The Girl Returns
I heard tires crunch outside. A bicycle skidded to a stop. The girl from the funeral stood there, cheeks flushed.
“I thought you might come here,” she said.
“You followed me?”
She nodded. “I rode behind the taxi. When I felt the key in the envelope, I couldn’t stop wondering what it opened. When Harold asked me to give you the envelope, he said it was the most important thing I’d ever do. He said I had to wait until that exact day.”
“I don’t understand. Who are you? How do you know my husband? What’s your mother’s name?” I pressed.
“My mom’s name is Virginia. I’m Gini, by the way!” she said, peering at the box.
“Did she ever say who Harold was to her?”
“She called him the man who made sure we were okay. She said he had been very close to my grandma. But Mom never called Harold her father.”
If Harold wasn’t Virginia’s father, why had he carried her life for decades?
“Gini,” I urged, “can you take me to your mom?”
She hesitated. “My dad left when I was little. My mom is in the hospital right now. I stay with my neighbor most of the time. That’s how I found out Harold had died—she showed me the obituary.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She needs heart surgery,” Gini said simply. “But it costs too much.”
“I want to see your mother.”
The Hospital
We loaded Gini’s bicycle into the taxi trunk. On the way, she mentioned Harold had given it to her not long before he died. At the hospital, her mother lay pale and thin in a narrow bed.
“She’s been here two months,” Gini whispered. “Harold used to come by sometimes to check on us. The last time I saw him, he gave me that envelope and made me promise to give it to you.”
The doctor told me, “The surgery is urgent. Without it, her chances aren’t good. The problem is the cost.”
I thought of Harold, writing that letter, arranging the key, trusting a child to deliver it. He had known exactly what I would find.
“I’ll be back in two days,” I told them.
And I returned with the money for the surgery—money Harold and I had saved together. Using it felt less like a choice and more like finishing something Harold had started. The surgery took six hours. It went well.
