The shovel was more heavily weighted than it should have been. Caleb swiped sweat from his forehead using the back of his dirty hand, leaving a brown smudge across his skin. Three feet and nothing yet in view of the metal box his grandfather stashed here four decades ago.
"You sure this is where we're supposed to be?" Nora asked where she sat on the porch steps, playing with her broken nail polish.
"Course I'm sure." But he wasn't. Not exactly. The old oak looked shorter than he remembered, and things were. wrong. Off. "Grandpa instructed twenty paces from the tree, in direction of the fence."
She had this noise - not a laugh, not a snort. "Perhaps he lied."
Image generated with Meta AI
Caleb stopped digging. Put the shovel on his hip and turned to her. "Why would he lie about that?"
"I don't know, Caleb. Why would anyone dig money out of their own backyard like some kind of pirate?"
Well done you. But desperate times and all that. There was the bank letter on their kitchen table today - final notice, it said. Foreclosure would begin within thirty days. Thirty days to pay twelve thousand dollars or risk losing the family home his grandfather had built himself. She was speaking to him now, belatedly, her voice strained with emotion.
He went back to digging. The circle of metal on soil was already causing his ears to hurt. Or maybe it was the tension.
"Remember when we were children and you'd make me dig holes looking for treasure?" Nora pushed to her feet, swiped at her jeans with a dirty hand. "You were convinced there was gold buried all around."
"This is different."
"Is it?"
He threw the shovel down harder than was necessary. Soil splattered in all directions and some landed in his mouth. He spat and looked at his sister. Really saw her. When had she gotten so gaunt? When had those lines creased around her eyes?
"Listen, I know this is silly, but--"
"Crazy? Caleb, I received a call from you at six this morning rambling on about treasure. I traveled four hours here because you sounded. I don't know, desperate I guess. And now I'm sitting here watching you dig up the remains of mom's garden for cash that probably doesn't even exist."
The money was there. They had to be. Because otherwise, he'd have to be grovelling on his knees begging assistance from their cousin Vernon. Vernon with his sneering face and Italian suits and the way that he always looked at Caleb as though he were something on the sole of his shoe.
Vernon who'd offered to buy the house for a fraction of its worth. Vernon who'd said to him, "Think about it, cuz. When you're ready to get real, call me."
Vernon who'd probably have a good laugh his ass off when Caleb came to his door with his hat in hand.
"He'll have to beg," Vernon had declared last Christmas dinner to his wife, loud enough for everyone to hear. They were in the middle of a discussion about some business deal, but Caleb knew Vernon was talking about him. About this moment, in this restaurant.
"I'm not begging Vernon for something," Caleb grumbled.
"What?" Nora frowned. "I didn't say anything about Vernon."
But she was thinking it. He could tell by the way she was looking at him - like he was throwing a tantrum child.
"Grandpa told me where the money was just before he died. He was. he was pretty out of it at that point, yeah, but he knew this one thing. Twenty paces from the oak, towards the fence. Metal ammunition box." Twenty thousand dollars in cash."
"Caleb--
"No, listen. He said dad didn't know anything about it. Told him it was from when he did construction in the city, before he came back here. Told him he saved up all the money he could because he knew hard times were ahead."
Nora sat back down on the steps. Pushed her hands through her hair. "And you think those hard times are now?"
"I suppose those hard times are always now." He picked up the shovel once more. "For folks like us anyway."
The next shovel load hit something solid. Not dirt-solid. Metal-solid.
They both heard it.
Nora stood up so fast she almost fell. "Was that.?"
Caleb was already on his knees, digging by hand now. Dirt between his fingernails, dirt in his hair, dirt everywhere. But there - green metal, just as grandpa described.
The ammunition box was not as large as he'd imagined. And lighter. For an instant, his heart had frozen as what if it was not full? What if grandpa had gone entirely crazy at the end and this was the universe's joke on him?
But when he opened it, the money was there. Not twenty thousand - fifteen, and some of the bills were so old they were worthless. But it was something. It was hope.
"Holy shit," Nora whispered. "It's actually real."
Caleb settled back into the soil, clutching the box as if if he let go, it would disappear. Fifteen thousand would not be sufficient in and of itself to save the house, but combined with what remained of their depleted savings, perhaps it could give them a way to negotiate with the bank. Buy some time.
"So what now?" Nora asked.
"Now I don't have to beg."
She smiled at that. First real smile he'd received from her all day. "Grandpa would've liked that."
Yeah. He would have. The old man would tell him that the worst thing about being poor was letting people make you feel ashamed of it. That the only thing that nobody could take from you unless you let 'em was dignity.
Caleb closed the box and stood up. His back ached and his palms were raw, but for the first time in months he felt as if perhaps - just perhaps - everything would be okay.
"Come on," he said to Nora. "Let's cover over this hole again. Then we're going to the bank."
"What about Vernon?"
Caleb grinned. "What about him? As far as I'm concerned, Vernon can screw himself."
