Lost and Found (4 page)

“I understand,” I say with complete calm. “Thank you very much for your help.” I can literally feel a nerve-inspired hive pop out in my armpit. I clamp my arm harder on my purse to keep from scratching the hell out of it.

“Here’s my card,” she says, sliding it across the glass. “Give me a call if you want me to track down the certificate for you. After you talk to your mother, of course. Maybe she has one and it can save you the trouble.”

I take the card just so I won’t seem rude and head for the door. “Will do. Thanks!”

I welcome the heat that blasts me as I step outside the door. Those cold-sweats that had started up in there were making me feel like it was winter time, and the shivers weren’t far off. How much of a psycho would I have looked like then, shivering all over with my fire-red face? She would’ve pressed that secret button under her counter and had the cops all over my hivey butt in seconds. Thank God I got out of there when I did.

I scratch at my neck, armpit, and butt until they burn and practically run I’m walking so fast. I have no idea where I’m going. All I
do
know is that I need to get away from that woman and her guilt-inducing tone of voice. I swear it feels like the ring is searing a hole right through my purse and into my hip, especially now that I know it’s worth more than a half a million dollars.

A half a million dollars! Oh my god! My butt is on fire!

Chapter Six

I CANNOT SLEEP. EVEN THOUGH I’ve managed to sneak back home without being accosted by Larry the Perve, and my hives have subdued themselves, I still can’t rest. The ring is still in my purse and my purse is wrapped around my body as I lay on my pull-out-couch bed.

I’m afraid to put it down anywhere, worried I’ll somehow manage to lose it in my shoebox of a studio apartment or that this will be the night some asshole decides to break in and rob me of everything I own. Murphy’s Law. It owns me.

After staring at the ceiling for hours and imagining all the ways I could change my life with half a million dollars and then ruin it by spending it all and having to go back to poverty, I finally give up. It’s three in the morning when I say to myself,
No wonder that chick threw her ring in the fountain. Who needs this shit?

I sit up in bed and take my purse off me. I’m pissed now. I tried to tell myself that this ring came to me as a solution to my no-rent problem. I tried to tell myself this was karma rewarding me for all my good deeds — like all the times I didn’t clock Larry upside the head when he made suggestive remarks, like all the times I gave change to the homeless guy down the street, like all the hours I worked for Belinda for no pay or minimum wage … but it wasn’t working.

It’s not my damn ring, and I know I can’t keep it or I’ll end up going nuts over the guilty feelings. Some girl owns this ring or the guy who bought it for her does, and I just have to give it back. And if some asshole wants to rob me of it today, saving me from the trouble of tracking down the owner, at least I’ll have a great story to tell later —
 
about how I was almost in the money for the first time in my life but then decided to be a good person and give it back but then got robbed.

Man, what a sucker I am. I’m going to be poor forever; that’s the only conclusion I can come to. For. Ev. Er.

I shove my bag under the couch and lie back down, determined to get some sleep before I have to go to work tomorrow. When dreams come, they involve me getting arrested by a swat team as I stand at a jewelry store counter with my wad of tissue papers in my hand.

When I finally wake up, it feels like I never slept at all. Stupid ring. I’ve got to get rid of it.

Chapter Seven

BELINDA FROWNS AT ME. “WHAT’S got you all hot and bothered today?”

I can’t look at her or she’ll read my mind. I’m terrible at keeping secrets from her.

“Nothing. Just on my period.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not due for another week.”

I pause in arranging books on a narrow shelf and look at her. “You’re tracking my periods?”

She shrugs, running her pencil eraser down a list of figures in front of her on the counter. “It’s kind of hard to miss. Your moods follow the phases of the moon almost perfectly. You’re definitely a moon-child.”

I roll my eyes. “Or you’ve just noticed no toilet-paper-wrapped packages in the bathroom trash.”

“There’s that too.”

I smile and go back to my arranging. Maybe today a customer will come in and appreciate my organizational efforts. One can only hope.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just nervous.”
 
Oops
. Did I say that out loud? Now what? Am I going to tell her I found a half-million-dollar ring in the fountain too?

“Nervous?” She stops her tallying. “Nervous about what? Or is it a big secret?” She winks at me.

“It’s not a man, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” Not exactly. I mean, there
is
a man involved if you count the guy who spent a wad of money on a ring that’s in my bra right now making it look like I have a tumor on my boob.

“You need to date more,” she says. “When was the last time you met someone for coffee?”

“How about never.” I laugh. “Who does that? Just meet for coffee, I mean.”

“People. People do that.”

“Not this person. If you want to date me, you date me. If you want to buy me coffee, then forget it.”

“I don’t understand that attitude,” Belinda says. “Why wouldn’t you want to meet someone for coffee?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s so cliché. How much can you possibly learn about a person’s real self over coffee at Starbucks? It’s like you’re there for show, to be cool. If you really want to get to know a person, you do something alone. Something that doesn’t involve the rest of the world watching you, giving you a nod of approval. I don’t like being on parade.”

“Now who’s the shut-in?”

I give her a raspberry. “Hush. We have work to do. I’m expecting a crowd today.”

She puts her pencil in her teeth and speaks around it. “Good, because we could use a crowd around here.” She leaves me in the main part of the store for the back room, her big log book wrapped in both arms.

The bell hanging from the door jangles as someone walks in.

I turn with a big smile, ready to help this customer spend her money on everything in sight, but then my smile disappears when I realize who it is. And how bad he smells.

“Hey darlin’,” he says in his southern accent. “How’re you today?”

“Mel, what are you doing here?” I rush forward to greet him at the door.

He lowers his voice. “Sorry to bug you at work, but I was just hoping I could bother you for some change. I missed my normal group this morning … couldn’t get out of bed in time to get my best spot.”

I turn him around and push him gently outside the door. “Just wait out there and I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, darlin.’” He limps out and leaves me alone in the store.

I rush to the back room and then slow down as I enter it through the colorful hanging beads, whistling like I don’t have a care in the world.

Belinda’s standing on a stool, pushing boxes left and right trying to arrange them on a high shelf. “Give me a hand with this, will ya?” she asks.

“Just a second. Someone’s out front.” I grab my purse and leave before she can ask me any questions. Stealth mode, activated.

I shove my hand in my bag and tilt it as I walk rapidly to the front of the store. A few coins fall into my palm along with several crumbs, paperclips, and bits of things I can’t identify.

Looping my finger through the door handle, I pull the heavy glass open and step outside. Mel is waiting for me out on the sidewalk.

His clothing is stained and baggy, and his shoes are held together with duct tape. His hair hasn’t seen a shower or a brush in I don’t know how many months. I know the shelter he prefers doesn’t provide showers, so that’s probably why. Or maybe he’s allergic to water. Either way, he’s a mess, and I can never say no to him. He reminds me of my alcoholic father who went six feet under five years ago with cirrhosis.

“Here, it’s all I can afford.” I hand him eighty-three cents covered in purse-lint.

“Good enough for a cup of coffee.” He smiles at me, revealing teeth that have also been neglected for way too long. He leans in to give me a hug, and I accept it with only a slight cringe. His stink has a tendency to stick to my hair and clothes, and all it takes is one little touch, but I never say no to a hug. It’s kind of a personal policy I have. Luckily, Larry has never asked for one and challenged my stance on that.

“You okay?” he asks me as we separate.

“Just low on rent money, no big deal.” I shrug.

I’m not going to tell him the tumor in my bra could have us both living large for the rest of our lives because it wouldn’t be fair to get his hopes up like I’d done with my own. The ring is not mine or his. I can’t keep it or gift it, no matter how many problems it would solve. I try not to cry over the vision of Belinda’s, Mel’s, and my futures being so much brighter.

“But you got a job,” he says, confused, gesturing at the store.

“Yeah, but it’s only part time. Belinda doesn’t have a lot of customers.”

“That’s a damn shame,” he says, and he means it.

“I know. But I’ll survive. I always do.”

He grins again. “That’s right. You and me, we’re survivors.”

I smile, kind of sadly. I want to do more than just survive for a change. “Have a good one. I have to get back to work.”

“Have a blessed day,” he says. “Keep that smile on, pretty girl. You know you’re gonna have a great day with a smile like that.”

I leave him to shuffle down the sidewalk with his eighty-three cents. I could have given him part of my rent money, but if I did that I’d be checking into the homeless shelter with him and I’m not ready for that. I like showers too much. Maybe one day I’ll have to go down that road, but not today. Please, not today.

Today was going to get a lot better; I had a feeling about it. Giving money to Mel always made me feel that way, like life was just about to turn a corner. Hello, corner. I’m so ready for you and all you have to show me.

Chapter Eight

I LEAVE THE SHOP WITH a promise to return after lunch for an extra hour of work, to cover for Belinda while she goes to the dentist. Even though I don’t even have the money for the hot dog I claim to want, I go boldly out the door, acting like all is well with my world.

My true goal: to find a jeweler who will look at the laser etching on this diamond and tell me who bought it, so I can track him down and give it back to him. Maybe he and his girlfriend have made up and she regrets throwing it away. Maybe they’ll be so grateful that I returned it, they’ll give me a reward. Or maybe I’ll just be so glad to not be carrying this damn thing and the weight of its implications around, I’ll be glad to see it go.

No matter what happens, it’ll be way better than being tempted to keep it. I’m a huge believer in karma, and I know that keeping something that isn’t mine — that’s worth half a million dollars, no less — will have karma kicking my ass for the rest of my life. No. Thank. You. Bad karma, stay away from me, you asshole.

The first jewelry store I go to is much like the one I visited the day before — way too pretentious. I can see the man’s trigger finger twitching near that secret alarm button I know is just under his countertop. Snob.

I leave there in a hurry and decide to ride the subway a little farther north. There, I find a small hole-in-the-wall type place that has stuff in the window I wouldn’t wear if you paid me.
Perfect.

Stepping inside, the first thing I notice is the smell. It’s mildew. Things are looking so much better than they were a half hour ago. The man behind the counter is nearing ninety if the number of wrinkles in his face is any indicator. He’s bent over with a big hunchback that appears almost painful. I realize I am in Quasimodo’s jewelry shop. I always wondered what happened to that guy after he left the church. Ugly jewelry. Makes sense.

He looks up at me through thick glasses. “Hello.”

I smile. “Hello.”

He stops moving something around in his display case and stands as straight as he’s able, resting his hands on the edge of the glass. “May I help you?”

“I’m not sure.” I hike my purse up higher on my shoulder, suddenly nervous. It doesn’t matter that this guy is so old he probably doesn’t even know there’s an Internet. I’m freaking out all over again, worried I’m about to be arrested for some crime I’m not even aware I’m committing. Jail. Butchy lesbian girls wanting to sleep with me. No thanks.

He smiles, his eyes a watery blue, huge behind his thick glasses. “Are you looking for a pretty necklace, perhaps, to match your eyes?” He points to some below the glass. “I have some nice emeralds here.” His finger is gnarled and bent, but the nail itself is neatly trimmed and the cuticle perfect.

“Actually, no … I have a ring.” I take a few steps closer.

He looks up and blinks several times. “You have a ring?”

“Yes, I have a ring. And I know the value of it, but I’ve lost the certificate. Or I should say my mother lost the certificate. So I was wondering if you could read the laser-etched number on it and tell me where I could find the seller so I could get a copy of the certificate. For her, not for me. For my mother.”

His face goes slack and he stares at me.

My nerves are instantly frazzled. Here come the hives and the lies. Dammit.

“See, my mother got the ring from her husband, but the marriage didn’t last long on account of the fact that he was actually a woman but failed to mention that until after the ceremony, so she gave it to me. The ring, I mean, not the marriage. But she never got the certificate, so she wanted a copy. In case we decide to sell it.” Oh my god...I’m so nervous, I’m making up more transvestite stories. I sense a theme. Not a good one, either.

“Ah,”
 
he says giving me a polite smile of forgiveness. I’m not sure what I’m being forgiven for, but I’ll take it. “Do you have the ring with you?”

I nod like a crazy person — which apparently I am — as I pretend to dig around in my purse. I turn around slightly so I can grab it out of my bra without him seeing and then pretend to have found it in my bag as I turn back towards him.