I Know What To Do

"Okay, I'm fairly sure I know what to do, at least."

The check rippled slightly in my hand as I looked at it, my hand trembling as I sent the email to my former ninth grade English teacher. The first two checks had been shredded weeks ago, and several emails ensued. Each email from me contained a grateful insistence that I couldn't take her money, and each email from her repeated a graceful insistence that her intentions were purely kind, and that I owed her nothing.

She was across the country, working as an operator for a hotline that helped people deal with emotional issues, supporting people who had no one else to turn to, no hope. I had just lost my mom, my truck had broken down, medical bills had piled up, and things were falling apart in general. Not one to publicly bemoan my personal problems, I was surprised when she suddenly intuited that I needed help. But this... this was too much. Not only was it more than I needed to bounce back; it was too much money for any person to just give away. $20,000? Maybe a thousand or two to fix the transmission. Another grand or two to catch up on the bills. But then, what do I do with the rest... and keep a clear conscience?

"How about I use what I need, and then send the rest back to you? Surely you have need for it? Or someone else, someone more deserving than me."

Once again, the insistences gently ensued. "The money is yours. I give it to you. Do as you like with it. I won't have any need for it anyway." I knew her age was up there in numbers, and that she had no family. She and my mom had become friends, and I suppose that she felt somehow linked to me, in some way. I don't think I had ever been her favorite student, but she had always been my favorite teacher. In the last thirty years, whenever a memory of high school popped up, she was integral to it. Whenever someone posted memories of their favorite teacher and invited others to join, she was the focal point. She had positively impacted so many lives—I'd put it at the thousands, for sure... and at least several hundreds of lives—that her legacy would live on. I know parents told their children about the best teacher they'd ever had, and she was it.

I deposited the check, and immediately paid off the bills. That felt great! The weight off my shoulders was heavenly, and it confirmed my intention to pursue my plan. A few thousand went into savings. I'm not dumb. We all need to save up some money for emergency, right? The rest of the check was converted to cash: stacks of sweet hundred dollar bills.

That Saturday morning, I put the plan into action. Two plastic containers in the back seat of the truck were filled with books from the free book bin at the local used bookstore. Great books, but raggedy books as well. I'm sure some folks were grumpy that I took all the books, but this was something that needed to be done.

Within half an hour, I was knocking on Loretta's door. Her husband answered it, and greeted me kindly as he always did. Ever since her stroke, nobody came to visit her from the bookstore we both used to work at. Just me. As usual, he led me into the living room, where she was sitting, looking sad, but also grateful for company.

"You won't believe how many free books I got this morning!" I said with a smile. Her face lit up. The joy she got from looking through a fresh batch of books was infectious, and when her husband and I brought in the totes, she pulled herself to the table to attack the stacks of books.

Both of us book lovers, her husband stared on in resignation as we oohed and ahhed over this book and that. I insisted she look through them before me, stacking the books in front of her, and then admiring them right after her.

The envelope had "For Emergencies" written on the front in big, fat marker letters. I pretended not to notice as she found it, but I saw the look of incredulity on her face. Ever since her stroke, her medical bills had been piling up, and with no income, they were struggling.

"Open it, numbskull," I told her when she showed it to me. Years ago we'd made a pact that anything valuable we found in the free books would be fair game, and that we'd split it 75%-25%. Finder gets the lion's share.

"Oh my gosh," she breathed as she counted out the money. The little black notebook that it was in had several pockets in it, and each one contained another envelope. Each envelope had the same words on it, and her breathing became very labored as she opened each one after another.

"There's... no name. Nothing." Loretta's eyes bugged from her head after she'd done every possible thing to find a name, phone number, any clue to who the notebook had belonged to.

I deserved an award for the tears of joy that I squeezed from my eyes. After we counted up the stacks of bills, I reluctantly refused the 50% split she insisted I take. "A promise is a promise. I expect you to keep your word. I'll keep mine."

"But you found it, in all honesty," Loretta insisted, trying her best to push a stack of bills into my clenched fist. "You're the one who picked up the books."

"But you found it, Loretta," I insisted quietly, a mock look of pained regret on my face. "You know that I would've just taken these all to the bookstore across town. They would've kept the money and we both would've lost out. It's yours."

The tears began to stream down her face, and I made a show of being annoyed. "Geez, Loretta. The waterworks? Really? Ugh. Time to go."

I knew what to do, and it was done. And I don't regret it.