During semester break, I volunteered for senior dinner delivery. Just drop off the meal, check in, and go on. No stress. No deep talks. Or so I thought.
Her name was Lita. Ninety-five, quiet voice, pink cardigans, and a tiny dog named Poppy who perched proudly atop her walker like a palace. I was only asked to open her yogurt once. “My hands are on strike,” she winked.
She was absent one Tuesday when I arrived. I knocked again and she said, “Come in, sweetheart.” I entered and paused.
Lita faced the dog at the kitchen table. Complete chat.
“I know what I said,” she said. But if they find out, we’ll both be in danger. Pops, you hear me? No word.”
Once, Poppy barked. Softly. As if she understood.
I froze. I shouldn’t have heard that.
After being astonished by me, she grinned like nothing had occurred. “You brought my lunch!”
I nodded slowly, setting it on the counter. My curiosity led me to inquire, “Everything alright?”
“Oh, just chatting with my roommate,” she petted Poppy’s head. “She safeguards my secrets. Neither does she chat with the other dogs in the building.”
Before leaving, I smiled uncomfortably when she said—almost casually—
I relocated to Florida, so notify the bank if they call. That was our deal.”
I blinked. “Sorry…the bank?”
She was already removing her sandwich’s wrapper like we never spoke.
I found a folded envelope under Poppy’s paw. With my name.
My thoughts raced. What was up? Lita, nice, innocuous Lita, told the bank she was in difficulties and relocated to Florida. Why was my name on an envelope?
“Lita, I… I should get going,” I mumbled. Enjoy lunch.”
Her eyes twinkled as she looked up. “Don’t forget yogurt, dear.”
With shaky hands, I opened the yogurt and placed it near her sandwich. I peered at the envelope again, torn between curiosity and etiquette. Though I shouldn’t, I couldn’t resist.
Lita was distracted by Poppy, so I quietly slid the envelope off the table into my pocket. My heart beat like a drum solo. I muttered goodbye and raced out of the home.
I opened the mail in my car. A beautiful cursive letter was within.
“My dear,” it started. “If you’re reading this, you heard my conversation with Poppy. Do not worry. Though I may be breaking the law, I’m not a criminal.”
My eyebrows rose. Not following the rules? What was she doing?
The message added, “I’ve donated anonymously to a local animal shelter for years. Though they work well, they struggle financially. I wanted to give them enough money to make a difference without making a big deal.
It was unexpected. Lita, the kind elderly lady who needed help opening her yogurt, was a covert benefactor.
The letter continued, “So I came up with a plan. No one knows about my modest savings account. I was about to withdraw and give the shelter the money, but I realized there would be a paper trail. The bank would ask why I took out so much. So the Florida tale comes in. I planned to tell them I was relocating and needed a down payment.
I was getting it. Trying to escape suspicion. Why include me?
The letter added, “And you, my dear, come into the picture because I need someone to deliver the money to the shelter. Someone unquestioned. Kind young kid and newcomer, no one at the shelter knows you. I included the shelter address and withdrawal paperwork. I need the bank money delivered. Please keep this quiet. Poppy and I depend on you.”
A large cash withdrawal slip and the local animal shelter address were in the mail. My jaw fell. Lita wasn’t simply breaking the rules; she wanted me in her scam.
I contemplated my alternatives in my car for a while. It seemed terrible to lie the bank. However, Lita’s intentions were excellent, and the money would help the animals. It was hard to disregard her faith in me.
It was my choice.
I felt like a spy at the bank the next day. Trying to seem casual, I gave the withdrawal paper, and the teller handed me a big envelope containing cash. I put it in my backpack instead of counting it right away.
Then I drove to the Animal Shelter. Although it was small and rundown, the workers loved the animals and cared for them. I informed Martha, the compassionate director, of my contribution. Nothing about the sender, only anonymity.
The quantity staggered Martha. Her eyes filled with tears as she outlined its benefits. I was surprised by my joy as I left the shelter. Lita did something nice with my help.
The twist came weeks later. Lita was waiting at the door with a naughty grin as I delivered her dinner.
“So, did you move to Florida?”
A chuckle. “No, Lita. I delivered your ‘down payment.’”
She grinned. “Dear, I trusted you. Your face is honest.”
Then she gave me another packet. “This is for you,” she said. “For your trouble.”
It contained a lot of money. Lita insisted, despite my protests. “You deserve it, sweetheart. And Poppy and I have lots.”
But there were more twists. I read a few days later that an anonymous contribution saved the local animal shelter. They interviewed Martha, who described the anonymous donor’s kindness. They then displayed a security camera image of the money dropper.
It was I.
My heart jumped. I forgot about security cameras. Now everyone knew I was involved.
Worried, I ran to Lita’s house. She was still calm, sipping tea and caressing Poppy when I arrived.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she added. “I handled everything. I told Martha you were a volunteer helping me. I stressed my privacy.”
Lita had considered everything. She even contacted the bank as her niece to say she had changed her mind about going to Florida.
It was satisfying to rescue the animal sanctuary, keep Lita’s secret, and make an odd friend. Lita showed me that even the most ordinary individuals may have astonishing secrets and that violating the rules for the right reasons can be wonderful.
Life lesson: never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has a story, and sometimes the most unlikely individuals may surprise you in the best ways. Trust and desire to assist go far.
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