As I pull the mail from Grandma’s mailbox, I can see Elias standing at the window, watching me with a worried frown. He’s so handsome and caring. I know what my heart is calling me to do.
But is it smart?
What will Mom think?
She doesn’t even know I’ve fallen for this guy.
Uneasiness settles in the pit of my stomach. Will she resent me for following in her mother’s footsteps? Will shefeel abandoned by her own daughter who deep down wants to remain in Budgie Bay?
I pull out the stack of mail and close the box. Grandma spent a lifetime here, her every thought and action revolving around her husband. The love she carried for him until the day she died consumed her.
Some would call it romantic.
Others, like Mom, call it stupid. A waste of a life.
I quickly sort through the junk mail but stop at a handwritten letter. It’s addressed to Goldie Everhart and is from Janey Kerrigan in San Francisco.
After making my way to the porch swing and sitting down, I tear open the letter and pull it out. Elias is no longer watching from the window which makes my heart leap at the loss.
Dear Goldie,
This may be a long shot but hear me out.
My name is Janey Kerrigan. I’m a nurse at Serene Water Memory Care Facility in the San Francisco Bay Area. I’ve only been on the job for about six months or so but have come to grow incredibly close to one of the residents here.
They call him John “Linnie” Doe.
My heart rate speeds up as a breeze tickles my hair and rustles the paper.
He’s a kind gentleman whose favorite thing to do is sit outside under the big tree watching the birds. Often, I sitout there with him, and we chat about the different ones. For the most part, he’s calm and singularly focused on the birds.
Sometimes, though, Linnie says things.
Things that matter, I think.
At first, I indulged him and listened as I do for all our residents. However, I started detecting a pattern.
Bay. Strawberries. Gold. Boat. Baby. Home. Linnie. Rescue.
My superiors have written it off as random mumbling, but I can’t let it go. I read his file. Linnie came to the facility decades ago as a homeless man decades ago with head trauma. They found him wandering on the coast of Northern California. Since he spoke about the bay, they brought him to San Francisco assuming his people were from that area.
No one ever came for Linnie.
Because I’m sort of like a dog with a bone, I’ve made it my mission to find his family to help bring the elderly man some closure. After some searching on the internet for these keywords, I came across your column at the Budgie Bay Gazette. What struck me is how each time, you sign off with the same thing.
“The strawberries are ripe and ready for picking, Amos. Grab some chocolate on the way home.”
I gasp, letting the junk mail flutter to the porch floor, and clutch the letter tight in my grasp. The breeze has stopped and I can’t seem to suck in enough air. This can’t be possible. There’s no way. I quickly continue reading.
Your name is Goldie, you live in a bay, you rescue birds, and you mention strawberries to someone like you’re still waiting for them.
Is this me reaching or have I really found Linnie’s home?
I’m not a stalker, I swear, but I was able to hunt down your phone number, email, and address. You haven’t responded to the first two, so I figured I’d try it the old-fashioned way via snail mail.
I pray to God I’ve cracked the case for him. He’s a sweet man and I hope I can reconnect him with his family.
If this is all something fantastical I’ve made up in my mind, please do me the courtesy of letting me know. I’d like to put this lead to rest and search in another direction. I’ve left my cell number at the bottom for you to call me directly as my superiors won’t approve of my meddling.
