Windfall

Doris reached out to the pile of notebooks on the scarred top of her old oak desk and selected the small black book that lay on top. She knew it was old-fashioned of her to still make notes by hand, but she had always loved the act of setting her thoughts down on paper, the feel of the pen in her hand, the flow of the ink, the words emerging across the page in her slanted and slightly untidy script. She had one notebook to track the seasons and the weather; another to record gardening ideas (if you could call tending the row of pots on her balcony during summer gardening); and one for ideas and inspirations for minor home improvements, including potential expenses that needed research and careful thought before taking action.

The small black notebook, however, was not entirely old-fashioned; it contained the passwords to her various online accounts and subscriptions. Today she had summoned up the courage to view her retirement accounts to see how they were doing. Last year had been a roller coaster for her investments and she had decided not to look too often to see what was happening. She lived comfortably on her monthly social security payment and the occasional dip into her savings; her retirement account was intended to sustain her over the long run, and so she had the luxury of leaving it alone to recover from the occasional setback. But now the economy in general seemed to be on the upswing, so she thought it would be a good idea to see how she herself was faring. She opened up her laptop and logged into her account with a mild sense of anxiety.

She was not prepared for what she discovered. Her mix of moderately conservative stocks had done extremely well, and were now worth $20,000 more than the previous quarter. Doris sat back in her chair, feeling oddly unsettled. On the one hand, it was lovely to have such an unexpected windfall. On the other hand, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy that this money – surely an enormous amount to many people, more than some might make in a year of hard work – had come to her simply because she had money to begin with.

She didn’t feel guilty for having money. Everything she had, she had earned herself, through almost fifty years of working for a salary and carefully saving for a secure retirement. Nevertheless, the fact remained, she had had advantages in life that weren’t available to everyone. And now, because she had always been able to live within her means and save money over the years, she would continue to accumulate more money without any effort on her part whatsoever. It wasn’t her fault, but it wasn’t exactly fair, either.

What if she gave it away?

The thought occurred to her suddenly, unbidden, but as soon as it had come to her, she knew it was right. She knew because she immediately felt lighter, happier. She would give the money away, not with a sense of guilt, but with a feeling of celebration.

Doris had a long list of worthy causes and organizations to which she gave annually, but she didn’t want to simply increase her contributions to them. This gift should be special; it should be singular. Twenty thousand dollars was a significant sum of money. It was enough to change somebody’s life.

No, she had a different plan for this $20,000. She would give it unexpectedly, stealthily, anonymously, to someone who hadn’t even asked for it. Someone for whom $20,000 wasn’t a pleasant windfall, but a life-changing event.

She soon discovered that giving away $20,000 was not a simple matter. First, she had to withdraw the money from her investment account and send it to her checking account. There were forms to be filled out, and taxes to be paid. This turned out to take several days. In a way she was glad, because this gave her time to second-guess herself, to entertain any doubts that she really wanted to do this. There were no doubts, only impatience.

Then, once the money was transferred, she learned that it is very difficult to get a bank to give you $20,000 in cash, even if it is your own money. There were more forms to be filled out, questions to be answered. She made up a story about buying a car for her nephew (she had no nephew) and a seller who would not accept a check. She thought about the TV shows in which someone was kidnapped and held for ransom, how the family would quickly gather up a suitcase bulging with cash to exchange for their loved one. In reality, she mused, the kidnappers would likely lose patience while waiting for the bank manager’s approval and end up killing the hostage.

But at last she was sitting in a back office in the central branch of her bank, watching the head teller, under the watchful eye of a supervisor, carefully counting out $50 bills, wrapping them in paper binders, and placing them into the old leather satchel which she had brought with her especially for the purpose. Everyone present was concerned about her leaving the office carrying a bag containing $20,000, but she explained to them that her (nonexistent) nephew was picking her up in his (old, soon to be retired) car and would be going with her to make the purchase. Reassured, they finally relinquished her money into her possession. She looped the long strap of the satchel behind her neck and over one shoulder, cross-body style, and, cradling the bag rather like a small child in a sling, left the bank.

In truth, she was a bit nervous about carrying that much cash, but the bank was only a few blocks from her apartment, and there was no reason for anyone to suspect that the slightly scuffed leather satchel contained a large amount of money and not, say, the manuscript of an unpublished novel.

And, while she was being truthful, this was where her plan was temporarily stalled. Though she had successfully navigated the complex task of actually securing the cash, she had not yet figured out how to get the money to its final destination. How to find just the right recipient, and how to give them the money without being discovered? She pondered her next steps as she turned the corner off the street where the bank was located. Perhaps she was more lost in thought than someone carrying $20,000 ought to be; perhaps that was why she didn’t see the man standing in the otherwise unoccupied bus shelter. As she passed, he darted out, grabbed the strap of the shoulder bag slung over her left arm, and pulled it towards himself.

Because she was clasping the leather satchel with both arms, protectively, across her lower body, the shoulder bag did not come free, but snagged on the crook of her elbow. The man tugged harder, trying to dislodge it, but she could see he was already thinking it might be wiser just to abandon the effort and flee. Impulsively, she stopped short, removed her right hand from its hold on the satchel, and reached over to place it on top of his two hands, which were, just barely, still grasping the strap of her bag.

“Wait!” she said. Startled, he left go the shoulder bag and, stumbling slightly, backed into the bus shelter. “You don’t want my purse,” Doris said, pulling the strap of the satchel up over her head. “There’s nothing in there but ten dollars and my debit card, and I’ll just cancel the debit card.” She saw the man’s eyes dart to one side, as though calculating whether he could run out of the bus shelter without having to push her out of the way. “This is what you want,” she said, letting the satchel drop to the sidewalk.

Rather than moving forward, the man backed up against the wall of the bus shelter, staring at her. He was not a young man, but looked to be in his fifties; possibly he was a man in his forties who looked older than he was.

“This is what you want,” Doris repeated, nudging the satchel with her foot. “Open it, look for yourself.” When he only continued staring, Doris bent over, released the buckle, and pulled up the flap to expose the neat bundles of bills within. “See? $20,000. It’s yours.”

Unexpectedly, the man laughed, and then spoke for the first time. “Yeah, right, how would that work?” he asked, sounding almost contemptuous.

“Excuse me?” Doris asked.

“How would that work, me coming home with $20,000 in a leather bag?” the man repeated, smiling now. “How would I explain that? How long would it take before I was arrested?”

“No, no, I’m giving it to you,” Doris said. “I want you to have it. I was just going to give it to someone who needed it. And you must need money very badly to be out snatching old ladies’ purses, at your age.”

The man stopped smiling and shuffled his feet. He looked around to see if anyone was watching this bizarre scene, but the street appeared to be empty. “My car was towed,” he said, a bit embarrassed. “I need it to get to work. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid, and I already owe most of it for the payday loan. I –”

Doris held up her hand for him to stop. “I don’t need you to explain. I’m sure you need the money. Please take it.” “Lady, I’m telling you, there’s no way I’m taking that money. You trying to get me killed?” But this last was said more in amusement than anger.

“All right, then,” Doris said, picking up the satchel. “How much do you need? To get your car back?”

“Two hundred dollars should do it,” the man said.

Doris extracted four $50 bills from their packet, paused for a moment, then pulled out two additional bills and folded them all together. “For the payday loan,” she said, holding the money out.

The man nodded his thanks and stuffed the bills into his jeans pocket without examining them. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go, then,” he said, briefly gesturing towards the sidewalk behind her, and Doris stepped back so he could leave the bus shelter without coming in contact with her. “Unless….” He paused. “Would you like me to walk you home? You know it isn’t safe carrying all of that money.”

Doris shook her head. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the man, exactly, but she thought it was perhaps not wise to let him know exactly where she lived.

“I’ll just catch the bus,” she lied. “There should be one soon.”

She waited at the stop until the man had been gone for five minutes or so, then walked home, this time keeping an alert eye on her surroundings. The cats did not greet her at the door, as they sometimes did; the two of them were curled up together on the bed, lying in a patch of sunlight streaming through the open blinds. They had left her some room on the bed, so, dropping the satchel onto the floor, she lay down on her side, facing them, delighting in the way their black fur shone sable in the bright light. She felt strangely exhausted but also too wide awake to sleep. She felt old, and foolish, and also extremely lucky.

Doris rolled over and looked at the satchel lying on the bedroom rug. Tomorrow morning she would take the money back to the bank and redeposit it into her checking account, and then she would take some time to think about which of her organizations she would give it to – which of her causes would make best use of her windfall. Because $20,000 is a lot of money; it could most certainly change somebody’s life.