The little boy couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. Small for his age, he peered just over the glass countertop of our antique cases.

“How much does a custom necklace cost?” He asked, his voice level and his eyes serious.

“Well,” my dad hedged, ever the profiteer, “how much do you have?”

“I have thirty-two dollars.” The boy pulled a stack of sweaty bills out of his pocket. They were wrinkly, but neatly ordered. “I want a peanut necklace for my mom.”

“A peanut?” My dad asked.

“Yes, sir.” Any child who referred to my dad as ‘sir’ immediately rose up a few notches in his estimation. “My mom’s nickname is ‘Peanut’ ‘cause she’s short, and I have looked for peanut necklaces, but no one has them, and your door says you make things.”

“That we do. Our custom work usually starts at about a hundred dollars, though.”

“Oh.” The boy looked my dad in the eye. “I mowed lawns all summer for thirty-two dollars. Well, I did spend a little bit…”

My dad, a father of three daughters, has a soft spot in his heart for boys. He pulled a custom order form out of a drawer and scrabbled for a pen. “I think,” he said, “that we can make a silver peanut necklace for thirty-two dollars for your mom.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the boy, serious as they come, “I’ll remember that.”

The work order landed on my desk, as usual. But when the phone call came in with the story, my heart melted and I carved the best dang peanut that I could. It was diminutive, but true to life. I printed pictures out from my computer for reference, and when the piece was done and delivered, it was to a very pleased little boy. We don’t have that particular store anymore, so I have never met the young man- he must be a high schooler by now. Wherever he is, I hope that his mother wears that silver peanut charm every day, and I hope that she is proud of her son. I sure would be.

Postscript: I wrote about this event, with changed names and items, in my first jewelry mystery novel. I just wanted to mention this now for future reference:)