PART 2
The officer walked up the steps. Young. Polite. Tired.
“Ma’am, this gentleman says you took property from his store.”
I held out the jar.
“A little boy left this on my counter last night. It’s his grandfather’s coin collection. I came here to give it back to him.”
I handed it to Micah. He hugged it to his chest.
The officer looked at the jar. Then at Micah. Then at the hospital bed in the living room behind him. Then at Corbin.
“Sir,” he said slowly, “you called the police because she returned a child’s jar of coins? To the child?”
“Lost property belongs to the store,” Corbin said. “That’s policy.”
“Not in Indiana, it doesn’t,” the officer said. “It belongs to the owner. And the owner is right here.”
Corbin opened his mouth. Then closed it.
The officer wished us a good day and left. Corbin left with him, red in the face.
Micah’s mother had woken up. She was propped up on her pillows, watching all of this with tired eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked softly.
“My name is Opal,” I said. “Your son paid for your birthday cake with his grandpa’s coins. And I think there’s something in this jar you need to know about.”
Her name was Lorelei. She had kidney failure. She did dialysis three times a week. She’d lost her job. The eviction notice was real. They had nineteen days.
I showed her the penny under Leonard’s magnifying glass. I told her what I thought it was.
She laughed. She thought I was crazy.
So I drove the penny to a coin dealer in Indianapolis that afternoon. A friend of Leonard’s. Mr. Fenwick, eighty years old, still working.
He looked at it for a long time without saying anything.
Then he took off his glasses.
“Opal,” he said, “where did you get this?”
He sent it to a national grading company to be authenticated. It took six weeks.
It was real.
A 1943 bronze Lincoln cent. One of only a few dozen known to exist.
It sold at auction in March for $204,000.
Lorelei paid off her medical debt and bought the little house on Juniper Street. She put money in a fund for Micah’s college. She started treatment at a better kidney center in Indianapolis and got on the transplant list.
She tried to give me half.
I said no.
She tried to give me a quarter.
I said no again.
Then she said, “Then let me give you something you can’t say no to.”
Micah walked into the room holding a small velvet box. Inside was a single gray penny.
“It’s a 1943 steel one,” he said proudly. “From Grandpa’s jar. It’s not worth anything. But it’s the same year. So now you have one too.”
I keep it in my wallet.
As for my job, the video of Corbin firing me had been filmed by a customer in line. It got posted online. Corporate saw it.
Corbin was transferred to a store two hours away. They offered me my job back with a raise.
I said yes.
On my first day back, I put a small jar next to my register with a handwritten sign.
“For anyone who’s a little short today.”
It’s never empty.
THE END.
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You never know what’s hiding in a little kindness. Sometimes it’s worth nine dollars. Sometimes it’s worth everything.
What would you have done if you found that penny? Tell us in the replies.