…my mother’s pearl necklace, my late husband’s watch and my wedding ring.
Everything inside was mine. I’d noticed my jewelry box looked disturbed on Wednesday morning, but I’d assumed I’d moved things myself and forgotten.
My grandson, Max, explained in a small voice. Last Tuesday, his father had brought him to my house after dinner. I’d taken a sleeping pill for my back pain and gone to bed early. Max was supposed to wait in the living room. Instead, he watched his father go into my bedroom, take the jewelry and photograph me sleeping, “to prove she didn’t wake up,” his father had said on the phone to someone.
My son, Josh, owed money to a man he’d borrowed from to cover gambling losses. The man wanted proof Josh could get valuable items without being caught. The $900 I’d sent for the bicycle had gone to the same man.
Max had seen his father lock everything in the box and hide it in the basement. He’d found the key, swapped the shipping label from the real bicycle box onto the lockbox and made sure it came to the party. He wanted me to see it in front of everyone.
“I didn’t want Daddy to get in trouble,” he whispered. “But it was your stuff, Grandma.”
Josh sat down on the floor of his own living room and put his head in his hands. His wife, who hadn’t known any of it, took the children upstairs.
I didn’t call the police that day. Josh agreed to enter a gambling treatment program and to tell the police about the man threatening him. He did both. The man was arrested two months later for extortion.
I bought Max his bicycle myself, the right one. He rides it to my house every Saturday. He always checks that my door is locked when he leaves.
