He exhaled. “The ring you returned yesterday. It belongs to my grandmother.”
My mind clicked.
“Claire? You’re her grandson?”
He nodded. “Name’s Mark.”
He gestured toward the cars. “My uncle’s on the force. Couple cousins. When Grandma told us what happened, she wouldn’t stop talking about you. The single man who brought back her wedding ring instead of selling it.”
“That explains, like, two cars,” I said. “Not ten.”
He winced. “Yeah, this might be overkill. We just… don’t get a lot of stories like yours. And you were fairly tricky to find. Mom only knew where she’d left the washing machine, not where you live. So we brought a few off-duty squad cars to find the place.”
He handed me a folded paper.
“She made me bring you this.”
The handwriting was shaky but neat.
This ring holds my whole life. You brought it back when you didn’t have to. I will never forget that. Love, Claire.
My throat burned.
Behind me, small feet padded down the hallway. The kids, of course, had ignored my “stay put” order.
They peeked around me at the officers and the patrol cars.
Mark crouched slightly. “Hello kiddos.”
“This is Nora, Hazel, and Milo,” I said.
