obeyed.
When the sidewalk was finally clear, I turned to Eli. “Let’s get all this inside.”
“Can we open some first?” she asked.
“Well, Eli.”
“Please, Mom. Maybe some people just wanted to be nice.”
“They scared us.”
“I know. I don’t like it either.”
“Eli, they turned your father’s umbrella into a municipal project.”
Eli looked at the blue umbrella she was carrying under her arm. “Maybe Dad would have liked that part.”
I wanted to disagree, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Eli shook his head. “No. I want to see why people came.”
I looked at his face. “A few boxes.”
He gave me a slight smile.
Box number 2 contained a note from Mr. Collins, Eli’s bus driver.
“Carina,
Nobody has given out your address. I need you to know that first.
After Jenelle’s post was published, people brought umbrellas and notes to the Route 47 bus stop. Some left envelopes at the bus station or gave them to me.
I should have called before bringing them. I thought I was doing something nice for a child I care about. Now I see I should have called first.
I looked up from the page.
“Did Mr. Collins do this?” Eli asked.
Jenelle blinked. “I didn’t know that.”
On that occasion, I believed him.
A familiar voice called from the sidewalk. “I owe you an apology, Carina.”
Mr. Collins was standing by the mailbox, wearing his raincoat, twisting his cap in his hands.
Eli straightened up. “Mr. Collins?”
The older man looked at him with kind eyes. “Good morning, young man.”
I picked up the note. “Did you put all this here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Two church volunteers and me. Before dawn.” He peered over the umbrellas. “I didn’t give your address to anyone. I brought them myself because I’m driving Eli home.”
“So why don’t you call me?”
He swallowed. “I walked by here last night, but the lights were off. So I just went with the flow. People kept saying, ‘That kid deserves to know.’”
Then Eli said, “You could still have knocked on the door.”
Mr. Collins nodded. “You’re right. I should have done it.”
Box number 3 smelled sweet, like sugar. Inside was a gift card from the ice cream shop next to the library.
“For the child who always remembered kindness. One ice cream a month. With colorful sprinkles included.”
Eli blinked. “Do you think they mean some kind of ice cream?”
“Or.”
“I’m asking…”
Against my will, I laughed.
Box number 4 contained a coupon for a shoe store.
“For the child who came home soaking wet so that another child wouldn’t have to. Choose waterproof shoes.”
“The red ones with lightning?” Eli asked.
“Do you already know?”
“I’ve known for months.”
I looked at Mr. Collins. “Do you know much about my son?”
“I know he thanks me every afternoon,” she said. “I know he lets the little kids go first. Last winter, when another child forgot his gloves, Eli gave him one of his.”
Eli blushed. “It was just a glove.”
“That’s precisely my point,” Mr. Collins said.
Box number 5 contained a pass for the skate park.
Eli’s smile slowly faded.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Dad said he would teach me to skate.”
“Memory.”
“I still want to go,” Eli said. “But not by the big ramp.”
Box number 6 contained four dollars and thirty-eight cents from a seven-year-old girl named Maddie.
Eli stared at the coins. “Mom, we can’t keep these.”
“No,” I said. “Then what do we do?”
He glanced toward the Route 47 bus stop. “We share it.”
CONTINUE READING…>>
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