…this.”
Inside the envelope was a cashier’s check for $89,612.48, made out to me. And a letter.
“Dear Helen, I know you’ll never forgive me, and I don’t expect you to. In 2009 I stole eighty thousand dollars from you to cover gambling debts. Then I ran because I couldn’t face you. I’ve been in recovery for fifteen years. Step nine is making amends. I’ve been working my way through every person I hurt. You’re the last, and the hardest.”
The twelve people in the footage were others she had stolen from or lied to over the years. She had found each of them, repaid them and invited them to lunch to apologize together. Some came. Some didn’t. The ones who did had told her they’d never thought they’d hear the truth.
She booked the room in my name because it was the only way to make sure I’d see her face before I read the letter. She knew I came to that restaurant every Tuesday after my doctor’s appointment. She’d seen it on my Facebook. That was also how she knew what I’d be wearing; I’d posted a photo that morning.
“If I’d called, you would have hung up,” the letter said. “If I’d written, you would have thrown it away. I needed you to be angry enough to watch the video. The check covers everything I took, plus today’s lunch. The restaurant has my real card on file and will reverse the charge as soon as you give the word.”
The manager confirmed it. Her name was Lisa. She had paid for the room in full, then asked them to bill me first.
I sat in that restaurant for a long time. I was furious that she’d used my name again, even to give money back. I was also crying, because for fifteen years I’d wondered if she ever thought about me.
At the bottom of the letter was a phone number. I didn’t call it that day. I called it three weeks later.
We met at the same restaurant. She looked smaller and older and very nervous. We didn’t become best friends again. Too much was broken for that. But we had a real conversation, the first in seventeen years.
I deposited the check. The bank called to verify it. It was good. On the way out, I left the waiter a twenty-dollar tip on a twelve-dollar salad. He’d watched the whole thing unfold with his mouth open. He deserved it.
