If Mom hadn’t decided to make gingerbread … if Mom hadn’t discovered her bottle of molasses almost empty … if Mom hadn’t asked me to run down to the store for molasses … then I wouldn’t have found it.
 
I didn’t even know where they kept molasses. Mom would have walked up and down the aisles, or maybe she knew right where to look. But so as not to waste time, I asked.
 
“Next to the cake mixes in aisle 4,” the girl said.
 
That’s where I found it. Right on the shelf next to the cake mixes. That little folded up piece of paper—a familiar shade of green. Cool! A twenty-dollar bill. I refolded it and slipped it into my jeans pocket.
 
All my friends rode dirt bikes while I lagged behind on my dad’s old three-speed clunker. He said if it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me. I’d been saving my money, but it took an awful lot of allowances to save up enough for a new bike. Twenty dollars wasn’t much, but it helped.
 
After soccer practice that afternoon, the gang met over at Mr. Kramer’s to unwind. Mr. Kramer is teacher of the boy’s class in church as well as soccer coach. Mrs. Kramer already had burgers sizzling on the grille.
 
“How are you coming with adopting a grandparent?” Mr. Kramer asked as we filled our plates.
 
“My grandpa lives across town,” Butch said, “but he doesn’t have white hair, false teeth, or walk with a cane.”
 
Fun-n-ny!
 
“I suggest you look around for someone in your own neighborhood who needs a friend.” Mr. Kramer poured the lemonade.
 
I figured it was time to share my good news and held out my greenback for all to see. “Found it in the grocery store.”
 
“A lucky find!” Spike said.
 
“What store was that?” Butch wanted to know. “I’m shopping there.”
 
Mr. Kramer took the bill, looked it over, and then handed it back to me. “That’s a lot of money to lose. Nobody reported it missing?”
 
“There’s no name on it. How could I ever find out who lost it??”
 
“Whose picture?” wise-guy Butch asked. “Oh yeah! That Jackson guy. Guess he won’t need it anymore.”
 
“You could check at the desk,” Mr. Kramer suggested. “Kyle, with the price of groceries, no one can afford to lose even that much.”
 
“Maybe Kyle could find a grandparent to buy him a new bike.” Butch knew I was saving toward a dirt bike.
 
Mr. Kramer raised his hand. “Guys, this is serious. I challenged you to find someone who needs help.”
 
That night as I lay in bed, I knew just what I’d do. I’d read a story like that in the newspaper. Find the person who lost the money and he’d be so delighted to have it back, he’d buy me a bike. Or maybe he had one in his garage he didn’t want anymore. With that happy thought, I drifted off to sleep.
 
The next morning I pedaled back to the grocery store.
 
“Hi, Kyle,” the girl at the desk said. “What’s up?”
 
I stood there with my fingers crossed as I explained about finding the money and asked if anyone had reported it missing.
 
She thought a minute, then said, “Not exactly, but one of our checkers mentioned that after she’d scanned a woman’s groceries, the woman didn’t have any money to pay for them. I’ll see what I can find out and let you know.
 
I turned away, satisfied that I’d done what I should. What are the chances that she’d know whom it was anyway?
 
“Oh Kyle,” the girl called after me, “thanks for being so honest.”
 
Honest? Not really. I remembered my fantasy of finding the owner so he could give me a bike.
 
A week went by and no word about the money. Until one afternoon when Mom said, “The grocery store called. Nobody’s come to claim the money, so it’s yours.”
 
I had a funny feeling about that money. I pictured a lady with a new baby and her husband out of work. Or even my mother, if it had been hers, not able to buy our Sunday dinner. The dirt bike didn’t seem important anymore. If they couldn’t find the woman, I’d track her down myself.
 
“I heard somebody call her Mrs. Webster,” the checkout girl told me. “I have no idea where she lives or anything. She’s just an older woman. I watched to see if she’d come in again, but haven’t seen her.”
 
Ever try to find a Mrs. Webster in the phone book? There must be a zillion of them. Finally I found the listing of M. Webster on a street a couple blocks over from our house. I hopped onto my three-speed.
 
I found the place and parked my bike. Had I made a mistake in coming? The yard was a real mess, what would the house be like? And the person?
 
I stood at the door, wondering what to do. What should I say? Did you lose a twenty didn’t seem quite right. Anybody could claim to lose money. The door opened before I could make up my mind.
 
“Can I help you?” The wrinkled up woman reminded me of my grandmother, only older.
 
“Uh.” I still hadn’t decided what to say.
 
“If you’re looking for a job, young man, I don’t have any money to pay you. All I had left was a twenty dollar bill and I lost that somewhere between here and the grocery store. Haven’t had a cake in so long and thought I’d splurge on a cake mix since I had a coupon. When I went to pay for it, I couldn’t find my money.”
 
Cake mix. Certainly she was the owner. “Mrs. Webster?” She nodded. “I’m not looking for a job.” I dug the bill out of my pocket and held it up. “I think this is yours.” I handed her the bill. “I found it by the cake mixes so I guess it’s yours.”
 
“Bless you, dear.” Tears filled her eyes. “Cake mix and coffee, that’s all I wanted. It’s the last of my money until my check comes.”
 
“Mrs. Webster, I could go get your cake mix and coffee,” I offered. “And when I get back I’ll mow your lawn.”
 
“God will bless you, my dear. Let me get my coupon, and make that a chocolate mix. Keep some of the change for your honesty.”
 
I shook my head. Butch was right about it being my lucky find. No chanch of a bike in her garage, but I’d found my adopted grandma. I hopped onto my three-speed and pedaled to the grocery store.