Stolen Treasure

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Fiction by Yona Zeldis McDonough
Illustrations by Jon Stich

Chris waits while his mom fumbles for the key. The house is ginormous, with big white columns in front, a separate garage and a swimming pool. Compared to the cramped apartment he shares with his mom, this is a palace.

“Finally,” says his mom, inserting the key and punching in the code to disarm the alarm. “I’ll start in the kitchen. You can go upstairs.”

“Sure.” Chris mounts the staircase with a big plastic bag to collect the garbage.

Ever since the landlord raised their rent, his mom has had to work on Saturdays to make ends meet. It’s just been the two of them since his dad died years ago. He hates that she has to work so hard, so he insists on helping her out.

Chris goes into the room where the owner’s son sleeps. It’s huge, with a giant flat screen TV on the wall. There are also two laptops, a gaming console and a skateboard. Chris feels a stab of envy. And when he empties the trash can, he finds a loose handful of change: two quarters, a dime and a whole bunch of pennies. He hesitates before pocketing the money. But he decides it’s OK because it’s being thrown away.

Next he goes into the master bedroom. As Chris empties the waste basket, he accidentally tips it over. He bends to right it and that’s when he spies something sparkling. He picks it up. It’s a sparkling pin — diamonds, he guesses. It’s also a bit dusty, which means it’s probably been there for a while.

Did anyone even miss it? His heart starts to pound. Who would know if he took it? No, that would be stealing. And stealing is wrong.

But this family is so rich, the son throws away coins and the mom drops diamonds behind dressers — while his mom is working two jobs and they’re eating ramen noodles for dinner too many nights.

“Chris?” calls his mom. “How’s it going?”

“Great.” He quickly slips the pin into his pocket.

Then he scours the master bathroom, strips the sheets and vacuums the whole upstairs. It’s as if the diamond pin has some magical power to energize him.

“You’re a cleaning superhero!” says his mom.

They finish ahead of schedule and stop for pizza on the way home. Only, Chris has no appetite and can barely choke down a slice.

“Are you OK?” asks his mom.

“I’m fine,” says Chris. He forces himself to eat another bite, although the pizza tastes like cardboard.

That night, Chris searches online for a local pawn shop.

He tells himself he’s not really going to sell the pin — he just wants to know what it’s worth. On Monday he has band practice after school, and the day after that baseball practice, so it’s not until Wednesday that he’s able to take the long two-bus ride to the pawn shop. His mom’s at work and he usually goes right home, calling her when he gets there. But today he told her he was going to his friend Gabe’s — a big, fat lie.

The pawn shop is in a sketchy neighborhood and the guy behind the counter is scary: shaved head, black beard and a pierced eyebrow.

“Where’d you get this?” he asks suspiciously.

“I found it,” says Chris.

“Where?”

“Um, in the park,” Chris says. What a lame answer.

“Well, without a receipt or proof of where you got it, I can’t sell it.”

“Oh.” Chris feels his cheeks flame.

He leaves the shop in a hurry. That night, Chris can barely sleep. Taking that pin was a stupid thing to do, maybe the stupidest thing he’s ever done. But that scary dude at the pawn shop did him a favor. Tomorrow is Friday and then it’s Saturday, the day his mom goes to clean the big house. He’ll go too and put the pin back. No one will ever know.

Only, when Saturday comes, he wakes up with a sore throat and a fever.

“You stay in bed and sleep,” says his mom. “I’ll check in later.”

Chris doesn’t have the energy to protest. He drinks the cup of tea she’s made and closes his eyes. Next week, he thinks as he drifts off. Next week for sure.

He’s woken by a sound he can’t quite identify. Chris shuffles into the other room to find his mom sitting at the table, crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Though in his heart, he knows.

“Mrs. Blake says I stole her diamond pin,” she says. “She can’t prove it, so she’s not calling the police. But she fired me.”

Chris is so guilty and ashamed that he can’t even speak, much less tell his mom what he did.

On Monday, he’s well enough to go to school. He’s calm now because he knows what to do. When the bell rings at three o’clock, he doesn’t go to band practice. Instead, he takes the school bus to the last stop and then walks the rest of the way to the big house with the columns.

“Can I help you?” The woman who answers the door must be Mrs. Blake. She’s wearing a pair of diamond earrings, but she doesn’t look snooty or mean. She looks really nice.

Chris’s mouth goes dry and he practically has to cough the words out. “My mom didn’t steal your pin. I did.” And then he takes the hateful thing out of his pocket and thrusts it at her. “So if you want to call the police, go ahead. Only blame me, not her. And please, please don’t fire her.” Is he crying? Angrily, he swipes at his eyes.

“You took the pin?” Mrs. Blake looks surprised.

“I did and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been in my whole life.” And then he breaks down sobbing.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Mrs. Blake says gently. “You can tell me all about it.”

Seated in her fancy kitchen, eating the brownies and milk she’s offered him, he tells her about the crummy apartment, the rent hike and his mom’s struggle just to keep them going.

Mrs. Blake listens intently. She doesn’t look angry or like she’s about to call the police.

Finally, Chris is quiet. He finishes the second brownie — it’s like the best he’s eaten, ever — and drinks the last of his milk.

“It took courage for you to come here today,” says Mrs. Blake. “A lot of courage. And I didn’t realize your situation was so difficult. Your mother never said so.”

“She doesn’t like to ask for help,” Chris says.

“Well, I’m glad you did. Because I felt sorry about firing her. She’s a hard worker and always leaves the house spotless. And it just so happens I’ve been looking for a live-in housekeeper, and your mother might be just the person. We’ve got an apartment over the garage that’s quite spacious. You could have it rent free. That would make things easier, wouldn’t it?”

Would it ever! He smiles broadly.

“I thought so.” Mrs. Blake stands up. “Now how about I drive you home and we can tell your mother together?”