Bucket List

It was going to be another windy day Beatrice sighed as she closed the trunk of her car and turned towards the direction of the beach. After almost three years in the community treasure hunting club, it seemed that she was the only one left to uncover any sort of prize. With her new metal detector sitting patiently inside the large case, Beatrice hoped that today would be the day she discovered at least an old coin or an antique locket. Similar trinkets had been found recently by her good friends Evangeline and Iris. They were always finding new things along the shore but this was a new beach and to Beatrice, that meant new possibilities.

Walking past the slick rocks onto the shore, she immediately saw the familiar orange ball cap belonging to Mr. Asher, the club’s president. Consisting of around fifteen individuals ranging in age and level of prowess, most of the members were only interested in the really good antique finds that tended to wash up on these abandoned beaches. Pirate galleons and antique jewelry were always the most coveted finds as they fetched the highest bidders in auctions. Beatrice didn’t care about the price, she was only interested in the history. Most likely due to the countless hours she spent with her father as a child watching old discovery shows, about sunken treasure and pirate ships that first sparked her fascination with treasure hunting. She remembered her very first metal detector, purchased from a pawn shop for thirty dollars which at the age of eight amounted to her entire life savings. Each weekend, Beatrice would beg her father to take her to the shore where they would spend the day carefully sketching out small grids and scanning the sand for any indication of something valuable beneath.

Beatrice paused as she found herself thinking of her father for the first time that morning. It had been three years since his unexpected passing but it still ached. Being only twenty-seven years old at the time, she was not prepared to suffer the loss of a parent. There was still too much left to do. She still had her mother and two siblings at home, but something about the loss of a father just does something to a daughter and Beatrice just wasn’t the same. A year after his death, the constant reminder of her loss was too much to handle and without warning, Beatrice packed up her apartment and left the small town in the middle of the night. That was the last time she had spoken to her family.

Beatrice brought herself back to the present. Looking up at the sky, it was clear that she wouldn’t have much time today to investigate. The sky was already becoming a murky green color and the threatening rumble of thunder in the distance and swelling of the waves made it abundantly clear that she was going to need to work quickly. Laying down her case, Beatrice assembled the metal detector, donned her protective glasses, and set to work. Preferring to work independently of the crew, Beatrice usually found herself attracted to the areas closest to large boulders or caves. Luckily for her, this particular beach had both and she hurriedly treaded through the sand towards the largest set of boulders affixed about a mile away from the rest of the club. The boulders themselves had been smoothed by time and the constant battering of the harsh waves. With their dark tones offset by the white of the salt accumulating in the crevasses, Beatrice imagined the outlines looked like one of those landscape paintings of the trees and mountains brushed with snow. Positioning herself as close as possible to the rocks, Beatrice started her usual task of aligning her detector with the ground and slowly moving the wand back and forth as she advances forward in small, militaristic steps.

It must have been about an hour before she faintly heard the whistle of Mr. Asher, signaling that it was time to pack up. Having been so immersed in her task she hardly noticed the color of the sky had become a harsher gray and the thunder rolls in the distance now came more frequently and were accompanying large lightning bolts which were now dangerously close to the shore. Feeling the frustration of yet another lost day, Beatrice waved towards the sound of the whistle, acknowledging the warning, and turned back towards the spot where she had left the detector’s case. Placing the metal detector down slowly in the sand as she knelt to open the case, Beatrice heard the faintest sound. With the strength of the wind, she was sure it was whistling against the cliffs and turned back to her task. The wind continued to whirl, creating small funnels of sand and that is when she saw the small copper handle. Grabbing her detector in one hand, she ran towards the handle and tugged. It was heavier than she expected. She tugged harder but now as the storm reached the shore, the weight of the rain made the task even more tedious as she had to use both her hands and all of her strength to pry the handle from the earth. Just as the thin sheet of rain turned into a torrential downpour, Beatrice compelled her remaining strength into her legs and pulled with all her might. To her great delight, she saw the handle budge revealing a small-sized wooden chest. She heaved it under her arm and made a strained run towards her car.

Beatrice sat in her car staring mesmerized at the intricate black and gold fleur-de-lis adorning the top of the chest. Shivering from the cold of the rain that had penetrated all the layers of her clothing, Beatrice looked with dismay at the rusted latch and knew she would have to wait until she got home to see what was inside. Though it seemed like an eternity, in reality, it was only fifteen minutes from the beach to her house and she frantically ran inside with her new find. Rustling in the junk drawer for a tool to pry open the latch, she recovered a screwdriver and went to work on the chest. Though it was thoroughly rusted, it was clear the chest itself was not entirely antique and with one great thrust of the screwdriver into the underbelly of the latch, the piece broke off and Beatrice lifted the lid to reveal a large pile of cash carefully packaged in gallon-sized Ziploc bags. She stood there speechless as one by one she withdrew 10 bags of cash from the chest. Carefully removing the cash and counting the bands, Beatrice was astonished to discover the bags contained twenty thousand dollars. Just as she was about to return the cash to the chest, she noticed a small bump protruding from the shadows and sand lumped at the bottom of the chest. She brushed the dirt aside to reveal a small black notebook

Making sure to not tear the pages as she gently opened the cover and looked inside. The pages were thin and worn, a great contrast to the new model chest holding the money. Cautiously she pulled apart the first two pages and concentrated on piecing together the words that had bled together as a result of little care being spent on the conservation of the manuscript. She held the book up to the light and read the words Bucket List.

As she examined the book more, she noticed each page was numbered not chronologically but with strangely specific numbers. The first page was 500 while the second was 3,350 and the third 4,225. Unsure at first what to make of it, Beatrice continued to sift through each of the pages until she came to the eleventh page numbered 1,200. On a hunch, she pulled out her phone and opened it to the calculator. Adding the numbers together, she realized that the total of the page numberings was exactly 20,000. But the question was, what was the task on the list? Though there were amounts attached, there were no plans for each page. No grand trips or fancy purchases documented and come to think of it, no names either.

For the second time today, Beatrice thought of her father. Although he had never made a bucket list per se, she remembered all of the plans they had made together. Vacations and adventures, even big purchases, the kind her father always told her you don’t make until you are ‘good and retired.’ Glancing back at the pages, Beatrice realized this was a chance to do those things. She went to her bedroom and retrieved a plastic file box. Inside, the pictures and letters from her father were stuffed so tightly, she could barely pry the folders apart. Under the tab marked rainy day, Beatrice pulled out the last picture taken with her father. They were sitting together on a park bench eating hot dogs. Beatrice stifled a laugh as she recalled how her father practically raised her on hot dogs. Returning the box to its shelf, Beatrice retrieved a pen from her desk. Clutching the picture in one hand and the black book in the other, she retreated to the couch and pursed the pen to her lips. Smiling to herself, she turned to the fifth page labeled 1500 and wrote trip across the state: time to visit family.