Apparently “send” had been interpreted creatively.
I folded my arms.
“What’s in the box?”
“Open it.”
Chloe heard his voice.
She came running.
“Mr. Grant!”
He barely had time to crouch before she hugged him.
That shocked both of us.
Grant looked at me over her shoulder.
I shrugged.
Not my decision.
He hugged her back carefully.
Then she stepped away.
“Did you bring your motorcycle?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ride it?”
“No.”
She looked offended.
I laughed.
Grant looked relieved I answered first.
We opened the box.
Inside was a framed two-dollar bill.
My daughter’s.
I looked at Grant.
“You promised to keep it.”
“I did.”
He pointed.
“Read.”
Beneath the frame was a small engraved plate.
Emergency Luck — First Used Near Barstow, California
Chloe beamed.
“You framed my money.”
“Yep.”
“But it’s yours.”
“Still is.”
She frowned.
“Then why is it here?”
Grant looked at me.
Then at her.
“Because I figured lucky things work better near the people who made them lucky.”
I swallowed.
Chloe looked toward me.
“Can we put it in my room?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
I smiled.
“Living room.”
Grant nodded.
“Better security.”
I rolled my eyes.
We hung it beside the kitchen entrance.
It stayed there for years.
Grant visited occasionally.
Never unannounced again.
Sometimes with Rachel.
Once with four riders from the gas station.
Chloe remembered two of them.
They remembered her.
I learned their names.
One was an electrician.
One drove trucks.
One taught auto mechanics.
Another had spent twenty-six years as a firefighter.
The man built like a refrigerator was named Dennis and cried during animated movies.
The mythology I had created around them at the gas station slowly dissolved into ordinary people.
Some were rough.
A few had pasts they did not discuss.
They argued.
Swore too much.
Made terrible coffee.
They were not saints.
That mattered.
Kindness does not require sainthood.
Neither does courage.
Years later, I asked Grant why all fifteen had agreed to escort us without complaining.
He laughed.
“They complained.”
“What?”
“Half of them were starving.”
I stared.
“We made you late?”
“Extremely.”
“For what?”
“Barbecue.”
I covered my face.
“You skipped barbecue for us?”
“Don’t tell the story like that.”
“Why?”
“Makes us sound noble.”
“You were.”
“No.”
Grant shook his head.
“We were fifteen guys with full tanks and nowhere urgent to be.”
“You had somewhere.”
“Barbecue is not urgent.”
Dennis, sitting nearby, shouted, “Speak for yourself.”
Grant ignored him.
I smiled.
“What if Chloe hadn’t offered you the two dollars?”
Grant’s expression changed.