Perfect Kind Of Trouble

44 Daren

I’ve never been so happy to see Golf Cart Gus. I flag him down as Kayla and I run toward the town square, and when he stops for us we jump inside.

“Hi,” Kayla says with her best smile. “I’m Kayla.”

Gus is immediately smitten. “Why, hello darling.” He kisses her hand and she giggles.

After throwing clothes on and chaining ourselves back together, Kayla and I went out to her car, only to find it with another dead battery. With no other options, we ran, handcuffed, to the town square and, thankfully, came across Gus.

“So listen,” I say. “Kayla and I need to get to Milly Manor, but we don’t have any money to tip you with.”

“Yet,” Kayla corrects. She smiles at Gus. “We don’t have any money yet. But as soon as we do we’ll totally pay you back if you wouldn’t mind giving us a ride right now.”

He looks her over with a grin. “Anything for you, sugar.” He turns to me and says, “You lucky dog.”

I glance at Kayla and smile. “I know.”

Two minutes later, Gus drops us off at Milly Manor and we fumble around the front yard, tripping over our own feet as we struggle to get into the backyard and dig through the garden to grab the spare key.

Once we let ourselves inside the house, we waste no time running for the same hall closet where we found the blue suitcase. We open the door and shove aside all the coats within.

There, just like we guessed, is a giant safe.

Kayla giggles. “I can’t believe it.”

I smile. “We should have known. We should have known!” I look at her. “You open it. It’s your home. Your father. You should open it.”

She tries the door. “It’s locked. But there’s a keypad for a number combination.”

I nod. “Try fourteen twenty-two.”

“Ooh. Yeah. ‘Through the trenches fourteen twenty-two.’ You’re brilliant.” She punches in 1422 and a clicking sound fills the closet. Kayla bites her lip, then slowly swings the safe door open.

For a moment, we stare in silence.

“I don’t believe it,” she says quietly.

I blink. “Me neither.”

Inside the safe are stacks and stacks of money, all hundred-dollar bills, all banded together, and on top of the bills is one final envelope.

Kayla carefully reaches for the envelope and pulls out the paper inside.

My dear Kayla and Daren,

This is my last letter to you, and I hope you find it with different hearts than you had when you set out. I always had money during my life, but I did not always have happiness, and I think that was the lesson I wanted you to learn most of all. People are where our happiness is found.

Daren. You are not my son, but I cared for you as such. There were many days I wished that I could be part of your life in a more significant way. I cannot begin to tell you how proud I always was of you, and how much I believe in you. I hope you learn that your value is not in what others make of you, but in what you find in yourself and what your loved ones see in you.

And my sweet Kayla. Fatherhood did not go as planned for me. I wanted to be more involved in your life than I was, but life is not always fair. All the money in the world could not buy back the years I missed as your father. But I always loved you, never doubt that for a moment. Being your father was the best thing that ever happened to me. I have no doubt you will find greatness in life. No matter what dreams you follow or paths you take, I know that you will shine, my little diamond. I will love you always.

As for the two of you, I don’t know if you are still handcuffed together, but regardless, I hope you do not resent me for asking you to do it. I knew, from the moment you were young children, that the two of you knew how to love more than anyone else I’ve ever known. And hopefully, you will use that love to the advantage of your relationship, whether it be for friendship or for something more.

Because money without love is complete poverty. And poverty with love, well that’s pure wealth. I love you both so much.

We turn to stare at each other in the hallway as joy fills our faces. We reach into the safe to pull out the bills and, behind them…

“The box!” I smile broadly and pull out the green box, still wound with ribbon, that Marcella wrapped for me all those years ago. I take the box in my hands.

Kayla gasps. “My locket!” She carefully lifts a small gold necklace from the safe and kisses the heart-shaped locket hanging from its chain. She smiles at the box in my hands. “You got your baseball cards back, I see.”

“I did, but it was never about the baseball cards. It was about the green box the cards were in.” I open the box. Inside are my baseball cards from so long ago, but beside those cards still sits the paperback copy of Holes that Marcella gave me for Christmas all those years ago. “Marcella gave me this when I was a kid.” I open the first few pages to the inscription. “This was what I wanted to get back.

Kayla leans over and reads Marcella’s handwritten inscription out loud, “ ‘To my favorite boy. I will love you forever, mijo. Love, Marcella.’ ”

“It’s the only thing she ever wrote to me,” I explain. “And after she died, I didn’t have anything left of her. But this book was here all along.” I look at Kayla’s necklace. “I’m guessing that’s pretty special?”

She nods. “My father gave it to me and—” She opens the heart locket and gasps. Inside is a note from her father—a new note, probably written just before he died. “ ‘My Kayla,’ ” she reads out loud. “ ‘It was an honor to be your father. I will love you forever.’ ”

She chokes up and I pull her against my chest.

As we look down at our precious lost items and the loving words left for us by Marcella and James Turner, Kayla inhales deeply and says, “Wow. That was the best scavenger hunt ever.”

Nodding, I look at Kayla, in my arms and in my heart, and smile.

Jackpot.