I had certainly never experienced that special moment when someone special gives another person a promise of love and commitment-in the form of something bright and sparkly, the kind that fits on the third finger, left hand. Knees bent, heart beating hard, that special man must feel like each minute is an eternity, dragging on until he knows the answer, and it had better be yes!
I was beginning to understand what it meant to wait, as I patiently hoped Marilyn would decide to return home and claim the love she had lost. But it was turning into a long wait. And desperate to make it all have a happy ending, I pondered what I could do to help things work.
"You're becoming your mom-a matchmaker," Colleen observed one day.
I wrinkled up my face in response, and swatted her with a pillow that was on her sofa in the living room. "How dare you!" I said, and she threw another pillow at me.
"You know this means war!" I remarked.
Soon, all the living room's pretty little pillows were on the floor and we were laughing. Maybe Colleen was right, I reflected, suddenly gaining a better understanding of my mother.
One day I decided to ask Jack for the engagement ring, since he had said that Marilyn gave it to him.
He was quick to respond, "To be honest, I don't have it anymore," he said.
"What!" I couldn't believe his words. He admitted that when he was moving and he came across the ring, his guilt returned. And, instead of righting the wrong, he had sold the ring, he told me.
"The ring could be anywhere now," I said, frustrated at the truth.
I had seen a photograph of the once-happy couple, resting on the mantle in Marilyn's house. I had stared at the picture, intently trying to think about what had been in their minds as the picture was taken. Pure love, I was sure. The ring glimmered on Marilyn's slim finger.
The jewel was big-too big to be taken for real-and the setting was a delicate, but elaborate flowery detail.
This ring would stand out anywhere, I was certain.
Quizzing Jack on the details of the sale, I scribbled notes and began my search with a look in the phone book.
The shop where he had sold the ring had long since moved, and was now on a dingy street cluttered with trash, drug houses, and marred too often by shootings.
I took a deep breath and decided I might want to call in help for this part of the search. Tom was the only person I could think of who would help me search in that area of the city without making a fuss over the location.
"Sure you couldn't find a better neighborhood?"
he joked. Still, he agreed to come.
"I'll pick you up in twenty minutes," I told him.
