My half-eaten sandwich waited on the small table between the rocking chairs as I watched the sunset. Belle and I had the house to ourselves, thanks to Wyatt’s date. That was good because I wouldn’t have been good company. Between a long travel day, the excitement of recovering my car, an accidental ingestion of marijuana, and Shelby’s reliving of the affair, I was irritable and exhausted. Even my dog opted to snooze on the far end of the porch, well away from me.
Despite how tired I was, I couldn’t sleep. Just a few feet from me, tucked in the shadows of the trunk of my car, sat that bag of ill-gotten funds. What was I supposed to do with it?
Giving the money to Bobby had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. I saw a need, I had the ability to help, and I did it without thought. At the time, it didn’t feel any different than C.J. and me building that picnic table.
But I knew in my heart it was different. I could pretend all night that I did it to make the nurses’ jobs easier and to make the residents’ lives better, but the truth was I did it with a selfish motive at heart—to help Shelby cope with her disease.
No, that wasn’t even true. I did it because I desperately wanted my Shelby, the one who remembered who I was, to be waiting when I walked in each night.
The guilt weighed on me as I wrestled with my conscience. What was I to do with all that money?
After seeing Bobby’s suspicion and discomfort, I couldn’t go back to him with more money to spend on the nursing home. Even if he were willing, sooner or later, someone would notice new supplies appearing in the building.
Despite C.J.’s suggestion, I wasn’t going to keep it. Not because of some crazy belief that I had enough money—I had plenty of ways I could use it—but because of where it came from. Drugs had killed Jessica. They damned near killed Wyatt. I didn’t want anything to do with something that came from such evil.
For the same reason, I didn’t want to return it.
That left giving it away. There certainly wasn’t a lack of need in Miller County. Plenty of people here could use the help—clothing, food, utility bills, rent, medical costs. If only I could figure out how to get it in the right hands, that money could do a tremendous amount of good, but I didn’t know other people like Bobby who could get things done and keep it quiet. What I needed to do was find such people.
Or, better yet, such a person. A single person who could be trusted to do the right thing with that much cash.
I picked at the crust of my bread as the sun dropped behind the ridge. The valley fell into a peaceful darkness. Out here in the country, we didn’t have streetlights. The glow from the stars and the rising moon provided enough illumination to see all we needed. Lightning bugs danced above the fields as they flitted about finding mates. A distant light from the farmer’s house twinkled on the horizon. The church steeple rose in the distance, the illuminated cross at its peak sparkling against the night sky.
I sat up with a start. Belle raised her head to see if it was bedtime. Realizing she was early, she flopped her head back onto the wooden porch with a thunk and resumed her snoring.
I had thought of one person I could trust. He had helped me before and kept my confidence. He wouldn’t keep a penny of it for himself. He would ensure every red cent went only to the deserving. I believed in him because he was the man who helped save our marriage. The Good Reverend Jacob Brawley.
There was just one problem.
Brawley was so honest, he wouldn’t be willing to just go along with the Mason jar story. If I handed him a bag of money, a trash bag no less, filled with bundles of cash carefully wrapped in currency bands, he would want to know the details. Once he had them, no telling what he would do. Honest men weren’t very trustworthy in those regards.
How did I get him to take the money from me?
The answer was simple. He couldn’t know where it came from. The donation would have to be anonymous. He would have no one to ask.
I rocked the chair back, troubled by that last thought. If that bag showed up with no explanation, the reverend would hesitate. So I needed to explain, but without him knowing who I was.
I jumped out of my chair, startling Belle again. We tossed the mail each day into a basket on a small table just inside the front door. Most of it was junk mail I rarely opened and threw into the trash on the day I hauled garbage to the dump.
Thumbing through the stack, I found what I was looking for—the bill from the local electric co-op. I pulled the invoice out of the envelope and returned it to the pile. The envelope itself would prove it came from a local—a member of the co-op. I flipped it over and scrawled the beginning of a note on the back:
Dear Reverend Brawley:
I chewed on the end of the pen. How could I explain where the money came from? I decided to do what I did best—start with a nugget of truth and then lie like crazy.
I am an old man near the end of my life. I’ve always set aside money from every check I’ve ever earned but never trusted those banks. Now I find myself with more than I need. I have no heirs to give this to, but I want to see it put to good use.
You helped me once, long ago, and so I trust you. I also know you’ve helped many people, so you won’t guess who I am. That’s good because I want this to be anonymous.
Please take this money and see that it goes to those who need it most.
Would it work? I didn’t know, but I was running out of time. I needed to get this done before Wyatt came home. I didn’t want that money sitting near me all night. I clomped back out onto the porch. Exasperated, Belle looked at me again to see why I was messing up her routine.
“Want to go for a ride, girl?”
She looked around as if to tell me it was dark and entirely too late for such shenanigans. But when I walked down the steps to my car, she stood, stretched, and followed. I retrieved the bag of cash out of the trunk and opened the door. Belle dutifully jumped into the passenger seat, and I placed the bag on the floorboard below her. I opened it to slide the envelope with the note on top. The gun flashed in the moonlight.
If he saw the weapon, the preacher would know the money was tainted. Besides, the pistol would be traceable in a way the cash never would be. I extracted it from the bag and slipped it under the seat. I then laid the envelope on top of the cash and retied the bag.
We headed down the gravel road to the church. I kept my headlights off so I didn’t draw attention. The night sky provided all the illumination I needed.
The lights were on inside the parsonage, but the church itself was dark. The outside floodlights bathed the building. Fearful that Brawley’s curiosity would be aroused if I pulled into the parking lot, I drove to the paved intersection, did a U-turn, and then parked on the gravel road. I would hear any car long before it came upon me, so I wasn’t worried about someone coming along. I lifted the bag and said to Belle, “I’ll be right back, girl. Wait here.”
Doing my best to avoid the brightness of the floodlights, I snuck across the grass to a large bin set up near the double-door entrance to the church. Donations of clothing and toys could be slipped through doors that pulled down on the sides, but once they slammed shut, the design prevented people from stealing the goods inside.
The contents were emptied each morning and evening, so nothing sat too long. Volunteers helped in the afternoon, but Brawley handled the task himself in the morning. He claimed it was because he walked over so early, but teenagers had been known to drop off empty beer cans in the dark of night in typical juvenile behavior. He didn’t want his volunteers messing with that.
I pulled open the drawer, placed the bag inside, and closed it. I heard a satisfying thunk as it slid down the chute and fell to the bottom of the bin, secure until morning. I was rid of it, and trusted Brawley would do the right thing.
I skulked back across the yard, drove Belle home, and slept peacefully.