I guessed that something was wrong as soon as I saw the look of shocked disbelief on my husband Davidβs face.
βBabe, whatβs wrong?β
With tears in his eyes David whispered βI lost my wedding ring!β
It was our last night in Cape Cod. After dinner we went for a walk on the beach. There was a lot of seaweed in the ocean from a storm a few days before. We walked along the shore, teasing each other with clumps of seaweed; thatβs when the ring must have slipped off his finger. But exactly where we had no idea. We crawled around searching but it was dark and we couldnβt see anything. David was devastated.
βHon, I know your wedding ring means the world to you but we can always replace it.β
βI know, Jess, but it just wonβt be the same.β
Dejected, we returned to our room and went to bed. After hours of trying to get to sleep, I grabbed my laptop and Googled βWill a ring wash ashore after falling in the ocean?β
Almost immediately there was a *ding* on my laptop β¦ a response from βTheRingFinders.comβ. It read: βWe can help find any lost metallic object on the beach or in the water. Enter your zip code and weβll get back to you ASAP .β
I entered the zip code for Cape Cod and 10 minutes later I heard from Rick at βRingFindersβ. After explaining our situation, Rick said heβd be at our B&B at 7:00 AM to start his search. Thank God for the Internet!
True to his word, Rick was already on the beach at 7:00. We ate breakfast on the veranda, never taking our eyes off Rick as he searched everywhere with no luck. It was almost checkout time when he trudged up to the B&B.
βNo luck, folks. Youβre gonna get socked in traffic if you donβt leave now. Iβm sorry to disappoint you but Iβm not giving up. Iβll keep in touch with you either way.β
Disheartened, we checked out and loaded up the car. Taking one last look at Rick, we waved goodbye when we realized he wasnβt waving goodbye β¦ he was waving in excitement. He ran up the beach with his arm in the air, hand clenched in a fist.
βI found it, folks! I found your ringβ he shouted.
We ran to meet him and he grinned as he placed a wet, sandy ring in Davidβs hand.
Thering was under 11 inches of water and seaweed!
Overjoyed, David hugged Rick and we asked how much we owed him.
βThis is a free service we provide but we gladly accept donationsβ Rick explained. βIts very rewarding to see the joy on peopleβs faces when theyβre reunited with their precious lost items.β
I donβt remember how much we gave Rick β¦ thatβs not important. What I do remember is David glancing at his ring all the way home and smiling.
What an experience and certainly an incredible act of kindness. Thanks, Rick!
Authors Note:Β Every word of this story is true. David is my son and Jess is my daughter-in-law. Theringfinders.com is a real organization and Rick, a stranger to David and Jess, did them a service they will remember for the rest of their lives. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction!
βGallagher’s B&B, a beautiful old Georgian country house in Tipperary, set in lovely wooded grounds and gardens. A warm welcome combined with superb food make this gracious house a tranquil refuge for those on honeymoon, couples celebrating a golden anniversary or anyone looking for that special opportunity to get away from it all! You’ll rest peacefully at Gallagher’s!β recited my bride Fiona breathlessly.
βHow do you do that??βI asked for the fiftieth time since we met.
βI canβt help having a photographic memory! Itβs a blessing and a curse!β she laughed.
It had been raining lightly and getting accustomed to driving on the other side of the road was challenging. As we turned the bend, the B&B appeared before us looking exactly like something out of a Thomas Moore poem. Just then the sun broke through the clouds, a rainbow in its wake.
βLook, Dylan! A rainbow! declared Fiona excitedly. βI’m going to make a wish!β
I chuckled at her childlike enthusiasm. We entered the old but immaculate building and a kindly lady was there to greet us at the front desk. βIβm guessing youβre the Colcannons. Iβm Kathleen. Welcome! Would you be kind enough to sign the register?β
Fiona giddily signed the guest book. βAh, newlyweds! Thereβs no mistaking that glow about ya, lassβ Kathleen said, smiling broadly. βOur last guests departed yesterday so youβll have the whole place to yourselves.β Handing us the key to our room, we were informed that dinner would be served at 7pm.
Our room was charming with a view of the rear gardens. Just before dinner we checked out the library. It was small but offered a variety of books from βTime Travelersβ to the writings of Diogenes. Dinner was phenomenal β leek and potato soup for starters, then Kathleen’s own creation called Guinness beef and onion pot pie. Dessert was an amazing apple crisp with vanilla bean ice cream and a perfectly brewed cup of coffee. Exhausted and full, we retired early, looking forward to sightseeing in the morning.
The next day we were served a traditional Irish breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash, toast, marmalade and Lyons Tea. βI’m stuffed! You up for a walk?β I asked Fiona, and off we went exploring. Typical of Ireland, the day was overcast and as we walked along the path we came upon a cemetery. Slowly we weaved our way among the headstones, reading aloud the names as we went along.
βThis is one for the record book of coincidencesβΒ said Fiona.Β βYesterday when I signed the registerΒ I remember seeing the name βGuinnessβ and dinner was Guinness pot pie. Another name in the register was βLyonsβ and this morning at breakfast we had Lyons Tea. And now here are two headstones with those very same names! Thatβs truly incredible!βΒ
βIt’s just your photographic memory working overtime, Fiona. Both those names are pretty common here. I donβt think itβs terribly incredible, luv.β
Fiona gave me a playful shove and we continued our walk. Strolling by the gardens, we discovered Kathleen busily gathering vegetables. βWhy, if it isn’t Mr. & Mrs. Colcannon out for a morning stroll”. She proudly showed us the potatoes she’d just dug up. “For tonightβs dinnerβ, she explained. βA combination of mash with bacon and cabbage cooked together in butter and blended with a lovely ladle-full of cream.β
βOh, my goodness! That sounds delicious!β declared Fiona βWhatβs it called?β
Kathleen looked up at us from her crouched position. “Why, I reckon it’s a name you’re quite familiar with.” Then, moving very swiftly for a large woman, she jumped up and began hacking wildly with her machete! Grinning like a madwoman, she shrieked βIt’s called Colcannon!β
The last thing I remember seeing was my darling Fionaβs head roll to the ground. I was felled by an excruciating pain in my neck while Kathleen cackled hideously. Then the whole world went black.
As soon as I pressed the “publish” button, I got a little thrill. This is the 400th story I’ve written for my site sine I began writing in 2017. That is a great accomplishment for me and I thank each and every one of you for making that possible. I hope you enjoy #400 as you read this latest ink. π
βMr. Bennett, we did everything in our power but the injuries were too extensive. Iβm sorry. Your wife did not survive the surgery β¦ the surgery β¦ the surgery β¦ your wife did not survive β¦β
My eyes flew open and I gasped for air like a drowning man. My fisted hands clutched the disheveled sheets on my bed. I was soaked in sweat, my heart racing. The recurring dream came back last night. Gradually my heartrate slowed down and my fists unclenched. Laying on my back, I stared up at the softly whirring ceiling fan. I closed my eyes for five seconds and the tears started. It never gets better; it never gets easier.
Three years ago my darling Olivia, my life-force, my soulmate, my wife of two ineffably brief weeks died in a ghastly motorcycle accident while on our honeymoon in Barcelona. Frozen in place, I stared at her broken body; my brain told me she was dead but my heart and soul refused to listen.
I remembered the ambulance and police arriving, the excruciatingly long ride to the hospital, the lonely wait in the eerily quiet emergency room and the surgeonβs words β¦ those words that haunted me day after day after day. My wife was dead, my brief marriage erased and my heart crushed. We hadnβt even opened our wedding gifts.
I dragged myself to the shower, trying to wash away the dream. It didn’t work. It was time for me to leave here, escape the memories and the sadness. Our friends stopped calling long ago and there was nothing left for me. My parents were dead; Olivia’s parents wished they were dead instead of her. In this huge world I was utterly alone. It was time for me to go.
A loud thunderclap announced it was not a good day to take out the bike. Iβd been sleepwalking for three years and I’d had enough; I needed to do this. For the first time in forever I removed my wedding ring and placed it on the dresser next to my phone and wallet.
βWill the bike start up?β I wondered βOr has it died, too?β I grabbed my helmet and walked to the garage. The bike was plugged in; when did I do that? In one of my rare moments of clarity? I slipped on my gloves, opened the garage door and climbed on my bike. It was pouring and I had no idea where I was going. It didn’t matter; I stopped caring. Now I needed to stop the heartache.
The Elephant's Trunk 