“Bill,” Mary said, “Mom gave us some money so we can get Patrick clothes for his first school year.”
I was pleased, but not surprised. An only child, Mary presented her mother with Patrick, the first grandchild and only grandson. Grandma doted on him and gave us almost a hundred dollars from her factory salary, a princely sum 40 years ago.
The money came with a stipulation. “Get him good clothes that will last the whole school year,” Grandma had told us. Mary felt that way, too, so we dropped Stacy and Laura off at Grandma’s and went to the pricey department store.
Patrick was tractable and gave us no trouble as we tried on item after item. Two hours later, we brought our selections to the checkout kiosk.
The cashier rang up our selections and gave a warm smile to our first kindergarten-bound child. After everything was complete, I took Patrick’s hand while Mary took her purse and we returned to the car.
Mary turned to me when we got to our sedan. “Where’s the bag?”
I gave her a blank look. “I thought you had it.”
“I didn’t take it. I thought you did.”
“I’ll be right back.” I ran inside and returned to the same cashier.
“Excuse me, I just bought something here and forgot to take the package. Is it still here?”
The clerk checked the inside of the kiosk. “No, I’m sorry it isn’t.”
Someone had taken the school clothes we’d bought for our son. I took responsibility. I also took the blame along with some unpleasant consequences. A couple weeks later, we visited Grandma and, by then, everyone had accepted the situation.
“Bill,” Grandma said, “Maybe it was supposed to be this way. I just hope the person who took them really needed them.”
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.