“Then why do you have it?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I’m bringing it back.”
“Well, I can’t afford to pay you for it. We’re just getting started. I’d have to research, see how much it’s worth.”
“It was in this case.” Ryder tapped the glass once more. What world had he stepped into? “I’m returning it.”
“You can’t return what wasn’t ours. I’d have to buy it from you.”
“But I didn’t buy it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” The man regarded Ryder as if he might be a little loony. “Maybe this Jewell made a gift of it. Is she a friend?”
“No. I’ve only seen her the one time. When I walked in here.”
“It’s just my wife and me. Her name is Vivi. We just leased the place. It’s been empty for years. We finished painting last week.”
“So there’s no Jewell?”
“Afraid not.”
Ryder snatched up the ring box. “Well, if you discover a Jewell, call me.” He tossed his business card on the case. “Thanks.”
Stepping outside into the warm evening, the ring box burning in his hand, Ryder boiled with confusion and something like anger. What was going on? Was someone after him? What was he supposed to do with this ring? Report it to the police?
Or, and this idea was the first to bring a sliver of peace, did he admit he’d just encountered something Divine?
How many times had she walked through the kitchen door to see Granny, and sometimes Pops, wrapped in an apron, stirring up something for dinner? Hundreds if she counted all her summer and family holidays.
“Don’t tell me you’re working at Ella’s,” Granny said. “I made meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans and my homemade cherry popover for dinner.”
“Got the night off. Hang on, I’ll be down to help.” Elizabeth ran upstairs, kicking off her shoes the moment she entered her room and dropping her bag on her bed.
It’d been almost a week since she returned from Wharton. She willed herself not to check her email every five minutes. But her meeting with the administration had gone well. Very well. In fact, the dean of admissions came by and joined the conversation. She was good friends with one of Elizabeth’s recommending MIT professors. She also knew an associate of Dad’s and was a huge Patriots fan. Thanks to her brother Jonathan, Elizabeth was a wealth of Patriots and Tom Brady knowledge.
By the time she headed back to her hotel, she felt in her soul she’d have an acceptance by the end of the week.
Changing into shorts and a T-shirt, she wrapped her hair in a topknot and sat at her computer. Through a narrowed gaze, she checked email.
Junk and ads were followed by group emails from her MIT friends. She deleted most of them and was about to go down to the kitchen when a new email dropped in. From Wharton.
>e>Dear Elizabeth,
Congratulations on your acceptance—>e>
Trembling, she fired out of her chair, knocking it into her bed. She was in. She was in. Elizabeth leaned over the desk to read the letter again, savoring every delicious word.
She was accepted. She was a Whartonite. She jigged about her room. Two years from now, she’d have an MBA from one of the finest universities in the world.
The letter said they valued her application. Said it showed her commitment to knowledge, tenacity, and to others.
She was in! Thundering down the stairs, she ran into Pops, who folded his weekly paper.
“Pops, I’m in. I got in!” She hugged him so hard he had to steady himself with a hand on the wall. “Granny, I’m in. They accepted me. I knew visiting campus would do it.” She broke off a corner from a slice of meatloaf. “Bless Jonathan for all his useless football knowledge.”
“Wait, what?” Pops looked up from setting the kitchen table. “I thought you were in.”
“I was wait-listed.”
