Tuesday took us up to Providence for a doctor appointment (Banjo Man) and afterwards a birthday lunch for daughter Nancy.

Our favorite Italian restaurant is Andino’s, on Federal Hill. Time to celebrate! We ate our weight in pasta and then the waitress surprised Nancy with a birthday cannoli, which she shared. Yay!

We had parked a few blocks away, so on the way back to the car we stopped at our favorite Italian bakery for bread and pastry and a pear tart. I love pear tarts more than anything in the world and it has been years since I bought one at Scialo’s, a fixture on the Hill.

Be still my heart.

Another stop was at Venda Ravioli, an Italian grocery store of epic proportions.

Check out the olive section:

Banjo Man bought olive oil.

And then the day turned into a mystery. We crossed the main street, Atwell’s Avenue, and started to walk to the car, parked along a narrow, one-way side street. Banjo Man and Nancy were crossing the street to the car, but I was lagging behind a bit because in the middle of the sidewalk was a thick, black wallet. I stopped, stared and picked it up.

I told the others what I’d found and I took it to the car to see who it belonged to.

Nancy thought it might be an April Fool’s Day trick. I should have thought of that, I said. Too late, though. It wasn’t a bomb or filled with dog poop. It actually looked authentic, packed with credit cards, a bank card, an ID, a medical insurance card and over $400 in cash. There were at least five keys dangling from one side.

The owner was Christopher M., age 70, with white hair and a white beard (according to the photo on the ID). He lived in New York City, so there was no Providence address to deliver the wallet to.

What to do, what to do…

We googled his name to see if we could find a phone number. No luck.

We googled the closest police station. Since we had no idea how to get around the city, heading to the station was a bit intimidating unless we could think of something else to do.

So we waited. Waited for Christopher. Because, I pointed out, if he was a tourist enjoying an Italian lunch, he was eventually going to realize he was missing his wallet and would return the way he came to look for it.

So we sat in the car, windows rolled down, and studied every person that walked past (not that there were many). It was a warmish day, our bellies were full, no one had to go to the bathroom, and we had all the time in the world.

And since we didn’t know what else to do except go to the police, we thought waiting was the best plan.

Half an hour later a tall man in a long black coat walked slowly up the sidewalk. We stared, wondering if this was finally him. He looked older than 70, but there was no mistaking the white hair and beard.

“That’s him! Banjo Man grabbed the wallet and hopped out of the car. “Christopher?”

The man stopped and looked over at us. Clearly baffled as to how we knew his name.

“Have you lost something?” my excited husband asked, holding the wallet as he hurried across the street. The white-haired, bearded man looked shocked and relieved. Banjo Man handed him his wallet and he stared at it in disbelief.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Christopher confessed.

He couldn’t believe we had waited for him, couldn’t believe that everything in his wallet was still there. It turned out he wasn’t a tourist at all, but had had hip surgery recently and was walking for exercise. He admitted he has become forgetful. He tried to give Banjo Man money, but of course he kept refusing. It was quite a scene.

But we had done our good deed for the day. Maybe even for the year. And the three of us joyfully agreed that we love happy endings.

The party continued back at the house, with cupcakes and flowers and gifts. Definitely a birthday our daughter will never forget.