Wrinkles of confusion rippled across Holly's forehead as she unwrapped the gift from her best friend, Susan.
"I...I thought you could use it for something." Susan's stammered explanation did nothing to help us understand why a twelve-by-eighteen-inch dark blue carpet remnant was being presented as a birthday gift.
My heart went out to our daughter. Starting out at a new school during her freshman year had been a difficult adjustment. Until she met Susan, Holly had experienced little success making new friends.
The murmured "thanks" was barely audible as Holly tried valiantly not to allow her disappointment to show. She laid the piece of carpet on the kitchen counter, and the two girls headed outside to play.
The next morning, my heart wrenched as I lifted the lid of the trash can and saw Susan's carpet among the discarded items. Hesitating only a moment, I reached in and plucked it from the debris. After brushing it off, I tucked it away in the hall closet.
Nearly three weeks passed without mention of Susan. Then, Holly announced an invitation to visit Susan's home and meet her foster mom, Glenda.
We drove to a small farmhouse. Glenda, a tall, angular woman, greeted us amidst a house full of rescued cats and clutter. Susan proudly showed us her sparsely but neatly furnished room. A tarnished picture frame held photos of her long-separated family.
As the girls talked, Glenda and I shared coffee. Her eyes glowed with fondness for Susan, but turned pensive when briefly mentioning the girl's past. I came to respect this generous-hearted woman.
On the drive home, Holly was quiet but tense. As soon as we stopped, she rushed to the trash can, peered inside, and her shoulders slumped. After putting the car away, I went to the closet.
"Is this what you were looking for?" I placed the piece of carpet on the table before her.
"Thanks, Mom." A tear or two slipped from her eye and splashed onto the dark blue remnant that, as if by magic, had become the most precious birthday present in the whole world.