The next morning, loud knocking shook the front door.
It was barely past seven.
I opened it and froze.
A sheriff was standing on my porch.
My stomach dropped.
My mom came up behind me.
“Evan?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah,” I said carefully.
“Did you find a wallet yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And you returned it?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at his notebook.
“And the owner offered you money?”
“He did. I didn’t take it.”
The sheriff nodded slowly.
Then he picked up his radio.
“Bring it in,” he said.
A few seconds later, three deputies walked up the driveway carrying large boxes.
I stared at them, confused.
“What’s going on?”
The sheriff smiled slightly.
“Gary is my father,” he said. “He told me everything.”
The deputies set the boxes down and opened them.
Inside were winter coats.
Shoes.
School supplies.
Groceries.
More things than I could count.
