My son gave his umbrella to a pregnant stranger in the rain. The next morning, 47 umbrellas appeared in our garden, each in a numbered box that took my breath away.
Then Eli said, “You could still have knocked on the door.”
Mr. Collins nodded. “You’re right. I should have done it.”
Box number 3 smelled sweet, like sugar. Inside was a gift card from the ice cream shop next to the library.
“For the child who always remembered kindness. One ice cream a month. With colorful sprinkles included.”
Eli blinked. “Do you think they mean some kind of ice cream?”
“Or.”
“I’m asking…”
Against my will, I laughed.
Box number 4 contained a coupon for a shoe store.
“For the child who came home soaking wet so that another child wouldn’t have to. Choose waterproof shoes.”
“The red ones with lightning?” Eli asked.
“Do you already know?”
“I’ve known for months.”
I looked at Mr. Collins. “Do you know much about my son?”
“I know he thanks me every afternoon,” she said. “I know he lets the little kids go first. Last winter, when another child forgot his gloves, Eli gave him one of his.”
Eli blushed. “It was just a glove.”
“That’s precisely my point,” Mr. Collins said.
Box number 5 contained a pass for the skate park.
Eli’s smile slowly faded.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Dad said he would teach me to skate.”
“Memory.”
“I still want to go,” Eli said. “But not by the big ramp.”
Box number 6 contained four dollars and thirty-eight cents from a seven-year-old girl named Maddie.
Eli stared at the coins. “Mom, we can’t keep these.”
“No,” I said. “Then what do we do?”
He glanced toward the Route 47 bus stop. “We share it.”
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My eyes followed his towards the bus stop on the corner.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Eli turned Maddie’s coins over in his hand. “If people brought all this because someone didn’t have an umbrella, maybe we should make sure the next person does.”
I looked at Jenelle. “This time you’re not going to write the ending alone.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “There’s an old shelf in the storeroom that we could clean up. It’s nothing special, but it’s sturdy.”
“The school has a lost and found service, umbrellas,” Eli said. “And people could drop off ponchos. Maybe bus passes too.”
“What would you call it?” I asked.
Eli looked at the number painted on box number 47.
“The Route 47 roof rack.”
Mr. Collins smiled. “That sounds good.”
Eli gently touched Darren’s umbrella. “Can etiquette say, ‘It started with Darren’s umbrella’?”
I felt a lump in my throat until I could barely breathe.
“Yes,” I said. “But this umbrella is coming home with us.”
Eli went up. “I know. Dad is staying with us.”
Jenelle looked at me intently. “Can I write next? With your permission this time?”
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